afternoon

Spontaneity is not my forte. It seems it's not Che's either. It only took him a few leaf runs and a bit of encouragement though and he was into the afternoon stroll. His three-year-old mood swings are daily occurrences at the moment and no doubt it must be challenging, knowing that within a few weeks, he'll be a big bro. He's excited though, asking when the baby is going to arrive, wondering why it can't be right now. "I don't like waiting," he says. But wait we must.

Thank you for all your lovely comments on Daniel's film. And I must say that credit for the superbly knit vest goes to my mum, who Che calls "Mama." He calls me "Muma" and yes, it can be a little confusing but he likes it that way. My knitting skills are completely amateur but I feel lucky to have a Mum who can, when time allows, pass on her knowledge of the needles.

For gorgeous newish blog goodness, visit Claire - muma/photographer/stylist at one claire day

nourished, nurtured

With the arrival of winter I've been feeling a little weary. Perhaps burnt-out would be a better term to use. My almost-two-year-old is still breastfeeding and it feels like he's taking all my stores. And so I've upped my iron intake and I'm taking twice-daily doses of liquid gold. If anything it's a reminder that I need to take good care of myself. This reminds me of something this inspiring lady once said. "Mothers constantly look after the people around them and far too often they forget about themselves. I realised when I was a mother of three young children that I had to start looking after myself otherwise I wouldn't be able to Mother". It was something along those lines. Inspiring all the same.



The weather has been gloomy of late, small snippets of sunshine poking through to tease us out from our homes. Yes winter is here but it's still not that cold. Just a little chilly. The ocean is still warm and nice to dip our toes in.

I'm enjoying the rhythm of the season. The slow days and the early nights. Also the wider eyes and faster feet of Ché. We explore together now. Wandering, digging, making peppermint and mud pies on the verandah. It's special. I think I'm finally adjusting to motherhood - looking after a family and a home. It's peaceful here right now. The little one quietly plays, the Dada hums to the music and I potter and bake. There's blooms on the table and beautiful scents filling the air. Despite the tiredness I feel nourished and nurtured. Life is just as it should be.

asteya

The focus for my pre-natal classes at the moment is asteya or letting go of greed. Being in the here, the now, not wishing or grasping for the journey to end. Enjoying the present moment...just being. I'm re-reading Buddhism for Mothers at the moment and it is so much more relevant now that Che is a little more grown. I'm nodding my head to almost every sentence and finding comfort in the suggestions for thought and practice. Especially mindfulness.

I especially like the suggestion to tell yourself what your doing throughout your day. The affirmation really has the power to almost throw you into the present. Yesterday I began talking to myself. In the best possible way. At the close of the day I felt nourished. And nurtured.

I taught a yoga class, cooked a chicken casserole, swept the balcony, tended to my herbs, read with Ché, made the beds...and spent two hours in a day spa. It surprised me that even as I was being wrapped in amazonian nut mud I still had to tell myself to relax. "I am relaxing."

It's quite liberating to be in the moment, constantly expanding your awareness of where you are and what you're doing. To actually be mothering instead of chasing time, children and chores.

I am writing

i don't know where i'd be if i had never found yoga

I truly don't know where I'd be. Along with my mum's encouragement and my deep desire to finally finally finally do something for the goodness of my body I attended my first yoga class at 10am on a Monday morning, a few weeks before my 21st birthday.

I was in the throes of ending a long and destructive relationship. A relationship that was wrong for so many reasons. It was difficult to escape from and when I did I was physically and emotionally exhausted.

I remember walking, waif-like, across the studio floor. I was 46kg but I felt heavy. Music, something like this, was playing softly and nag champa was filling the air. I sat down, cross-legged, and waited for the class to begin.

The teacher, Mardi, sat in front of the class and led us through a short relaxation. She asked us to breathe. Through our nose and into our belly. I felt tears prick my eyes because within a few minutes I realised that I hadn't felt the breath in my body for so long. It felt like I hadn't breathed in three years. I hadn't been in my body.

I continued to attend that Monday morning class. And then one class a week wasn't enough. I started going twice, three times, sometimes four times a week. I began to notice contentment within myself. Happiness. And strength. Physically and mentally. I felt light. I was experiencing a change within me. And subsequently, a change around me. I became aware of my body and my self. How truly wonderful it is to breathe deep and move your body, flowing, through a series of energising postures. I was flowing.

I cancelled a trip to London and enrolled in yoga teacher training instead. I stayed at an ashram for two weeks and lived yoga. Rising with the sun to awaken my body with gentle yoga practices and breathing techniques. Eating vegetarian wholefood and finding beauty in simplicity - like an om symbol etched into the ground.

I felt new. Refreshed. Revived. All those wonderful things.

I am always so grateful to my Mum for guiding me in the direction of the studio at that time. Mardi, my first yoga teacher at that Monday morning yoga class is now my mother-in-law. If I hadn't have found yoga, and discovered awareness and contentment and goodness within me, I wonder if I would have found Daniel. On the eve of Mother's Day I am ever so thankful for the synchronicity that led me to the studio that day and for the ongoing journey I am on. Because yoga changed me. And now I am a Mother. To a baby yogi who holds his hands in prayer at hridaya mudra, his heart space, and says namaste the spirit within me honours and respects the spirit within you.

Happy Mother's Day.
Your Mother is your first teacher.
Always.
Perhaps your Mother is your first
Guru

Inspired by Yoga and Me

cafe racer

I never thought I'd be a bikie-kinda-girl. But ever since this thirty-year-old beauty arrived in our garage I have warmed to the idea of cafe racing. You see it's a 1978 Yamaha SR500. My Dad worked on them when they were first released in England. Daniel bought it, imported a whole load of parts from Japan and turned it into a cafe racer. It's beautiful to look at but slightly uncomfortable to ride. Hence its name. You don't ride on long journeys - you race from cafe to cafe.

My helmet arrived on Thursday and a few hours later I hopped on the back and held on tight. I felt safe with Daniel riding and I loved it more than I first thought. But when we got home my toes were numb and I started searching ebay for a leather jacket. Apparently you are never warm on a bike - it's the adrenalin that keeps you going. I think I want a gorgeous jacket over speed and adrenalin. Just like I want a cappuccino over a beer.

I guess I really am a cafe racer kinda girl.

birthday wishes are so nice

Thank you for all those beautiful well-wishes. My 25th was wonderful. The most amazing flowers from my secret admirer (a.k.a Daniel), gorgeous gifts and yummy food. It was memorable. I loved every minute.

My birthday week coincided with Ché's 18-month-birthday and the little one has started walking. Two hands in front of him, all Frankenstein-esque, he's stumbling around like a little drunk. So sweet and yet heartbreaking. Because he looks like a little boy. It hit me really hard. It still shocks me how deeply I'm connected to him. Last night he cuddled into me as I read him his new favourite story. Just before he nuzzled in for a before-bed feed he said to me: "Muma, oh Muma."

Precious.

on the eve

tomorrow i turn 25. i'm definitely not 21 anymore. in saying that i do like the number twenty-five. i like the way it sounds, i like the way it looks.

most importantly i like the way it feels.

i'm approaching 25 with a spring in my step and a strawberry in my hand. I feel more comfortable and more content in my skin that i have ever felt before.

on this birthday i will celebrate with my boys. the one i fell in love with shortly after the above photo was taken. and the precious little munchkin we made together. there will be a special breakfast with friends and dinner with family. and a saturday night date with d. there will be chocolate too. perhaps some fresh blooms and a ribbon or two.

i will miss a few girls though. those crazy girls who have been there on the last six birthdays. the ones who always dress-up and have fun. who make me laugh. a few are busy in Sydney and the others are under the cherry blossoms in Japan. Yes girls, have a sake for me.

i love birthdays.

bhakti

bhakti is a sanskrit word meaning devotion or love

In the growing, birthing and raising of our children we are challenged and we surrender.

We devote ourselves to these little beings that came from within us.

In this devotion we find meaning. And from meaning we find power.

The deep, everlasting power of a mother. Revealing her instinctual desires and her own truth.

where do the days go?

I disappeared for a while, I know. The last week or so has been hectic. Ché's Ommi went to Bali to assist Shiva Rea in a teaching workshop and I got to look after the studio. Yes I was jealous about missing out on Bali but it was the perfect opportunity for me to expand my own teaching journey. Ten classes later and I'm feeling exhausted but equally as inspired.

It feels good and it feels right - to share yoga with others. While I've happily come to that conclusion in the past week I felt that comforting buzz of inspiration and excitement when I opened the SMH this morning. The Sydney Writer's Festival program has been announced and I'm itching to get down to the wharves to hear all of those wonderful writers speak their words. I have fond memories of sitting on Pier 2 and soaking up the winter sun before yet another amazing lecture. I went every year when I was at Uni. I adore the smell of fresh coffee combined with just-printed-paperbacks. Every year I returned home with a bag of new novels - even though I worked in a bookshop at the time. The sweetest nostalgia. I'm longing for a day at the festival - I hope it eventuates.


I've always been one of those people that likes to have something to look forward to. Something to work towards. Yoga and motherhood have been the greatest teachers - allowing me to stay in the present, in the now. While I can dream of mingling with writers and word-folk in May it's hard not to be wrapped up in my day-to-day life. Because I'm so happy at the moment. Ché is 18-months this week and his quirky little character is shining through. In the last few days he's learnt the subtle art of eskimo kissing and after rubbing noses he pulls me towards him and pats me on the back. It makes my day - everytime.

Our autumn is proving to be a special one. Cool nights and the sunniest days where basking in the warmth seems like the most important thing on the agenda. The light and the air are beautiful. I'm enjoying the colours too. And I've added something new to my visualisations when I'm teaching - 'autumn leaves falling from the tree'. Go on, think about it. It makes you feel good, doesn't it.

i've been thinking

and so has he.

But while he's probably daydreaming about why his belly-button exists I've been thinking about all the comments on my birth post.

Thank you so much beautiful mothers. For sharing your birth experiences in this space. I expected more criticism but I was so utterly overwhelmed by the passion in your voices. How wonderful it is that you all want to share.

The language of birth is so powerful. I'll note here that becka a doula from Vancouver, Canada suggests we refer to cesareans as cesarean births. Using the phrase c-section makes it entirely medical and we should acknowledge that it is still a birth expereince for the mother and her child.

While the language of birthing remains fearful in many circles it is inspiring to know that there are women all over the world willing to share their sacred stories. However, I do believe that one of the major obstacles in changing this society of fear is silence.

I remember when Ché was only a few weeks old and I was in a room of new mothers at a local child health clinic. I was the only one who had a positive birth experience. And I didn't share my story because I didn't want to offend anyone. Because I didn't want the mothers who had a cesarean birth to feel like they had failed. And I didn't want the mothers who had agonising and fear-driven vaginal births to look at me like I was loopy. I was silenced because I didn't want to come across as the hippy-yoga-mum who loved her birth. Who felt like she could stand on the tallest mountain and confess her pride to everyone below.

Yes I roared throughout my labour. I opened my lungs, my mouth, my heart, my pelvis and my vagina and I didn't do it quietly. But it took me months after Ché's arrival to feel it was ok to share my story with women who didn't have the same experience. When I started teaching again I really felt that I was in the perfect position to change perceptions of birth. And that was when I really opened up and shared every moment of my journey.

It wasn't long after that I connected with pregnant women on an entirely different level. Where I could gently guide them through their pregnancy and encourage them to wrap their arms tight around labour - to embrace that wonderful rhythm and push their baby out into this world. And it was then that I received phone calls and emails describing 'the best expereinces of their lives'. A few of my students refused cesareans they were so determined. One student was crying to me on the phone because after 2 hours of pushing she was wheeled down to theatre to prep her for an emergency cesear. Despite the 13 people in the room and the constant advice of 'don't push' from the medical team she held tight to her midwifes hand and pushed her beautiful 9.5pound baby into this world. Through tears she told me that she was just so proud of herself. Later she told be that the obstetrician had never seen anything like it before - the sheer determination and power of a woman in control of her birth experience.

When I heard her story I cried too.

I will never again be silenced about my birth experience. Nor will I be ashamed about my opinion and beliefs.

When I took Ché to his last check-up at the child health clinic - the same place that I sat in silence 17 months ago, the early childhood nurse said to me: "I have to tell you Jodi. I have never in all my career seen so many happy mothers and so many calm and settled babies." At that point I wasn't really sure what she was referring to.

"...they all went to your yoga classes in their pregnancy. You're doing a great job."

I blushed. But it was then that I knew that all those positive stories were slowly but surely sinking in. Women were beginning to share, listen and experience for themselves. Just as it should be.

slightly chaotic

my life has been these past few weeks. Chaotic in a mind-frazzling way. Because I've felt a bit of weight on my shoulders from the deadline and my ears have been getting tired at the sounds of constant screaming and sobbing due to this. Combine the deadline and clingy bub together and there I have a pretty good explanation as to why journalism and mothering don't always mix.

Thank-you so much for all your comments re. my professional writing work. So sweet of you to care and offer advice. And it's so nice to know that there are a few more journalists/mothers/bloggers out there too.

Did I come to a conclusion? Well, no. Last week I was in the midst of writing for a big project that had a looming deadline and I couldn't pull out. So I let the washing and the dishes and the bed making and the whole house go while I typed frantically in the few spare hours when Ché slept. Amongst the stress and the tension I managed to complete the task and get positive feedback from my editor. I remembered how good it feels to complete a piece of writing and to 'hand it in'. It's also rewarding to see my name in print - but this job I've been offered means I'll be writing as a ghost most of the time (ie. writing under another name or writing for a company).

Sometimes it's hard to send your art into the world and not have your name on the tag.

It's also amazed me in the past few weeks how deeply connected I feel to Ché at the moment. Perhaps because he has reached another level of understanding where he talks and points and listens...I have trouble being away from him. He's such a joy to be around and I don't want to miss out on anything. And I know that this writing job will require my full attention. And I'm not sure I can give it that right now.

I'm still juggling the pros and cons in my head while listening to everything that Daniel has to say too. He always says the right thing - even if, at the time, I don't want to hear it. He's my realist, my perfectionist. He's a do-er and I'm a dreamer and together we're pretty good. I'm so thankful that he goes off to work each day so that I can be a stay-at-home-mum. I really am. I'm even more thankful when he walks in the door each afternoon and the three of us are together again.

And then I forget about the chaos and settle in to the comfiness of our family and I remember what a good number 3 really is. It's better than any sentence I've ever written - that's for sure.

the write word

It's been a while since I've sat down to write professionally. For the first time in my life I've been offered work from a professional writing company - run by three passionate journalists who believe in the power of their words. I feel honored to be among them (rephrase: below them) and I know they will teach me well. Such an opportunity.

And every moment that I sit down at my desk I stand up again because I feel guilty for leaving Ché with cute softies as companions. I'm finding it so difficult to explain to these writers that I can't just drop everything to do an interview or write a quick 400-word article. Sometimes it's hard to find the write words - to say out loud that my passion is in my mothering and not making money from my sentences.

The journalism world is a patriachal one. Still. There's power in a pen, you know. I've always steered clear of conceited men (and women) in the industry. Of power plays and cutting words. My reasoning? I don't want to spend my time surrounded by arrogance and feeling shit about myself.

Because it's true - my writing is my art. Draw a line through my words and I feel it. Deep. There's a big difference between constructive criticism and blatant distaste.

So now that I've got this job I wonder if I've got the fire, the drive, the unending desire to win. In journalism you win or you get treatment from a blood red pen.

Or do I teach yoga a few times a week, spend precious time playing, puttering, exploring, finding with Ché and write because I love it. My words are habit - they should never be a chore.

the long and the short of it

My hairdresser has been wanting to cut my locks for about a year now. And I finally decided a few weeks ago that it was high time that ponytail fell to the ground in one liberating snip. And so yesterday I sat in the chair watching my hair fall piece by piece. Floating towards the broom. And then I wondered why on earth I had waited so long. It feels so so good. There is a certain freedom that comes with a bob. I love it. Daniel's changed my name to Amelie. And I like that too.

frills

I do enjoy the light cotton of summer dresses.
I don't like my knees - I prefer frills.
I wonder if this mirror will ever get hung on the wall.
Today is our eighth day of rain.
I miss the sun.

to be completely honest

And honesty is a good thing, right? I received an email from a New Yorker today - a mum, yoga teacher and photographer. She reads this space often and asked me why I never really talk about the tribulations of motherhood. Is everything really so sunny in my part of the world?

Yes, sometimes it is. But sometimes it's damn hard too. Sometimes I'm completely overwhelmed by the sheer amount of washing, cleaning, cooking and chores that need to be done. Sometimes I just can't believe how quickly I turned from a single, carefree girl to a fiancee, muma, housewife, domestic goddess. Ha! It all happened really fast and I still feel like I'm catching up. I'm still learning. I'm getting into the habit of doing washing everyday to ensure it doesn't pile up around me. I'm learning how to run a house, to be a partner, and a mother, and to be myself too.

The word "reality" gets thrown around quite a bit here, in our house. Because I'm a dreamer and an idealist, my sense of reality is slightly skewed. D would argue that my reality doesn't exist. My world is a whimsical one - I like to be surrounded by beauty. But even I can accept that that isn't always possible. I still struggle with the age-old question that every mother asks herself...who am I? That little passport photo of me lives in Daniel's wallet. It was taken the first week we met. I was really young, I had graduated from uni, had started studying yoga, I had a fabulous wardrobe, beautiful friends...I lived the life of a carefree 22-year-old. I did ask for someone like D to come into my life and then he turned up and all of a sudden in an utter whirlwind of heady love I moved out of home, fell pregnant, got engaged, gave birth, fell into the beautiful haze of new motherhood. And when Che was about four months old I felt my feet on the ground. And I wondered who I was. Where did my body go? Where did my words go? What am I supposed to do now?

I still wonder how a day can go by so fast, how it can get to 10pm and I haven't read a page of a book. I always think about what I will be when I grow up.

I write here because it is an instant publication. Snippets of my little family to share with relatives and friends. Little did I know that I would connect with women across oceans and create a space to share, inspire and sometimes console. And so it is that this is the world we live in. A rather open one I think.

I could use this space to whinge, moan, complain about how tired I am, how I want just a little more time for me, but I'll leave all that to share with Daniel. Thanks baby. I doubt anyone would read this if I brought all my anguish here.

I wouldn't have all the happiness and joy without the sorrow and the hard work. Without the negatives there are no positives. There is balance in everything. Sure I feel sad that I'm not longer that girl in the photo but I made a child. A beautiful baby boy. And rather than carrying along with the slog of the every day I have chosen to wrap my arms tight around this new role and embrace everything it creates. The contagious giggles and the sleepless nights.

I still struggle with the little things too. I aim to simplify but I can't ignore my desire (translation - obsession) to have a wardrobe full of beautiful clothes. I find joy in a photo, a cup of tea, a sweet yoga practice...and Prada heels that would be oh so perfect for our wedding day. Perhaps it's the contradictions I find hardest to deal with.

Like everyone I long to just be. And one day, perhaps, I'll get there. But for now I write about my life, I dream of a cottage with a wrap-around verandah, I plan to finish a novel, teach more classes, have more babies.

And today I hope to pick up the toys, cook dinner, fold the washing, eat more watermelon, read Che a story, have another cup of tea and give D a kiss. And to be completely honest, I can't complain about that.

oh dear me

I don't think I'm alone when I say that I'm a little weary at the moment. Perhaps my reason is a little different - I'm not tired because of festivities or turkey-needs-to-be-cooked-stress. You see, my little chicken is turning out to be one of those lively spirits. Those children who people refer to as 'balls of energy'. He's a climber.


An explorer and a giggler with the stubbornness of his Dada and the determination of yours truly. Me oh my it is exhausting. He's a grazer too - that's right, he'll eat all day. Some bread, some cheese, some peaches and then some more please. Which means I'm preparing/cooking/serving food for most of the day. Don't get me wrong, I love feeding him with fresh food goodness but it is a bit of a shock to the system. He's grounding me, pulling me down from that cloud I like to float on. This is such uncommon ground for me and I'm taking a while to adjust. I'm being challenged but I'm learning.

He's a screamer, a squealer, a chatter and a giggler. Every sentence is a statement - he never questions. For good reason I am slightly concerned about future tantrums. Goodness gracious me. But let's not get ahead of ourselves.

Of course there is always balance in our day. However hard it is I always seem to get one of those cuddles with a pat on the back that make everything seem easy peasy. Thank goodness for the hugs, the open-mouth slobbery kisses and the cheekiness. I just have to get better at keeping a straight face when I'm trying to explain that what he is doing isn't nice. I always laugh in the most inappropriate circumstances.

rhythmic

I've been away. Not from home, but from this blog. A little break, a little breather. It was time to find some rhythm and now we're sailing rather smoothly.

I actually started by changing a few things about my evening. Before Che goes to bed we clean up his toys together. And before I go to bed I make sure the kitchen is spotless. As far as I'm concerned there's nothing worse than waking up to dirty dishes - a clean kitchen is a fresh start. Perhaps I really am heading towards domestic bliss?

On the food front there was one habit I had to kill. I'll admit that I'm slightly addicted to chocolate and if there's a block sitting next to my cup of tea, I'll get through it pretty easily. Although the taste was enjoyable (the guilt not so nice) I was waking up with a sugar hangover. True. Sleepy, lethargic, cranky - not the kind of Muma that I need to be. And so I've taken on the French approach - one square of quality chocolate a day (sometimes two) with my tea and I'm waking up much happier. Good start to the day.

And Che and I? We pitter and we patter and I'm pretty happy with how our week has been. We visited the Steiner playgroup down the road and me oh my it is a delight. Unfortunately we can't go till Che is two. I was slightly disappointed but I see it as a opportunity to find our own way together - and without wishing the days away we have something very special to look forward to next Spring.

We've been row-row-row your boating, sandcastle making, reading and gardening.


Not long ago it became pretty evident that Che has rhythm - he shakes his bum in time to the music, he beats his body to song. He's fascinated by sounds - give him some windchimes and he's happy for hours. And so everyday we make music with his mellow sounding drum, our Tibetan singing bowl, a tambourine, maracas and our voices. I have no music talent whatsoever but I do enjoy watching him have fun. Sometimes we do a little Kirtan (devotional chanting to music), sometimes we just make a whole lot of noise. I just have to convince him that high-pitched squeals are not music to anyone's ears. Oh my goodness, how my child can squeal!

...and the winner is...Christie from Pigeon Pair. A gorgeous 70s clothkit is coming your way!

daily meditation

The spring day
lingers
in the pools

haiku by Issa
Found in "today and today"

Since Year 4 poetry class I have always loved haiku. The simple rhythm three lines can create.

No rhyme, just flow. 5, 7, 5. Typically addressing a season, a reference to time in nature. Perhaps it was the beginning, that poetry class, of me and words. I'd rather write a letter than speak on the phone. With pen in hand I internalise and although there are times when it creates frustration...there is more joy than anger.

I calm when I watch the smooth, lyrical line of pen on paper.
You may calm with a needle and thread
Paintbrush and watercolour
Rolling pin and dough
Hammer and nail.

What is your daily meditation? What do you enjoy?

30 days of gratitude : 20

Very slowly, room-by-room I have Spring cleaned. I have aired and decluttered each space, packed winter clothes away and organised a council pick-up. I was expecting a lady in a green beret to turn up and rifle through the rubbish but only a boy arrived. He took the rusty bike and ran.

There have been many moments when I have asked myself if I really need it. What do I like about it? Do I even like it? When did I last wear it? As I decluttered I began to think about clutter. What is clutter? Apparently it's something you don't need, want or like.

I prefer Mirka Mora's description:

"Why do most people talk about clutter in a derogatory way?

In my case, I think clutter is the thread of my memory wanting to have its own continuity through familiar objects...

Some people are disturbed by the energy of the assemblage of things in my house. Some people bathe in it, of course, and some get puzzled. But I always hope that those who are not disturbed will go home and unleash all their hidden treasures from the cupboards and start to have a dialogue with their memories. It is life who demands this. We have to ponder so many things endlessly. C'est la force des choses - it is the power of things who makes us take note, stop or run."

Taken from "Love and Clutter"

I find it hard to leave a windowsill untouched. I love to be surrounded by beautiful things - many beautiful things.

It's true. As I move from room to room I glance at the objects around me and memories do come flooding back. I remember a trip to Venice, a friend, a different time to now. I have cleared and cleaned and now the clutter is in its place.

The collection of clutter continues to grow...gentle reminders of days, of people and of places.

paper + lavender

Sometimes fresh coloured paper and a bunch of lavender from Mum's garden can make a dull day seem so much brighter.