sweet dreams

Dear Olive,
I really don't know what to say here. Because how could I use mere words to describe the loss of someones child? With heavy hearts, we travelled up to the central coast to go to Banjo's 'life party' last week. Watching Mic and Jilly and the kids carry in Banjo in his 'time machine' was one of the most unbearably heartbreaking things I've ever seen. Somehow, though, they have met this terrible tragedy with grace and dignity, which has been so inspiring to everyone around them. They've chosen to focus on love, and I hope they feel the outpouring of it that is coming to them from so many. It was such a present force in the room that day; amidst all the tears, there was such love. I'll be holding them all in my hearts for a long time to come. 
Without a second thought, they donated Banj's organs, which I thought was a magnificent and courageous decision. The tragic loss of Banjo then meant the gift of life to five young kids. If you're in Australia, and you would like to be an organ donor, the best thing you can do is register your wishes on the The Donor Register so in the event of an accident, your family can feel secure that their decision was also yours.
Sweet dreams, Banj. Live on in happiness.

for banjo

Dear Olive,
It's impossible for me to think of anything else except my cousins ten year old son, Banjo. He was hit by a car two days ago and is in hospital, hanging on to life with the help of a machine. His family, and mine, are asking for prayers; if you have a God, or some kind of caretaker of the universe, would you ask him or her to send their bright shiny little one back to them? Surely it can't be his time to go.

december

Dear Olive,
There's so very much to catch up on. And seeing as I can barely remember what I did last weekend, let alone last year, I'll let these photos do the talking.

CC learnt to crawl. (Although that would have been back in November? He was only six months old. This past week he's been taking a few steps!) 

Apropos the crawling, his knees got a lot dirtier.

You "graduated" preschool. It was pretty emotional - for both of us. (CC learnt to clap just in time, each time about two minutes after everyone else had stopped.)

We put a Christmas tree up - our first ever. It was so exciting for you - you were at bursting point for days. The day after we put it up, you and Shane and I were in the bedroom and heard the sound of hundreds of baubles bouncing and smashing, and the sound of crying ... we ran out to find CC stuck in a tangled mess of branches, ornaments and christmas lights. He'd pulled the entire tree down on top of himself. It was a Christmas disaster scene! He was fine, although he got such a fright he learnt his lesson and didn't do it again. Plus, Shane got to dress the tree again and it looked better the second time round, so really the whole thing worked out for everyone.

We travelled up to my Dads for Christmas with my family. It was the first Christmas that you've been really and truly into it - you could barely get to sleep on christmas eve and then you were up before the crack of dawn on christmas morning to see if Santa had been. He had!

Papa, and all his Grandkids.

Our first Christmas as a family of four. The kids just love it when we get our photo taken and Mum and Dad kiss.

I would love to be able to include photos from a super fun getaway with a bunch of mates over New Years, but both Shane and I got sick and we had to stay on at my Dads for an extra week. It was the most miserable way to welcome in a new year; with matching fevers. (And I most sincerely hope it is not at all indicative of our year to come.)

And that's about it, I think .... hopefully that brings us back to regular programming from now on, folks!

Welcome to the family

Dear Olive,
Easter weekend became pretty special for us when Clancy Cash swam into our world in the wee hours of good friday. We're exhausted, and there's vomit and breastmilk on everything, but we're madly, madly in love. We're a family of four and it feels so right.

3 + 1

Dear Olive,
We have some pretty amazing news to share. Come April next year, we will no longer be a family of 3, but a family of 4! We couldn't be more excited. (Actually, we're quite a bit terrified too, but definitely mostly excited.) I'm 15 weeks pregnant, and feeling extremely grateful and lucky to have the chance to be a mother to another little person. (I tried to keep this gratefulness in mid as I vomited behind my car in an indoor car park earlier this week.) I feel pretty happy and secure going through pregnancy for a second time. My first pregnancy was lovely because it resulted in you, but it was also filled with many struggles and anxieties, anxieties that I'm just not feeling much of this time around. We are going through the same birth centre, we have the same amazing midwife, and I feel so much confidence in the whole process, and in my body. But telling you and sharing in your joy has been, by far, THE most amazing thing for Shane and I. You are literally beside yourself with excitement to be a big sister (finally!). Something tells me you're going to make a pretty great one.

Mini Break

Dear Olive,
This week, you and I took the last opportunity we'd have for a while, to get away for a few days with my family. Dewy mornings on the swing, ridiculously sunny days spent outdoors, lots of time with cousins - there was a ton of fun to be had and of course it went by in a flash. You desperately didn't want to come home. In a way, neither did I. I start my full-time-for-four-months job on Monday, and I'm not sure how much I'll be around this space for the next little while. I still can't yet get my head around how we're going to do it - run a household, and organise you, with Shane and I both working what will presumably be mega hours. But mostly, I'm just worried about how much I'm going to miss you! I've been embarrassingly teary today, and I kept you home from kindy to have just one last lovely day together. And yet, at the same time, I'm rather looking forward to this job. I think it's going to be a good one for me. Ah, the never ending push pull of motherhood. Will I ever get used to it?

Summer Holiday

Dear Olive,
Summer holidays on the mid-North Coast. Mornings at the beach, river picnic lunches, lazy afternoons of reading and cricket watching, and far, far too much food and drink. Clothes (for the kids, anyway), were always optional; hanging with your cousins was not. There was much paddling pool action, painting, and (with four girls in the house) plenty of fairy dresses. As someone who doesn't particularly like the heat, I'm really growing to love summer holidays in this country*. Lots of long, slow, sandy days that meld into one another in a delightful way. In an act of stupidity for which I only have myself to blame, I lost nearly all of my photos (I'm really having no luck with technology lately - and I SWEAR the ones I lost were truly amazing and far more interesting than these), but here is a small collection from the ones I have.

* I'm acutely aware of how many people are struggling thanks to the extreme conditions of our summer, and my heart goes out to them. It is not without gratitude and a sense of luck that I appreciate our whimsical and carefree summer holidays.

Muttonbird Island

Dear Olive,

Almost every morning, my Dad takes the walk up muttonbird island. It's a steep, tiny hill of an island connected to the mainland by a breakwall and it's become somewhat of a tradition for him (as it was for my Mum), and a few of his mates. They meet down there at 6.45 sharp and set off (if you're not on time, you'd better be prepared to run). And if you're visiting Dad, you’re hard pressed to get out of climbing muttonbird too. Pre-grandchildren, Dad used to run up and down the hall, clapping his hands to get everyone in the house up - thank goodness he had the good sense to put that to bed (ha!) since the appearance of all the babes. But he still does his best (with a far more sensible knock on the bedroom door) to get everyone to join him. Sleepless newborns, swollen glands, torrential rain, hangovers, only having packed thongs. None are considered passable excuses to get out of the morning walk, or so we've all discovered over the years. So, despite the rain, and the cold, and the wild seas; off we set. It’s always worth it when you get there, though, the views and the clifftops, the fresh sea air and the sense of utter peace, are really very special. Strangely enough (and even though I’m not sure I really believe in an afterlife), the top of muttonbird is the only place I’ve ever really thought I’ve felt the presence of my Mum. Just the once. The sun came through the clouds and I felt her arms around me. 
And although I would love to show you the views, on this time we didn't make it up. Halfway along the breakwall, the weather turned, and so did we; directly back to the cafe. Such a shame. Our consolation prize was one of the biggest, fullest, glowing-est rainbows I've ever seen.

Cousins & Butterflies

Dear Olive,

In spite of the fact that it has.not.stopped.raining.for.one.single.moment, we’ve been having the most unreal week visiting my family in Coffs. It’s been quite unexpectedly fun to go away just the two of us*. We caught the plane up - the lowlight of which was you vomiting, the highlight of which was you getting it in the bag. LEGEND. You had the most glorious, heart warming, cuddle fest reunion with Roxy, and the two of you have not stopped grinning since. It amazes me, that after not seeing each other for six months, the connection between you is as strong as ever. Cousin love, so sweet. These photos were taken at the local butterfly house (where the humidity gave us it's own version of a vaseline lens). It’s amazing what touristy things you can find in your home town when it’s raining.

*The flipside of that is poor Shane is ever so lonely in Sydney without us (mostly you). And unwell to boot. Poor man.