It was not my finest hour. Even with my calming Sunday night ritual, Monday unveiled herself to me a little too early this week. A pounding head and a washing mountain were desperately vying for my attention but it was a tent and the little girl carrying it that won out. Crispy grass in need of a mow, glaring sun and click together tent uprights that would simply not behave.
Much tsking and much wrangling. Then angry tears pricking my eyes and threatening to show themselves. Finally a crumpled tent thrown down in frustration and subsequent stomping off to the laundry. A spectacular display one could only describe as a tantrum.
And when all my demons gnashed their teeth at once; the stubbornness, the temper, the "woe is me" melodrama.....the student became the teacher. She followed me and cuddled my leg and whispered in my own words, "Take a big breath Mumma. Let's solve this problem together."
I held one side and she clicked in the other. She held the post while I tapped in the stake. And there it was - a tent, a girl and her boy, and one very humbled Mumma.
One of our all time favourite authors, Alison Lester has released a new book,Kissed by the Moon. It is as if she peeked into the dreams I have for my babies and wrote them all down in her beautiful words. Her illustrations as always are detailed and colourful, inspiring and magical. A must for under the Christmas tree this year.
Have you found a beautiful new children's book for your little ones? I'd love to hear.
Picture a cavernous space. Soaring ceilings and white on white walls where colour pops and stale imaginations are teased back into life. The School* - a place to create, to art make, to play. Where passionate teachers open doors to new crafts and revisit time honoured ones. Skills are dissected into more manageable tasks making them palatable to the very beginner and accomplished artisans alike. This creative juggernaut entices us back into a world where creating isn't self indulgent or frivolous, but a part of being human. With the divine Megan Morton at the helm one can be assured that each tiny detail will be beautifully thought out and a magnificent time is inevitable.
Come Saturday I will be drinking in all that is this creative world. Alongside my beautiful friend Em from little tienda I am so very excited to be teaching in this inspiring space. To celebrate Mexico and all its colour and exquisite handicrafts we will be hosting a Mexican Fiesta teaching traditional embroidery, Papel picado and paper flowers and feasting on an inspired and enticing lunch. Instagram friends from near and far will be gathering for anInstameet* also as the icing on the cake. It is sure to be a brilliant day and I so look forward to guiding beautiful souls to create with heart and hands.
* The School hosts so many inspiring and empowering workshops you simply must explore them. Perhaps Santa might pop one in your stocking this year and lead you on creative adventures in the new year.
* The Instameet will be held from 1-2 pm at The School, 85 Dunning Ave., Rosebery. It would be grand if you came and said hello!
He spied the poster a long time ago. Whilst sharing a milkshake at a favourite haunt and chatting about this and that his eyes narrowed in and his milk moustached mouth beamed, "Steam train Mumma!". It was scheduled for the day before his birthday and we couldn't think of a more fitting way to celebrate the adventure of his life.
With both sets of grandparents in tow we ran our hands over amber wood smoothed by time, wear and much careful polishing. We inhaled aged leather and coal smoke and caught the tail end of memories as they hung off curlicued brass and in the corners of pressed metal ceilings. Tales were told, eyes were widened and the corners of mouths were nearly always curled upwards. And amidst all the clickety clack and bustling chatter I watched him.
Eyes no longer blue like mine but green as sea glass like his Papa's. Hands still bearing the dimples and pudginess of the baby days yet facial features ever so slightly fining down. He was quiet and reserved as he often is in new spaces but his eyes danced each time the train tooted. I smiled inwardly at my naive pregnant self, the one who questioned whether it would be possible to love another baby as much as the one before. I recalled those early, gentle hours after his arrival when I held him close and we studied each other. "I'm rather smitten with you little man." I said as his soulful eyes searched mine. And with each day together I've continued to fall head over heels. His is a love of laughter, of kindness, of affection. It rolls like crystal rainforest creeks and bathes my weaknesses and follies; it refreshes. I am blessed to know him.