Holding hands: is the front hand leading? protecting?

I've often noticed that I hold my kids' hands with my hand at the front and theirs at the back, like I'm leading them around; but I hold my husband's hand the other way around - like he's leading me. What's that about? I hardly think he's the boss - we never negotiated that! The particularly curious thing is that, when I brought it up we tried holding hands the other way around it just felt wrong.

We never had to work out the hand-holding rule at the beginning of our relationship. And, I've checked out lots of other hand-holding dynamics and it's pretty much always guy in front and parent in front. So it must be a guy-girl thing? A protection thing? Maybe it's one of the last remaining acts of chivalry.

Anyway, that's all from me. Just noticed it, thought it was worth, you know, saying. Check out any celeb mags, people in the street and you'll probably notice it too - maybe you already have.

A box crocodile beats laundry because I listened to Galadriel and not Woody Allen

I've been feeling my life is a little over-stuffed lately and the seams have been starting to split. Pretty much every mum I know is over-burdened. So, is this just a malaise of the times? Should we just keep going, gritting our teeth and bearing it? I don't like that idea. I want to say stop, I want to step into this crazy cycle and slow things down, rip out some of the overstuffing and set it free.

So, yesterday, instead of doing laundry and other boring busy never-ending chores, Rory and I made a crocodile out of boxes. And I feel like shouting about it from the hilltops, because making a box crocodile was exactly what I needed to do. It was the perfect antidote to busy busy life and I thoroughly recommend it. Just as I was wondering how to deal with such a request, the universe conspired and my wonderful friend and neighbour offered us boxes and foam bits that proved to be perfect. We tied a string to the jaws so they even snap! Proud I am, and I don't mind saying it.

The plan (in Rory's mind) is to take box crocodile to Africa sneak up on real crocodiles. Oh to be 5 again.

The reason this box crocodile is quite a significant thing to me is because, like many, I tend to listen to my neurotic worrier voice (which sounds like Woody Allen). This voice tells me that you only have good things in your life if you stretch yourself to do more and do better.

But, thankfully, yesterday my calming inner voice (which to me sounds like Cate Blanchett as Galadriel) made herself heard. She told me that maybe I'm so busy doing it all that I don't even notice the 'good things'. They're here all along, jumping up and down asking to be noticed.

Wouldn't it be great if Galadriel could get a little more emphatic and give Woody Allen the old heave ho? But alas, Galadriel is a lover, not a fighter. She waits for a break in the noise and is often drowned out 

So it's up to me to step into my own noisy head and listen to the calm. To create space. To choose box crocodiles over laundry. And now I know the value of a box crocodile. As I type, the kids are occupied - putting 'baby crocs' in the mother croc's jaws so she can carry them around - 'just like in the wild' (with zoologists as parents, that's what you get). And now I have time to write. Ahh, Galadriel, how right you are.

The glory of a teapot

I hereby publicly confess to a special affection for teapots. I love that they are all different - in size, shape, colour and pattern. And tea cosies! Oh my, hand-knitted jumpers to keep the tea warm - my vote for best ever invention.

And while teapots (and especially be-cosied teapots) get me all jollied up, there's more to it than just the love one feels for a pretty cool thing. My cockles are especially warmed by what teapots represent. A teapot means taking a break. And tea made in a pot is usually too much for one person. So a teapot is for sitting down, stopping being busy, sharing a cup of delicious aromatic tea, and having a chat. What better thing is there in life than a chat over a teapot?

For me the quiet-time-space begins with a tea-making ritual. Mine goes like this: boil the kettle. Warm the teapot with the boiling water, discard. Add tea leaves. Pour over just-boiling water and steep the tea for three minutes. I'm a milk-in-the-cup-first girl. June Dally-Watkins may have tought me a few things useful in life (and some less useful - another story), but surprisingly didn't touch on whether milk should go in first. I'm fairly sure the Queen would be a milk-in-the-cup-last-girl.

I find tea is especially special if enjoyed from dainty little flowery teacups and saucers. So indulgent, so calming, so CWA.

And I would confidently argue that the taste of pot tea - i.e. leaf tea - is a world away from the taste of tea bag tea and completely worth the little extra effort. I admit to being a little bit of a tea snob, but I wouldn't go so far as to refuse to drink tea bag tea.

One thing I would like to say about tea is that I find it almost undrinkable if made from overboiled urn water - the kind you find in an office where the water boils over and over again, all day long. If you're interested, the scientific explanation of this is that the urn boils all the oxygen out of the water, and tea needs oxygen to infuse.

And this week, so enamoured am I with teapots and their zen-inducing calm space, I have created the hanging garden of teapot on my back deck. Second-hand or chipped teapots have been given a new lease on life, growing lovely herbs and hanging plants. The handles make for easy hanging and the spout allows perfect drainage.

Bring me your broken teapots, your old and unloved or forgotten teapots. I will rejeuvenate them, love them, celebrate them. The glory of a teapot knows no ends. Praise be to the teapot.





The unexpected

I love this little poem / prayer from my ole mate Michael Leunig:

God give us rain when we expect sun.
Give us music when we expect trouble.
Give us tears when we expect breakfast.
Give us dreams when we expect a storm.
Give us a stray dog when we expect congratulations.
God play with us, turn us sideways and around.

Amen

 

Now don't get me wrong, I like sun more than rain (who doesn't?). But sometimes we don't realise how much we need rain; or we just need something different, something we weren't expecting. To me this poem is all about shaking things up a little (or a lot) every now and then. Not always, of course - too much shaking is bound to lead to sea-sickness. But a little bounce around the sink of life can surely be fun. We can plan our lives, set out with expectations about how the day will be, the week, month or year. But it's how we deal with the things we don't plan that really gives us that zing that we're alive.

So whether the surprise is something joyful, or just something you weren't predicting or planning, I say at the very least, just notice it. That's often enough. Or just maybe you might enjoy it.

 



In praise of Leunig

There's something about Michael Leunig, cartoonist extraordinaire, that I think is almost god-like. It's his whimsy, for sure, but also the insights he shares into the simple (but important) things in life. We often forget to notice simple things, but Leunig notices, and shares. For that I always seek out his wisdom, or it finds its way to me.

Leunig's biography tells of his education coming from not just a school, but also 'various factory gates, street corners, kitchen tables, paddocks, rubbish tips, quarries, loopholes, puddles and abattoirs in Melbourne’s industrial Western suburbs'. I love the wisdom found in a puddle. And a loophole.

If I were to list my childhood education in this way I'd include insights I've gained whilst floating around on pool lounges; looking into the big brown eyes of my labradore-kelpie; hanging out smoking in kmart cafeterias; shivering whilst waiting for the ball to come down to the shooters' end of a cold netball court; watching my dad sling a billy of tea around in a big loopy circle; and observing the homeless woman (known locally as 'Juicy Lucy') with trepidation and fear at the Parramatta train station bus stop.

These things we do, all of them, they shape us, they contribute to all that we are today. Especially the ones that zing us with living (and I'm pretty sure don't come from looking into a TV screen). These are the scarey things, the lonely things, the naughty things, the brave things. Leunig knows this and his magic pencils bring it to us.

As an ode to Leunig, I want to share a few of my favourites:

I'd also like to admit I don't know what the rules are with reproducing Leunig's work here. They are Leunig's works, his copyright and his IP. They are from his heart and have touched mine. I hope that sharing the love fills in any gaps in my knowledge of blog-cartoon-sharing-rules.

And if any one is interested in more Leunig, please do go to Michael Leunig's official website: http://www.leunig.com.au/

A wise old owl

A wise old owl sat in an oak.

The more he heard, the less he spoke.

The less he spoke, the more he heard.

The wise old owl was a wise old bird.

 

(I don't know who wrote this little verse, it wasn't me, but I think it's worth sharing)

Note to self: you will NEVER be this young again

Today is my husband's 40th birthday and it's got me thinking about age. Even though 40 seems like such a big number (and I was 40 a couple of years back now), this day, today, I realised that I am younger than I will ever be again.

It seems obvious, right? But I'm sure it's something we forget in our day-to-day scrabble through the density of life. 

I tend to look in the mirror nowadays and wonder who is this middle-aged woman looking back, especially because I feel the same inside as I've felt for 20-odd years.

But it's dawned on me that some day in the future I will look back at the photos of myself now, and probably notice how young and fresh-faced I was 'back then'. Haven't you done that with photos of your parents, or your grand-parents? 

I am at a line in the sand that I will never come back to. So I just wanted to say to any of you out there who, like me, have despaired when looking in the mirror: youth (and beauty) is all relative,and completely subject to reinterpretation in hindsight.

 So smile and enjoy now. Because you're worth it.