I have a Godson… Being a Godmother had always been on my 101 things I wanted to do… aaand then I was! My friend D was the crazy mama who put me in this much-coveted position. I share my Godmothering responsibilities with another school friend who lives in Melbs-town. I don’t think we’ve had to Godmother together much… ever, in fact!

Ah… end ramble.

So! Off to Tasmania I went to *finally* celebrate my Godson’s birthday with him – as he turned FOUR!

This is the wild rugged landscape that IS Tasmania.

I didn’t see much.

I cuddled lots, though (and that was the point).

I don’t share pictures of kids on my blog without permission… and I haven’t asked. So after that massive ramble about how important being a Godmother is to me, you’ll just have to take my word for it that my Godson is a cutie patootie, that we bonded and that he enjoyed turning 4. It’s all true, but yeah.

I will share this picture, though… of my Godson’s mama and I. ALL weekend we were like “let’s get a photo together… photo, photo, photo”, right? This was taken in the departures terminal as we are THAT organised. My camera recharger could not be found before I left Brisbane, so the camera constantly threatened to die… but we got one. D has officially been a part of my life for more than half of it.

And then, just as soon as I arrived, I left. Or so it felt. I’m going back, of course I am… Stitching, weaving, pulling together these relationships that stretch vast kilometres. It’s a patchwork quilt, but I do like sewing.

{My final view of Taswegia before the clouds took over}


You know what? Someone hasn’t been seen on here for a while!

The boy! Did I share the fact that boy is 8 now? Hecksies…

I tried taking photos of him this afternoon in order to send photos to his great-grandmother. This is what we got:


Not really great grandma friendly!

Nor is this one, but I love it anyway. He loves coming home from school and jumping on the trampoline with a fair few water bombs and balloons and getting horrendously wet….

We’ll have to try grandma photos another day….

The Pwincess

This is the little miss that I call “the pwincess”. This was taken 36 hours after she was born… I met her mama through this roller skating business – she’s one of my fresh meat sisters.

2 months later, the little pwincess got to watch her mama strap her skates on again and practice. Well, she would have, if she was awake!

I know they are remarkably similar photos… but I love them both, so, just bear with me.

I love squishy baby cuddles… especially when they’re not mine!





I am numb.

The shock of holding my 8 year old child in my arms is arresting.


He is not a little boy any longer, but on his way to being big. He is a child, still, with the trappings of a contemporary first world child around him. He has been plugged into his DS since yesterday afternoon thanks to the arrival of a game he has wanted for months. I have made him stay in bed, today. He’s got a cough and is sooky. “If you’re sick, you stay in bed.”

He acquiesced. He is sick.

I’ve hung out with him, pondering if the addition of another year actually makes a difference. It doesn’t, really. It just confirms this progression of time.


I am running out of times to pick him up and spin him, tickle him and blow raspberries on his tummy. I am running out of times that he will tell me he loves me in public. And times where he will hold my hand. Time seems… cruel.

Today, I hold him close and smell him. He smells. Kinda gross. But he’s him still.

I can see the shadow of the person he is growing into, his sense of humor is established. He is generous in his words and actions, most of the time. He still cries when things don’t go his way. He loves pokemon, lego, reading, maths, science and his pets.

I am trying to move on faster than him, so he doesn’t ever realise that I am sad, mournful almost, of letting my little boy go… and be grateful of the fact that he is here, in this moment, present. I am so, so, lucky.

Happy 8 years, dearest one.

(written on August 17. Photo taken September 10, Nikon D7000)

28 things I learned at 28

Tomorrow, I wake up 29. I don’t care about this number.
29 sounds glamorous, mysterious and magic.
In 2009, I did my 27 lessons I learned at 27.
They are still totally appropriate, but here are 28 more.
  1. That when you think your life is big, it gets bigger
  2. When you think you can love no more, that life finds a way to make your heart bigger
  3. Blending in is the devil
  4. There is no such thing as normal
  5. Letting go is hard
  6. Nothing happens without effort
  7. Wishing is giving control of your path to someone else
  8. Dust breeds dust bunnies
  9. Sometimes, the cat chooses you
  10. What has gone before, isn’t always the predictor for what comes next
  11. When things are hard, laugh. Enjoy the challenge.
  12. Running is a really, really, really good way for me to channel my anger
  13. I like exercise
  14. Roller Derby is a sport, not just spectacle
  15. Opting out is sometimes the opposite
  16. Courage comes in all shapes and sizes

  17. That being interested in everything is not a sign of failure
  18. I have a place in my family
  19. Friendships are not static
  20. People are not static
  21. There is a point in parenting where you see the future clearly (and it makes you teary to see it)
  22. Love does not come in one size
  23. Relationships are based on trust and communication
  24. Semantics are mildly important at times, deathly important at others andĀ irrelevantĀ at other times
  25. Time is precious
  26. Joy comes from within
  27. My favourite colour is not pink
  28. I am who I am, and I am truly okay with that.
Not as profound as last year, but some of these are very new. Embracing me, in all my crazy guises.

Holding On

It seems with the arrival of school holidays, somehow, incredibly, he has grown.

He is more than he was last week.

More bold, more brave, more silly, more tall, more talkative, more shy.


And I find myself almost desperate to hold onto his littleness.

{stop, little one, please stop}

Holding on and squeezing, almost suffocating him. {Is this what my parent’s felt?}

And letting go. Again and again.

To wherever life takes him.

{We’ll always find a way, little one, always}