a letter to Grace

 

 

  

 

 

 

Dear Grace,

It seems like only yesterday that to came into this world. With round, soft cheeks and dark brown eyes, you looked back at me in a way that gave me goosebumps. It was as though you had been here before. Even though everyone told me to sleep when you did, how could I? I had to stare at you, watch your tiny chest rise and fall, watch all that newborn goodness that I knew in my heart would be fleeting and gone before I knew it. Today is your 8th birthday. Of the 2816 days you have been on this earth, there are only few that I can account for... For the days blur into weeks, weeks into months and months into years.

At 1 you would potter around, picking up this and that, happy to be by yourself and follow me around - a book in one hand, Ruby in the other.

At 2 you would talk to the family in a language foreign to us, but you seemed quite positive that we understood you the way you would use your hands and eyebrows to express yourself. You were gentle with Tom, he loved and adored you. We moved out on our own, just you, Tom and I. I was amazed at your resilience.

At 3 your vocabulary had become so extensive that we would have great little conversations together, tea parties and book time. I'd let you be the 'hair-desser', and although it was a painful experience for me, you'd have a great old time putting my hair in knots. Bless.

At 4 the stuborness and intelliegence that is so prevalent today began to unfold. Hand on hips, pouted lips, that was you in a nutshell. Still so beautiful none the less, sometimes I had to laugh at your temper tantrums. Trying to juggle uni, work and two small babies, you were never difficult for me, I loved coming home to your open arms.

At 5 you sure developed into your own little person. There was no one like you. Campassion and determination were traits that had come into play. You had a beautiful smile, with a gap between your two front teeth. Your hair was fine, but there was lots of it. Soft, mousey brown and always wild in the morning. We bought our first house and you start calling me Mum instead of Mummy.

At 6 you had well and truly settled into school. You would sit at the front of the class, and read aloud a book that your friends had chosen. Your teacher told me that they loved you reading to them. You would come home from school, full of stories about your day. Half eaten lunch remained in your lunchbox, vegemite still on your face. Birthday invitations were never in shortage. You took the top bunk because you weren't scared. You went to bed at 7.45pm, "because you're one year older than Tom".

At 7 you told me I was your best friend. You told me that no matter where we lived, you would always love me. You wrote me books, left me letters. You would play outside, never with shoes on unless I reminded you 6 times. You hated vegetables, but lollies? Never a problem. You grinned that cheeky grin that sent the tooth fairy broke. You still had tantrums. Still carry a book in one hand, Ruby in the other.

At 8 I cant wait to see what unfolds. The girl you are growing into makes me proud and let's me know that I must be doing something right in this world.

I love you.

Love Mummy. xx

39/52

Tom: He had the biggest day, helping us with painting our home and in return got a trip to the skate park - this is the face of one tired boy
Grace: At first she was nervous, but was soon zipping over the concrete hills and between graffiti


We have been MIA the past few weeks. Now the warmer weather is here, it means we can start working outdoors on our house again. She has gone from a dirty mustard yellow to a cool clean grey with white trimmings. Our little helpers loved getting behind the rollers, on the proviso that a trip to the skate park was guaranteed at the end of the day.

the white azalea

 

 My ode to Spring 2013. A little girl in her favourite chambray dress, golden hair askew. She softly hums a made-up tune, in her own little world. She picks the delicate, cool white petals, and makes a collection in her palms until they swell with her yield. She throws them high into the air, squeals with delight and repeats the process.

Simple pleasures. The girl in my heart, living up to her name-sake. 

My Grace.

36/52

Grace: She has a bad habit - biting her nails - something I did as a young girl. Idiosyncrasies we pass onto our children
Tom: He loves our coffee dates, always scooping the chocolate off the top of MY coffee

We welcomed Spring this week. Enveloping us with sunshine and scents of jasmine whisping past our noses as we step outside, bare feet come out to play and the sounds of laughter in the back yard leaves me feeling happy.

35/52

Tom: Winding down after school, he was begging me to join him and cloud gaze

Grace: My first-born; she smelt like vanilla and pomegranate after her shower - I could have eaten her up

I missed their little faces this week. Bless them x

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Playing along with Jodi - "A portrait of my children once a week, every week, in 2013"

hues of blue

A recent trip to Manly - the still blue sea and smell of spring in the air made me feel humbled and grateful.

I have felt overstretched as of late. Attempting to renovate our first home (doing all those tedious tasks that no one notices), navigating through the school term with birthday parties, excursions and homework in conjunction with working shift work in a demanding career. In our home, bedrooms are laden with clean clothes that haven't found their way to the drawers, there is an opshop pile that has been sitting at the front door for months.  My car is filled with crumbs, toys, goosebump books and other tiny people paraphernalia.  Food is in the fridge that should have been thrown out last week. Last week, the toilet started to constantly run. An accumulation of everyday life that has left me looking in the mirror thinking "you can do it Ali! Or can you?". 

I find it very easy to feel overwhelmed. Living 35 minutes out of town has proved to have it's benefits - my thinking, organising and planning time happens in my little fiesta. Driving home at 11.30pm last night, I thought about my home. Then I thought again. Differently. I am lucky that I have a home to go to, with children fast asleep, dreaming about those excursions. I am grateful that I have clean clothes to be able to wear. I am incredibly proud of myself for slogging my guts out as a single mum to graduation with a distinction and have the career that pays for my little home that I am renovating with my best friend.

It is easy to slip into the hues of blue. I have been there before. But changing the way I think, changing my prospective, has opened my life up to a happiness and fulfilment that only happens when you slow down, stop and re-calibrate. 

diary of a wedding cake

 

 

There are just so many people out there in this world with hidden talents. Jen is one of them. She has a love of baking and decorating, and these loves have fused together into one big strawberry-vanilla fondant wrapped piece of art. A work friend asked her if she would put together a wedding cake, and I dare say that this will be the first of many beautiful culinary delights.

We drove to North Sydney today to deliver the cake to Athol Park, which overlooks the harbour, right next to Taronga Zoo. Our first stop was to the whimsical Engadine Florist, where the beautiful Hannah helped us to pick out the blooms to decorate the cake with. Soft pinks and whites, a hint of green. Flowers = tick!

I'm so proud of you, Jen! I dont know what all those nerves where about this morning!