under the weather

I think this is one of those posts that I'm writing more for me than for you. I'm writing it for future reference, as a record and to try and get it out of my head and into my computer. So please, feel free to skip this one, it's not going to be very exciting or uplifting. Hopefully I'll be back here later in the week with something a bit more fun.

So basically I've been feeling crappy for quite some time now. Crappy physically but not emotionally. About six or eight weeks ago, almost exactly a year to the date of my left breast saga, I got the same infection on the other side. This time it was quickly diagnosed and treated and within a few days of starting an antibiotic course it was history.

But I mustn't have started taking acidophilous in time because next thing I knew I had a rather itchy situation. Too much information? Sorry.

All of the above knocked me around a bit but after a few days I was back to running around like usual. Until one Saturday evening I discovered that everything I ate or drank tasted like poo. This went on for a few days resulting in a complete loss of appetite, many conversations about what poo actually tastes like, me having to convince the girls that I am definitely not pregnant, and of course lots of googling.

I think the poo-taste thing lasted for about two weeks and then gradually disappeared. Only to appear in the mouths of a couple of school parents who must have asked google much better questions, I know they used the words battery acid rather than poo, and discovered a little thing called pine-mouth. Pine mouth!!!!! After all that pesto I'd been making and all those pine nuts I'd been sneaking, of course it was.

The diagnosis brought relief but also the feeling that we have to stay truer to our only buy organic and Australian grown or don't buy it at all rule. Pesto filled with dodgy Chinese pine nuts? No thanks. From now on I think we'll use almonds.

After that was cleared up for some reason I stopped sleeping. For what felt like three years but was possibly only a week or two, I just stopped sleeping. At the start I didn't mind so much. The nights are so quiet and I got lots of reading and thinking and looking at Facebook done, but unfortunately the days after the nights spent awake were a disaster. I was fragile and impatient and shivery and felt like my brain was full of a ton of wool.

Are you sick of me yet? I am.

Then of course I got a shocking head cold that two weeks later I still haven't completely shaken. Blah!

Then not last Saturday but the Saturday before as we were doing the rounds visiting our bee hives, I was stung four times. This in itself is not such a big deal, we keep bees and occasionally we get stung. But the fact that I got stung in my suit is weird and has never happened before and also I had some sort of reaction to the bites that I've never had before. In the past they've stung for a few seconds, maybe a minute and then nothing for a few days until they've itched like crazy and then disappeared. This time my bites swelled up until they were enormous. The ones on my ankle were so big I couldn't put my shoe on and the one on my thigh was the size of a small plate. And they burned. The only thing that calmed them down was a bicarb paste. Gosh they were nasty. A week later and you can still see the shadow of them like they are bruises.

And lastly, gosh how I hope it's the last of it anyway, my old shoulder injury has flared up and is travelling right up my neck, into my teeth and all the way up to my head. What even??!! I'm having a treatment with my pilates teacher in the morning and I have a whole range of exercises to do, so I'm hopeful that this will be short lived.

I know they're all just little things and I'm trying to see the bigger picture and not let them get the better of me, but sometimes it's just trying. I accept that I'm run down and my immune is low but I can't work out the reason why. I live on an organic farm, my work is pretty active, I eat a fresh and organic diet, most of which we've grown here, and I love what I do, who I do it with and how we're doing it.

I hate to complain partly because I know there are so many who are doing it so much tougher and I hate to complain because I HATE BEING THE SICK ONE!!! It's driving me cuckoo. Like I said at the start, it's just boring.

Lucky I have the apple picking, the preserving, the farm stall, the girls, farmer Bren, my knitting, stripey tights, a big pot of lentil bolognaise on the stove, linen sheets on my bed, a great book, big travel plans and the kitchen garden to take my mind off it all.

I hope you are well and happy and have lots of nice things going on.

Big love xx

finding balance

Where to start?

I feel like I need to preface this post with to be honest, because although I like to think that I am always honest here, I am also aware that I like to have an undercurrent of gratefulness on my blog, because when all is said and done I do know how lucky I am to be living this life.

Ten minutes ago my farmer boy left with the girls to visit some friends. I am alone in my house for what feels like the first time in months. There is a possibility that I may have the next one to two hours to myself. Thank goodness. Big exhale.



To be honest I am struggling a bit at the moment. Although I am certainly and ridiculously grateful for my way of life, right now I feel overwhelmed by it. Right now my whole instagram feed is full of people on summer or winter vacations relaxing by the beach, reading in bed, knitting a few lazy rows over lunch, while our house, garden and farm to-do lists are so long that we had to slot bits of them into calendar days to try to even make sense of them all. Right now to combat the guilt of sitting here writing this blog, I'm interspersing each paragraph with a trip to the washing machine and washing line, or from the washing line to the girls' wardrobes. I feel less guilty and more productive this way.

Right now instead of doing this I could whipper snipper another few rows of the orchard in preparation for netting them this evening when it cools down, I could wheel hoe the market garden, plant some carrots, leeks, lettuce and parsley in the home garden, I could mow around the house, I could think about dinner, I could do some fire prevention, I could start trellising the beans and that's just the start and that's not even thinking about the housework or computer work. And that's when the girls aren't even here to tell me every detail of their dreams, ask me to braid their hair, watch their show, remind me that I still haven't taught them to sew, ask me to find their sandals, drop them at the pool, cut them another mango, help them with this, watch them do that and then that.

We had our three week holiday in winter, this is our busy season I hear us repeating to each other and the girls like a mantra.

And it's true. Winter is the slow season on our farm and now we are go, go, go. And that would probably be OK except that I feel like I'm not doing anything at all creative. Instead I'm being yanked through my days doing task after task after task. I feel completely out of balance. I often call our farm The Hungry Beast because of it's capacity to gobble money but it is also hungry for my time. Gobble, gobble, gobble.

It's possible that I always feel like this at the start of the summer holidays until I find my rhythm, but this year it's making me feel cranky and tired and unaccomplished and unmotivated. And I don't like feeling like this at all.

I know The only way to fix this is to do something for me, regularly. I need to make time for something creative so I can get back to feeling the love in the other, more demanding parts of my life.

So I've decided that in order to get through and on top of this I need to make some resolutions, change things up a bit for myself without putting more pressure on. So far I've come up with two things I'm going to put into place as soon as possible.

The first one is to blog. I really, really love this blog yet for some reason I never prioritise it. I find the photography and the writing so fulfilling yet it's always the first thing to go when I'm busy. Pretty silly hey! So my first resolution is to try to blog every, or almost every, day in January. Even if it's just a photo and a paragraph. I just know that I'll feel so much more creatively fulfilled if I stick to this plan.

I also feel like it would be really great for me to stretch myself and learn something new. To take something I love and push it further. So my second resolution is to do an online Lightroom course. So far I've been able to teach myself how to take photos for my blog and have been lucky over the years to have been published in some cool publications, but there's always been this point where I've hit a wall and haven't been able to progress with my skills any further. Hopefully this course will teach me about post production, about sorting and filing my photos and give me a bit more confidence with my photography. Maybe it'll even inspire me. It's online and I can do it in my own time, I'm really excited about it.

And you know what? I feel better already.


So anyway how are you going these last few December days?
Are you slowing down or speeding up?
Are you feeling creative, are you coping, are you feeling overwhelmed or calm as a cucumber?
What do you do when the world feels a little off balance?
Do tell.

LoveLoveLoveLove

xxxx

taking my own advice

I am so much better at giving advice than taking it. Are you the same? I wonder if you are.

For example if you came to me and we sat down and you spoke to me about how you were feeling a bit strung out lately, nothing major but a bit depleted and like you were on the verge of not being very well, I would encourage you to look after yourself. To do something completely and only for yourself. And if possible to make it a bit of a treat.

I might talk to you about what would make you feel better, maybe an afternoon nap, or a walk around the lake, or a maybe even a massage. Then I would speak to you about how my farmer boy always reminds me that the people giving the safety demonstration on aeroplanes always tell you that in case of emergency you must place your own oxygen mask on before helping your loved ones with theirs. How can we help others to breathe if we can't breathe ourselves? We are no good to anyone if we aren't feeling good ourselves. We must help ourselves, look inwards and value what it is that we need. And we must honour and trust that feeling and act on it.

Last week on that day that I gave myself permission to stop for a while, I realised that I wasn't feeling all that balanced. Generally my pattern is to go-go-go until I am exhausted and fall in a heap for a bit, but this time I felt like I recognised the signs before hand.

I felt like I was on the edge of something with two choices. I could move forward full steam ahead, ignoring the way I was feeling, getting things done and hope for the best. Hope that I could maintain the pace, stay well and look after my family well. The other choice was to recognise that I wasn't feeling strong and to do something about it before I got sick, or got myself into some sort of drama, or just felt terrible.

See, I would have told you to help yourself by looking after yourself, but I myself would usually push on through. Push it all aside and go and stack some wood or bake a cake or something.

But for some still unknown to me reason, this time I felt the deep need to be kind to myself. This time instead of pulling on my boots and getting back to it, I made an appointment to go and see my Chinese doctor Andrea first instead.

I have no idea why taking a step to looking after myself felt so emotional but it did. I cried when I admitted to myself what I was doing.

And as I sat in my appointment describing how I'd been feeling, it suddenly occurred to me how detached I am from my body. How I only really look after myself when things are actually wrong. And how after growing three babies and mothering them for 14 years, I feel depleted and in need of some nourishing myself.

As soon as I'd admitted all that I felt better. Stronger. More grounded. I know that I know exactly how to look after myself, I just have to remember to do it. And I must do it so I can get everything I have to get done-done and to give myself the best chance I can to avoid something like the left breast thing happening again.

So this week to look after myself I am going to aim to;

• Find a few minutes to be in complete silence without distractions for a few minutes a day.
• Get rid of the guilt associated with doing the things I love and scedule in some knitting/crochet/sewing time.
• Take the homeopathics and Chinese herbs that I should be taking, I always have such good intentions.
• Start the day with a glass of luke warm water with lemon, cinnamon and honey.
• Walk.
• Tune in with my body and get out of my head sometimes.

I'm going to try my very best.

I hope you have a gorgeous week.

Big love xx

all clear!

It's interesting to watch in retrospect how my 'the end of the world' changed as time went on.

At the start 'the end of the world' was literally, the end of my world. A few Saturday nights ago I believed I had advanced breast cancer and that I would die. I would fail at what my mum always says is the Mother's most important job - to stay alive. I would leave three motherless girls just as the big wide world was opening up to them, and my farmer boy, the love of my life. There were no words, just gut wrenching pain.

As the next few days passed my 'the end of the world' goal posts shifted as I read and heard more cancer survival stories. In my mind I started planning for a year, or years, of treatment. I would spend hours and days and weeks in hospital, I would be sick, I would be labelled, I would lose my hair, I would struggle and my family would struggle. I thought about it often, I listened to stories and watched others go through it and wondered how we would deal with it when and if our time had come.

As the week passed and we realised the lump was responding to the antibiotics and slowly shrinking, I allowed myself to hope for the best but kept myself in check. A few hours of normal life would go by and then I would remember that I might be standing there with a cancer inside me.

One evening I was in the shower washing myself when I ran my fingers across my breast and felt the lump and for a split second I panicked. I had forgotten everything and all those initial terrors pulsed through me. It was a strange relief to remember a second later that I had been there already and didn't have to go through it all from the beginning again.

Yesterday morning I woke up to the most brilliant sunshiny morning. The skies were clear blue, the girls were happy and chirpy on their ways to school and I felt strangely optimistic before what was going to be a long day of hospital sitting and testing.

On the drive to Ballarat I realised that in my heart I didn't believe I had cancer. I believed that by the end of the day I would be clear to go home and live the rest of my life. But then as we drove closer to the hospital it occurred to me that the goal posts had shifted yet again. They weren't really 'the end of the world' goal posts any more, but they were giving me a stomach ache and making me have no appetite and run to the toilet often.

I was no longer afraid of dying, now I was afraid of big needles being plunged into my breast to remove bits of the lump to analyse. Or I was afraid of being hooked up to another drip in my hand and being put under anesthetic and cut so the surgeon could remove the lump all together. I was worried about being admitted to the surgical ward, about being stuck in bed, about not being home when my girls got home from school, about not baking them muffins for their lunchboxes and about the stress on my beautiful boy. Or, I realised, I was worried about the results being inconclusive. About having to go home and continue on with this fear constantly at the back of all of our minds.

As I was sitting there waiting to be mammogramed and ultrasounded and poked and prodded I couldn't read or knit or focus on the facebook convo I was trying to have with my sister. I was completely and utterly aware that things were looking good and I knew that whatever the results were that we would deal with them, but I still felt nauseous.

First I saw the surgeon who was pleased with my progress.

Then I had a mammogram.

Then I had another mammogram to be certain they had covered every single angle.

Then I had an ultrasound.

Then the doctor came in and did the ultra sound himself to be certain they had covered every single angle.

Then I was told the words that I had been too scared to hope for, but was hoping for none-the-less, I was clear. I don't have cancer!! The lump was due to a mastitis and will gradually disappear over time.

My first thought was disbelief, then guilt, then happiness and then I raced to wipe that gooey stuff off my boobs and get my clothes on and find my farmer boy who had been moving the car. He cried.

I don't know why I am allowed to walk away from this so neatly and easily but I can promise you that I am not taking it lightly. Life can be upended in a second on a Saturday evening and I feel beyond lucky to be standing here, in the middle of my world with the luxury of hindsight and foresight. I feel like this is my 'get out of jail free' card. I feel like this experience is a responsibility.

And I feel for every single person out there who has had to deal with their own personal 'end of the world' scenario.

Big love to you all.
Now go and check your boobs.


xx

My 'what makes me happy' to-do list.

Hello day before summer and very last day of November!!

What a crazy time of year you are.

I don't know about you, but I'm finding my days are disappearing in a sea of pick ups and drop offs, final this and preparing for that, make lots of this and rehearse for that. There's costumes and projects, and food shares and transitions and meetings and excursions and parties and inspections and reports and dead-lines and concerts and dances and assemblies...and there are three, tired, fragile children.

Yesterday I drove in and out of town nine times!!!!

And so being the disorganised person that I am, I've often found myself feeling like I am drowning. Overwhelmed and out of control. And that all the stuff I love doing, the stuff that makes me-me, gets stuck right down the bottom of the list.

So this morning, when I stepped back into my house after the first drop off of the day, and I contemplated the mess that needed sorting out and the list of housey chores that needed attending to, I decided to make myself a what makes me happy to-do list.

On that list I wrote things that I love doing, but that aren't exactly priorities. My happy stuff. The stuff that makes me feel passionate and inspires me.

I'm hoping that having this list will keep me more focused and motivated and on task. If I hang and fold all the laundry, then maybe I can do something for a little while that I love, like crochet a coaster or plant out some of the basil.

Like make a new type of bread or sew a dress.

Like thin out the lettuces or sew some bunting.

Like soaking and blocking my just cast off cardigan.

Like taking photos and writing a blog...

And you know what? It might seem small but for now I feel like writing that list has made all the difference to my day. I feel like the shoulds will be more doable if there are some loves in amongst them.

Oh after a bit of contemplation, I just deleted all the games off my phone too. I reckon I could have crocheted an entire blanket in the time I've been wasting lately.

OK here I go, off to tackle the kitchen with my rewards well in sight.

I hope you have the most fabulous weekend.

But before you go, I'd love to know a few of the things that would make it onto your what makes me happy to-do list.

Bye! xx

the one where I was painted...x

I really, really, really do love blogging. I've been thinking a lot about it lately. How many amazing things have happened or are happening to me because I keep this online journal. I feel incredibly lucky, I do.

 I have had an outlet to catalogue my thoughts and photos and moments in time. I have received such fabulous feedback in the form of comments and emails and letters and in person. I have been inspired beyond belief. I have felt like part of a wonderful community. I have made the most wonderful friends some now in real life and many on screen. I have had my work featured on your blogs, in magazines and on websites. I have been given gorgeous presents and compliments. I have a journal of sorts of this period in our lives. I have felt connected and involved despite living rurally. And somehow I feel like my blog has really helped me define who I am as a person, as a mother, as a writer and as an organic farmer.

I know for certain that my life is better, fuller, more well rounded, since I have been blogging.

Blogging really is the most wonderful thing.

But one thing I NEVER EVER expected to come from writing my blog is to have been painted by a wonderful, talented artist.

A few weeks ago a gorgeous reader asked my permission to paint me and Miss Pepper from a few of the photos on my blog. I agreed and asked her to send me some photos of her paintings once she was done.

How good are they!!! She really got us don't you think. From the stripes, to the gum boots, to the crocheted collar she found on my ravelry project page and then made herself and added. Wow!

What a wonderful and unexpected gift.

Thank you SO MUCH for sending them to us Zannah!! We all really love them.

Do you write a blog?
Do you read blogs?
Do you feel like blogs have changed your life?
Do you adore Zannah's work as much as we do?
Do you know where we can buy a 12 year old, white or cream petti-skirt?

I hope your Monday is a funday peeps.

Lotsa love.

xx

blackberries and all...

One day last week I found myself in a taxi rushing through peak, city, lunch time traffic on the way to an appointment. Actually rushing is probably the wrong word to use because although I was in a rush to get there on time, the streets were crazy busy and we weren't going anywhere fast.

I felt good though, happy to have escaped the farm for a while.

But we were stuck in traffic, so we started chatting, the taxi driver and I.

He told me of his family back in India and of how poor his village was. He told me how he and his brother had come out here to Australia seven years ago to seek their fortune and how they had spent six of those seven years working in an Indian restaurant. And he told me of his dream to get out of the city, away from the traffic and the hustle and bustle and live a quiet life in the country.

And then he asked about my life. Where I live, what life was like here and what it was like to be an organic farmer. It sounds beautiful he told me. Like a wonderful life. Like an easy life. Is it?

And at that moment, sitting there in that taxi in my city clothes and city shoes, with people and cars and buildings all around me, my life back home looked pretty sweet.

For a second I forgot all about the constant irrigation issues, the squawking of the fire scanner on farmer Bren's tool belt, his stained and rough hands, the weeds, the endless to-do lists, the fire-prep, the little bits of black spot on the apples, the troublesome dog, my fear of snakes, the stink of the sea-weed spray and the foxes.

And instead I remembered the incredible beauty of our farm at the moment. The green and luscious look of the veggie garden, the tiny apples, and plums and quinces, the water lilies on the house dam, the sound of the banjo frogs, how happy the chooks look in the orchards, our amazing customers, the twilight walks, the taste of our certified organic freshly grown produce and how proud my farmer boy is of his compost.

And I told him that no, it isn't exactly an easy life but it sure is a beautiful one. One that we are very proud of and are grateful to be living.

And then I felt a bit desperate to get home. And I think he felt something similar because he asked me a lot of questions about the three Indian restaurants in our town.

I wonder if I'd recognise him if I saw him down the street one day.

It'd be nice to thank him for reminding me that there's no place like home, prickly, overgrown blackberry bushes and all. Gosh it is a wonderful life and we are so terribly lucky.

Are you having a lovely weekend?
Are you loving where you're living?
Sometimes do you need a stranger to remind you?
Me too.

I'm off to supervise Miss Indi's lava lamp making and then to check out the elevator being made by the others in the shed.

I hope you have the best week EVER!!

Bye. x

Following my Friday...

Most Fridays I have a chunk of time where I am all by myself. Alone! The girls are out and away, farmer Bren is off being a farmer somewhere and I have the house all to myself. It's quiet. I can think.

Sometimes I have something urgent to attend to and get stuck straight into it, but most Fridays when I come back home after drop off into a quiet house, I notice the luxury of a few hours of time stetching ahead of me. And that time feels like opportunities. It feel precious.

Time to spend as I choose. Time to think thoughts all the way through. Time to start, comtinue or finish things. And time to breath.

I love Fridays. I feel like they prepare me for the craziness of the weekend ahead and give me time to do what I want to do. Fridays feel like a luxury.

This morning after I came home and put the breakfast dishes away and a load of washing on, I walked around slowly contemplating my day. I could do so many things...

I could could attend to that pile of fabric scraps that have been calling out to me all week. I could draw a pattern on them, cut them out, and stitch them back together again into some bunting, or a quilt, or some curtains or a dress...

I could spend some time in the kitchen garden weeding and watering and thinning and planting....

I could sit down and knit a few rows of the second sleeve of my red cardi. I am so close to the end now and I just want to wear it...

I could plant some of these guys in the poly tunnel and some down in the market garden....

I could write. Oh I have so much I need to write...

I could rush around and vacuum and sweep and mop and launder my house and make it look all gorgeous and sparkly for the weekend.

Or I could make a cup of tea and stop for a while and smell the roses. Roses my gang gave me for mothers' day this year. Roses from rose bushes that are the only non edible, not useful, just pretty, things we have ever planted on our farm....

Or I could bake some bread...spelt and wholemeal and rye...maybe...

Or I could sit down and load some photos and write a blog about all the things I might do, I could do, I want to do...and then I can decide...

But whatever I choose to do I'd better get to it quickly because these monkeys of mine will be home with all their fun and chaos before I know it. My quiet Friday will be over for another week...

And as I am about to press publish I can hear my washing machine beeping at me telling me to hang out it's load. Maybe I'll just let my day lead me where ever it wants me to go...maybe...


Are you leading your day or are you following it around?
Are you sewing or cooking or cleaning or gardening?
What are you up to?
Are you happy?
Is the sun shinning over there?

I hope you have the most fabulous weekend.
Ours is a bit hectic but should be lots of fun.

See ya's! xx

Sweet dream. x

Last night I dreamt of a long table in a large warehouse type cafe.

I was sitting down one end of the table deep in conversation with my Indi. We were discussing life and feelings and age and opportunity. We were completely focused inwards on our little world not at all aware of the hustle and clutter of the rest of the cafe.

At some stage and for some reason I took a breath and looked up and noticed a couple opposite us with a tiny baby, maybe three days old. The father was holding the baby, his arms like a cocoon, and the mother was hunched over weeping into her coffee.

It was weird but I recognised those sobbing, shaking shoulders. I knew those big, fat, swollen tears falling onto her lap and I felt that overwhelmed, out of control, helpless feeling I knew she was feeling. Well.

It was like I was her again. The brand new first time Mum on the way home from hospital with our new baby who we were besotted with. I was deeply, madly in love with our new family but also overwhelmed with the enormity of it all. Everything was new. I was exhausted. I could almost feel my shoulders bobbing in time with her sobs.

And at the same time I was also still me. Me sitting there on the other side of the table with my almost twelve year old. My child who made me into a mother all those years ago and now sat with me on the verge of woman hood. My big girl who taught me almost everything I know about parenting and now hung out with me as friends. My angel who by chance and accident and luck and a whole lot of love is becoming someone I am so incredibly proud of.

And then all of a sudden the woman opposite stood up and fled the room. And he, so obviously torn between his adoration of the tiny package in his arms and the love of his life who he knew needed him now more than ever, stood up and froze for a second.

And then he handed the baby to me, looked at me with pleading desperate eyes, gushed that he'd be back in a sec and ran out after her.

And then it was me and Indi and the tiniest, most sweet smelling bundle of sleeping baby.

We sat there for a second, frozen. And then my Indi asked me what words I could tell them to comfort them? How could I make them see through the haze of hormones and breast milk and nappies and exhaustion? And we sat there for a while gazing at and breathing in that perfect bundle. I wondered what she was thinking while I was contemplating my words that would come across as comforting rather than advising.

After a few minutes they returned. They took their baby, apologised for their tears and drama and thanked us. They couldn't keep their eyes off their baby and really didn't look like they needed any help from me at all.

So I took a deep breath and thanked them for letting us cuddle their most gorgeous baby. And I told them that I had been where they were almost twelve years ago to the day. That I remembered all those feeling so well. And that it would get easier and then harder and then easier again as time went on and then one day they too would be sitting with a twelve year old. A girl they could barely believe was that tiny baby not so many years ago. And a girl they would be so super proud of, and so in awe of and so honoured to share in her journey.

And in my dream we all hugged like old friends. And then they walked out to start their new life as a family and we walked out a bit sad to leave that little baby bubble but excited about all the new opportunities waiting for us.


It's been ages since I've remembered so much of a dream and so much detail. This one has haunted me all morning. When I retold it to Indi on the way to school this morning she said she felt like crying. I'm still trying to work it all out. I'm pretty sure it's about letting go and accepting and looking forward. I think it was a bit of a gift.

Are you a dreamer?
A remember-er?
An interpreter?

Oh and that photo at the top? A few weeks ago I went to the wonderful Beci Orpin's book launch and was lucky enough to get a show bag full of goodies to take home. In amongst the candle and notebook and hand cream and stuff were three gorgeous gorman place mats.

And while I am a lover of beautiful home wares, place mats which collect dropped food and then just have to be washed seem a bit silly to me.

So I turned the spotty one into a skirt.

I think the other two will become bits of clothing before too long too.

Such fun and perfectly springly teamed with a pair of OK OK tights don't you think.

Sweet dreams.
Bye! xx

Bring on October.

Welcome October! Cock-a-doodle-doo!!!!!!!

Oh how thrilled I am to see you. And to be honest, oh how thrilled I am to see the back of September too.

September was sometimes wonderful but sometimes incredibly difficult also. I learnt some hard lessons and shed a few too many tears. September on a whole didn't really turn out how I'd hoped it would.

But October is onwards and upwards for me. October is the start of birthday season in our family. October is the start of some real, true spring weather and in October I will be wiser as I have learnt lots from September.

Most of what September taught me I knew but needed reminding and some I learnt from scratch;

That it is not what happens to me that is important, it is how I deal with it.
That sometimes direct confrontation is hard for me but mostly has great results.
That some people will not change no matter how much I hope they will.
That no matter how quiet a life I think I am living, sometimes shit happens.
That falling off the menu planning wagon is stupid and hard.
That parenting an adolescent is about picking my battles.
That my best therapy is farm work.
That I really do know who my true friends are.
That although I think it will always hurt, I am done with babies.
That bad situations often bring people closer together and that's super nice.
That with my crew beside me, I will be ok.

So I welcome you October with open arms. You are going to be mostly ace, I hope.

Big love to you guys too.
Did September teach you any important life lessons?
Have you got exciting October plans?

I hope your October is awesome!!

I lost a game of yardage chicken with my poncho last night eight rows before the end. I'm off to try to convince my girls to take a little road trip to Bendigo Woollen Mills this morning to replenish. Wish me luck.

Let the October adventures begin. x