month of beauty: down time

After a busy, busy week,

today my girl and I stayed in our jammies the entire day.

My husband napped after lunch,

and my boy read for hours in bed!

Cats were cuddled,

and a house was s l o w l y worked on (doing the last fiddly bits of our major re-organise. Finding a spot for a single piece of paper takes way longer than putting together an IKEA shelf. This is not an opinion—it is scientific fact!).

Apple banana porridge was yummed up for breakfast,

and a roasted pumpkin and spinach risotto was slowly concocted for dinner (imagine the smell of roasted garlic wafting up your nostrils right about now).


The day wasn't all lazy—my girl researched and wrote some of an essay that's due this weekend, for her "job" as a Young Editor for Youngzine. It's hard work, and she's a trooper for sticking it out. I'm pretty sure she's the youngest of all the kids in the Young Editors program, and I'm really, really proud of her.


Then there was clay modelling

while I read the news…

(and my thoughts go out, to those struggling to find peace today).


And there was more reading and playing and watching G-Force and kids being kids and grown-ups taking some much needed down time…

and

Instagram was discovered.

taken by my girl

taken by my girl

another corner done!

note to self: don't do 70's effect on risotto ever again.
Not sure people can handle all that yellow :)

I hope wherever you are,

you feel the peace I'm sending out,

with love,

with love. 

month of beauty: what you have

If you dwell on what isn't, you miss what is.

If you wish for things to be different, you don't get to live the way things are.

If you think of what you don't have, you don't see what's right in front of you, in your lap, in your arms, before your very eyes.

I have spent too many moments, not seeing, not living. Missing what is.

Fearing the future and regretting the past. Wishing for things to be different. Stuck somewhere in a kind of floaty space—a constant looking back, looking forward.

So many hours unable to enjoy my Present. 

I couldn't accept my present when it wasn't perfect, 

and when it was, 

I wished my present would never end. 

And as for the past and the future, they lurked like great hulking bodyguards, making holes in joy.

Ah. It has been exhausting.

But I can feel a great movement inside me now. A great dancing change, 

growing, 

busting out like butterflies.

I've been happy before, but with it has come a tangled sadness that the happiness will end.

I've been sad before. And felt certain the sadness would always stay.

Now, more and more, and more and more,

I am just living. 

When a beautiful day comes, I don't hurt with trying to hold it, pin it down so it lasts forever.

When a sorrowful day comes, I feel it, then let it go.

When a day like today happens, I build sandcastles with teenagers and make plans with homeschool parents and I feel the wind bite and I notice how the children are scattered to the four winds, playing. 

I notice how happy—wildly, glowingly happy—my kids are.

I notice that I don't feel the cold as much as I used to.

I notice that I'm doing a lot of talking, a lot of smiling.

I notice how much I love being around young people; how funny and interesting they are.

I notice that I'm making a lot of new plans, coming up with a lot of new ideas.

I notice that I'm not invested in or attached to how the day will turn out. 

I am letting it just Be.

I notice that the day is flowing. The sea moves in and out. The wind grips. The children laugh and tell me stories. The little dog shivers with joy. The children dig holes and mounds and make swimming pools and almost everyone gets wet.

I notice that I am here. 

Really here, in my present.

I get to live this. I get to notice.

I get to see what I have.

month of beauty: the simple thing(s)

I love that I've embraced (with both my hands in a big old hug), my new homeschool philosophy.

That being: our home school doesn't ever have to look like school. 

In fact, our home "school" no longer exists. 

School is out. Learning is in. It's that simple! 

We learn at home, at the library, at the shops, at the park, on the beach, up trees and on bike paths. We learn in galleries and walking along with Nana as she tells stories. Beside the dog at the vets. In the car while driving to another adventure. In bed as we read ourselves into Sleepy. 

It's a constant and uncomplicated thing. And because it's that clear in my mind and in my heart, I can relax and enjoy a beautiful week.

We could play at the beach on Monday all afternoon…which led to looking at rocks and trying to identify them, and that led to looking up rocks online…and that led to going to the library and getting a bunch of Geology books. That led to sitting at the breakfast table today, reading about igneous, sedimentary and metamorphic rocks. All flowing from two children standing beside the sea with rocks in their hands.

We could hang with Nana on Tuesday and show off juggling and novels-in-progress, then head off chatting and laughing to Writers Workshop. Where we learned (well, I taught) about Epistolary novels and we had a go at writing the beginning of one. 

We could go on Wednesday to a doctor's appointment downtown and then end up going to the movies, just because we could! We saw Brave and we loved it. Then, because my boy had recently been talking about one of the messages in a novel he loves…and because we'd then talked about Themes, and how they work in Literature…we then discussed the themes of Brave. As though we were just having an ordinary chat about the weather. 

(And…while a boy went to music classes for three hours…a girl and a mum could go to the vet and witness how life can be hard and beautiful at exactly the same time.)

As for Thursday, well, that's today! 

We could let the day flow as simply and good-ly as the others. 

There was our first tennis lesson of the year (having taken a break for a whole year and a half)! The kids were giddy with happiness. Even in the sort-of-rain and the oh-so-cold, they just kept grinning.

There was a love story. Between my chook and my dog. Oh, how she loves him. When he's outside, she never leaves his side. So romantic!

There was a birthday party for a friend's dog, which coincided with Homeschool Group. My dog got to hang with three other little doggies, who could all run much, much faster than him. But he was happy enough, to be patted by kids and mothers alike, and snuffle about on the ground looking for cake crumbs. 

And the kids were happy enough to run around for 2 1/2 hours with friends while I brainstormed with other mums on my new project: a homeschool drama workshop! I'll be running it fortnightly. How fun. 

An honest-to-goodness doggy birthday cake, made of
peanut butter, rice and chicken. 

My dog had two pieces.
Happy pooch.

There was art class, where the kids worked on watercolours with a guest artist. Ah, they carried their work out so carefully. 

my girl's pears (blurry, but lovely)

my boy's quickly water coloured hand, done while his pears dried… 

And I carried my day out carefully, too. 

Because I can see—I notice all the time now—how precious each day is. (And how simple the Good can be).

I am learning, every moment. I am discovering, all the time. 

month of beauty: something hard

We took our dog to the vet today. He's getting so ancient, all creaking joints, whitening fur, and a limp becoming more and more pronounced; he even lies down in the middle of walks. But always, and still, he is so happy to be out, walking, sniffing, rolling in the grass. He is our sweet old boy.

He's going to need stronger pain relief, and today it was decided he'd go on daily pills.

I can feel how our time with him is shortening. Part of me wants to warn the kids, warn my own heart. Something hard is coming.


Before seeing the vet, we stood in the reception area, waiting to check in. A woman was standing at the desk talking into her phone, to her mother. Her dog was badly injured (it sounded like a car had hit him); broken jaw, on oxygen; it didn't look good; he wasn't in a good state (here is when her voice broke and she began to cry); could her mum help pay for the vet visit?

I looked over, once then twice, then three times, over to this devastated, weeping woman. I didn't want her to feel I was prying, but I wanted her to know that I felt for her. I tried to give a look that said, "I feel, and feel, and feel for you. Here is the hug I can't give you because you are a stranger. Here is the hankie I wish I had. Here is the talk I would sit and have with you, if you were my friend."


Then the vet came and we sat in the consultation room and my dog nuzzled my knee and my daughter was quiet by my side.

We made a plan for our old boy. We will try these pills and if they don't work then it's on to steroids. I thought, so this is how it goes. We take care of the things we love, and the care changes over time, becomes something different. Then something different again. It is part of the moving we do, through the years, into something Other, always.

I said gently to my girl, "He's so old, isn't he? We may not have him for a whole lot longer."

Her eyes widened.

"So," I continued, "We'll love him to bits, and give him the best life we can for as long as we have him. Right?"

She nodded. Reached out and smoothed her old dog's fur with her hands.



When we left the room to pay for the pills and consultation, there was a little dog in a man's arms. The man and his wife were bringing him to be euthanised.

Ah, and ah.

I couldn't protect my girl from any of this; she heard the conversation as it was all decided, watched as they signed the forms and as the man paced nearby with his dog, cradled.

He said to me, "I'm sorry about all this." Meaning, I suppose, I'm sorry you have to witness this hard thing, and your girl is here. I am sorry you are part of it. And I'm sorry I am living this, and I'm sorry I am here and I am sorry for my dog.

I said, "I am sorry. I'm sorry you're having to go through this." And he and I gave each other a small smile.

He leaned forward, and his dog peered over with the quietest eyes.

My dog walked forward, tail wagging and wagging.

He and this old dog sniffed each other carefully, gently, so calmly. Time slowed down.

It was infinitely beautiful, that moment. It felt so fragile, made of the thinnest glass, of rice paper, a single moth's wing.

And then the man put his dog down onto the floor, said, "See. He can hardly walk."

The dog tottered, just a little. But then, he did walk. He could walk, just enough, to follow his man across the floor, through the doorway, and into his very last room.


I turned away. If I had been at home I would have bawled. Instead, I gritted my teeth, pressed down on my eyes for a second, and held it together. Enough to pay the vet bill, enough to go pick up my boy from music lessons, enough to get home, enough to make dinner, and enough to talk to my husband who's been away.

I've been carrying the visit around with me, all afternoon, all evening. Holding it in, holding it together.

But now I'm feeling it. Not crying or feeling overwhelmed. Just feeling. Letting myself feel.


Just now, I was lying in bed saying goodnight to my girl. She asked, "What thing of beauty are you writing about tonight, Mum?"

"Well," I said, "I'm not sure it was beautiful. It's about the vet visit. But then it was, beautiful, too."

And we talked about the dog and we talked about sadness. And we talked about beauty and we talked about loving, how beautiful it was to love. And I said how beautiful it was, simply to feel. To go through life allowing yourself to feel deeply, love and love and love, deeply.

I said, "I hope it's not too hard, having a mum who feels everything this much! I think I'll always be this way."

My girl didn't answer. She simply reached out her arms, and scooped me in.

month of beauty: one yummy stew

My thing of beauty today is our dinner tonight:

I made it myself! With stuff I found in the fridge, using ideas I had in my head…

and the kids (and I! and my mum!) yummed it up.

Here's how I made it. I know you want to know! (Jess, this one is for you, especially, because you asked :) )

Inspired by the delicious soup we had with Ingi of Defying Gravity, I used this coconut carrot soup recipe as my base:

Ingredients:

• 2-3 large carrots, chopped small
• 1 onion, chopped small
• 1 tsp fresh ginger, minced
• 1 1/2 tsp curry powder
• 1 3/4 cup vegetable broth
• 1 14 ounce can coconut milk
• sea salt, to taste

Preparation:

Simmer the carrots, onions, ginger and curry powder in vegetable broth for 20-25 minutes, until carrots are soft.

Allow to cool slightly, and then puree in blender, working in batches if needed.

Return to heat and stir in coconut milk until well combined.

Season generously with sea salt, to taste.

Then, I mixed things up a bit!

I didn't have any curry powder, so I used :

1/8 teaspoon of paprika,
1/4 teaspoon of turmeric, and
1/4 teaspoon of cumin instead.

I didn't have a 14 ounce can of coconut milk (which came to about 400mL in Oz measurements), so I used:

Two 270 mL cans of coconut milk, instead!

credit

PLUS I wanted to add some other things, like

A quarter of a head of cauliflower

credit

and

One 320g packet of hard tofu

credit

so I put in quite a lot more vege stock (2+ cups extra).


In the end, I decided not to puree the veges.

I could say that was totally the Inner Chef in me, acting as a guide for all things soupy,

and sure, it didn't quite feel right to blend up all that tofu and cauliflower,

but the truth is, our stick blender broke! So the decision was made for me.

I'm actually really glad I kept this more like a stew. It felt Just Right, when we ate it all up.


So, to sum up…
here's my recipe, for

One Yummy Coconut Carrot Cauliflower Tofu Stew!

(name just rolls off the tongue, doesn't it?)

Dice up
3 big carrots
1 onion
Stir fry for a bit in some olive oil. 

Then add
3 cups of vege stock 

Put in the spices
1/8 tspn paprika
1/4 tspn cumin
1/4 tspn turmeric 

Cook for a while, then add
1 pack of hard tofu (approx 320g)
1/4 cauliflower
and the coconut milk (approx 550mL). 

Simmer for about 20 minutes (or longer), 'til everything's nice and soft.
Serve and gobble up!

It ended up as a lovely stew, not too wet. I actually think it would be scrumptious served on basmati rice, too.

If you want it to be spicier, add more spice or curry powder. 

If you want it soupier, add some more coconut milk and/or vege stock. 

The whole dinner didn't take long at all, and was so tasty. I'm really pleased with how it turned out. 

I might show the photo of it again, because eating it made my family happy. And happiness is always, always, a beautiful thing.

Don't you agree?
:) 

Yum.

month of beauty: back to (home)school

All around our state, kids went back to school today. Holidays over, crisp in uniforms, shiny shoes and hats, off they went—on buses and bikes, walking with mums and dads, all waving goodbye at the school gate.

And I'm sure they had a great day!

They probably saw their friends and did some fun group activities

And probably got to do some sport.

They might have chatted with their teacher, who they really like,

and learned all about art and maths and history, among many other things.

ancient village
by my boy

the rock shop
by my girl

slide and rock house
by my girl

Doesn't it look like a head?
asked my boy

created by C
(as her sister played guitar on the grass nearby)

created by B

created by J

And I am certain that, on this glorious, sunshiny day, they got to play outside

where I am sure

they had a wonderful time!


Bring on Term 3…!

I think it's going to be a whole lot of beautiful.

:)

Linking with the lovely Owlet's Unschool Mondays

month of beauty: so close

Has anyone else noticed this phenomenon?

You have to empty a single room for some project. It could be painting, knocking out a wall, or, say, putting in a new floor. All stuff is moved out, and with the new view of your old room, you look around and go, Huh, maybe it'd be better if it looked like THIS! And we did THIS! And moved THIS and bought THIS and fixed THIS! And suddenly, you're moving things to new places, upstairs, downstairs, inside, out. Suddenly, you're majorly rearranging almost your entire house.

And have you noticed the knock-on effect?

Which is what happens when—as you're cleaning and rearranging and sorting and chucking and finding and stacking and planning (and getting just a bit tired because it's the holidays and isn't that exactly when you should be frolicking, lazing, reading books on the deckchair while minions wave you with palm fronds and other minions bring you pina coladas?)—all the other parts of the house notice what you're doing.

The cupboard under the stairs, for example. With the shoes all musty and tangled up and old bags that hold countless forgotten things and coats you haven't worn since 1902.

And the playroom which was once a garage but 8 years ago you turned it into the playroom…and have since let it become buried in boxes and bikes and shelves filled with The Great Unsorted Overflow.

The cupboard above the oven. The cupboard that, when you open the doors, things literally fall out onto your head.

The study. Which is a funny name for a room where you sort the laundry and have removed the desk and have stacked all the books you plan to give away but haven't yet.

These room and spaces all prick up their ears. And the things inside start to call out.

"Hey, lady. Don't be thinking you can get this done on the sly!" yell the shoes which are under the bags which are all in a muddle under the stairs.

"What about us?" squeak the dead batteries in the old butter container in the cupboard above the oven. "You know you're supposed to dispose of us mindfully!"

Countless ancient Happy Meals toys yell expletives as you pick your way through the maze that is the playroom. "Dude! There are children who could be playing with us right now!" they cry from the old shopping bag you chucked them into, years ago, when you tried to do a tidy up.

They all moan with jealousy as another corner is cleaned, another thing sorted in the Favoured Rooms. And you pass them, all these neglected, sorrowful spaces, filled with guilt and a sense of impossible obligation, with your head turned away, your sunglasses on, your coat collar turned up.

I know. It's a terrible time for all involved!

So maybe one day, maybe after I've done this thing and had a holiday and found some minions to wave palm fronds at me…I'll clean those spaces up too.

A girl can always dream.



Anyway! To recap Today's progress:

One big cupboard emptied, moved, filled again. Yay!
Two big bookshelves emptied, wiped of about 300 years of dust, carried upstairs, filled again. Nice.
One really old big bookshelf emptied, wiped down, lugged downstairs, not quite filled up again. (It was heavy. Got tired).

Thankfully, nothing dropped on toes!

Old tv put away in corner. Dragged out to watch a dvd for Pizza Video Night, then put away in corner again. New system sort of works…?

Books put away, toys put away, books put away, toys put away.
Floor swept. And swept. And swept.

Little fiddly bits put away. Paper recycled. Glitter container discovered upside down. Paint box emptied, glitter thrown away, paint box filled again. Kitten (now cat) rescued off new, high bookshelf. Piles of things becoming smaller. Other piles of things becoming bigger.
Glimpses of clean seen through clouds of clutter.

Hurrah!

I think it has to be almost done because some of the left over mess is so wild it's almost breeding its own mess colony. I figure it has to look its worst just before it looks Done. This is what is keeping me going.

It is almost done. It is almost done. There is no place like a home that is almost done.

I am not going to post a Before picture (just yet). That would be like making a friend stare directly at the sun. If I'm going to ever do something that crazy, I need a LOT more After pictures to make the pain worth it. I am crossing my fingers that After is coming very soon.

In the meantime,

my Beauty for the day is

1. This little corner of Organised.

Ah. I sure do like it.

And
2. these delicious moments with my family at the beach.

Even with the wind picking up and the cold nipping at our noses, it sure was lovely there.

And it's funny…

the beach is so wild, so utterly uncontrollable and filled with chaos
—all that unexpected clutter, rising tides, winds that show up without a moment's notice to hurl sand in your eyes—

and yet, it's the most beautiful place I know.