Getting my Think on with Loo Paper

You know, it’s A. It’s always A. It always was and always will be. The reason I think A is the right direction a toilet roll should be put on the holder is because you’ll only need to turn the roll once to find the end. If it’s hung the other way, gravity holds the end of the paper against the roll and it and it can be hard to find.
I appreciate that everyone is different and some prefer B, but here’s the honest truth; I never believed that both A and B are right, I believed that I prefer the right way and others prefer the wrong way. The WRONG way. There have been times when I’ve gone to other houses and, seeing it’s not hanging right, I smile to myself in a small, pretentious way, and ‘fix’ it for them. For me, what way the toilet paper hangs is one of the few black and white decisions that one can make in life. You can choose A, or you can choose to be wrong.

I love how toddlers come in to the world and shake things up. You think you know something in every way there is to know it, and BAM! A small person will come along and teach you something you didn’t know, a new way to look at something as boring and normal as a roll of toilet paper.

You know what B will do? B will buy you a few seconds if your toddler finds themselves in the bathroom with the urge to redecorate your house. B will put a small but potentially crucial speed bump in your toddlers plans to unravel all the toilet paper and feed it into the loo. B might intrigue and challenge your toddler long enough to allow you to whisk away the bubble bath before they see it (and therefore want it) and start a tantrum comparable to a Kardashian on Christmas.

B is clearly the right way to hang a roll of toilet paper in my house. Mind = Blown.

If you have a toddler, try it. Think about your philosophy on toilet paper (I bet you have one…) or maybe something different. Maybe the way you stack the dishwasher, or the way you fold towels. Maybe the way you organise your pantry, or stack books, or even what you think about having a door closed in your house. The way I think about all these things has changed because now things like accessibility and safety is more important than, well, pretty much anything else. Having a daughter has shown me that there is a new ‘right way’ and nothing ever has clear cut, black and white, hard and fast rules.

And then, once you have a giggle about how those tiny, loud, adorable, dribbly kids have actually permeated every single tiny little microscopic aspect of your topsy turvy life like I did, this little moment of realisation can be applied to life in general. There is a new ‘right way’. Every time you grow, or learn, or something changes, the rules change, too. What was right becomes a little left, and you have to readjust your direction.

This is an especially handy thing to remember when inevitably judging the actions of other people, especially other parents. Remembering that my toddler has shown me the delicate, circumstantial nature of ‘being right’ helps me to take a step back and remind myself that, actually, the person I’m looking at is as ‘right’ as I am.

Oh, parenthood. It’s a special kind of crazy, when spiritual enlightenment comes from toilet paper.

 

Tanti Tactics

We are but a few weeks away from the famous second birthday; the birthday that marks the end on infancy. It’s the birthday that, until about thirty seconds ago (when I wrote that it’s a few weeks away) had always felt like some distant dream. Alas, Alice’s friends turn two, Mother’s Group celebrates, and we have had the tell-tale sign of the beginning of young childhood;

Tantrums.

Joy.

Alice has always been opinionated, but lately those opinions are accompanied with lying face down on the floor, banging her head against hard things, and getting so angry she visibly shakes. There’s a bit of throwing, lots of ‘nonono!’, and the other day I saw her try to bite the ottoman out of frustration. When I’m not in a hurry and I’ve had enough sleep, it’s still pretty cute.

But it’s kind of like living with a ticking time bomb. What was perfectly acceptable yesterday is horrendously offensive today. Don’t you dare pick out the wrong socks to wear. Daddy had better not look at her at dinner time, or talk to her, or do anything other than lie on the floor and be a jungle gym. She will eat dinner so long as peas only feature on every third mouthful. And it’s off mum’s plate. And it’s served at 5.37pm and gone by twelve past six.

There is that internet trend of taking a photo of your upset baby (urgh) and posting it along with the explanation as to why they are crying. Last week Alice had a tantrum because I wouldn’t let her lick the strange brown smudge on the side of the bath. It was oddly comical moment (for me anyway) and kind of sums up the toddler experience perfectly. The need to defy, in the need to try.
It’s a tricky time, when Alice is beginning to understand the concept of ‘negotiation’, but only on her terms. She is beginning to understand the concept of ‘sentences’, but doesn’t have the vocabulary to flesh the conversations out yet. And she is beginning to join concepts together like mum’s car keys and going in the car, but not concepts like already been out all day and petrol, which means her demands for ducks at the front door is extra frustrating for everyone involved.

 

So I realised today that, in order to appease the beas – er, I mean, the toddler – I do some… ‘stuff’. And it’s not even ‘stuff’ that I told myself I wouldn’t do when I was naïve and free and had time to think of such nonsense; things like ‘my kid’s not going to know what cake is’ and ‘my kid’s never going to watch TV’. Oh, no. the ‘stuff’ I do is a bit weird.

I was baking cookies today. Peanut butter and honey cookies, since you ask – I’ve eaten three and Alice has spat half a bite out and quipped ‘more ham’. Anywho.
While baking cookies I allowed Alice to pull out the cardboard and newspapers from the fire basket and cart it around the living room. It’s not overly weird, just a bit untidy.
Then, with my hands covered in flour, she took my finger and said, ‘Walk! Open corner!’ We get to the door of the library and she cocks her head to one side to say ‘pleeeease’ in her sweetest voice, so of course I oblige. She spends fifteen minutes in there, delighting in pulling books off the shelves, opening CD cases, emptying the cardboard recycling…. The room is a war zone. The weird starts; if it means Alice is not on the floor banging her head and crying like I’ve murdered her teddy bear, I’m okay with her touching my book collection. Nothing is sacred any more.

And then Alice comes out to the kitchen. It’s morning tea time. She throws a small wooden bowl and its lid on the tiles and looks at me defiantly. We stand off – I hold my breath. Alice grabs the freezer handle in a moment of unknown frustration and something unexpected happens; the door opens! She looks at me and I feign surprise; this could buy me five more minutes of peace! I play along. Alice opens the top drawer and finds the frozen mixed vegetables. She eats a pea. I allow it. I don’t just allow it, I actually say ‘Oooh, can you find a piece of corn?’ honestly.

So I’ve got the first batch of cookies in the oven and I’m rolling the second lot so they are ready to go. The fridge is going crazy, beeping non-stop because the freezer door has been opened for about three minutes now. This is the moment I realised that I’ve succumbed to the tantruming toddler. I didn’t simply close the freezer door, oh no. I took the bag of frozen vegies, poured some in to a bowl, and sat them on the floor – the FLOOR -  for Alice before replacing the bag in the freezer. Seriously, how did this madness happen? Apparently, I will do almost anything to avoid a tantrum, short of backing down on something I’ve asked Alice to do.
Incidentally, she ate three more, wanted play dough, and “cracked it”, as my sister would say.

 

Oh, crap. I haven’t said anything useful for you to take away. Okay, okay, tantrum tips…

Number one: Ask yourself, are they hungry, dirty, tired, or bored? Fix accordingly.

Number two: Is it between 4.30 and 6.00 at night? Is it a full moon? Is it Thursday? Kids pick up on these things.

Number three: if possible, tag team. Show a united front. I’ll be damned if there is one ‘ass-hole’ parent and one ‘fun’ parent in this house. If I was a more negative, pessimistic person, I’d say that I want Alice to look back on her childhood and hate both her parents equally.
If tag teaming isn’t an option, you’re doing a fricken awesome job and I admire your commitment to the cause. Refer to point five.

Number four: Cuddles are important, even if you feel like having a tantrum yourself. During the long, loud tantrums of pre-bath tidy up, I give Alice cuddles all through her yelling and defiance. Cuddles are calming for everyone, and it reminds both parties that you love each other, regardless of the frustration. It doesn’t mean you’re giving in, it just means you’re still there even though what they’re doing sucks ass.

Number five: Take five, sit on the couch, look at your kid that’s throwing things or screaming or lying on the floor or doing whatever it is he or she does during moments of frustration, and reassure yourself that this is healthy and normal and part of growing in to independent, expressive older children. Kids have tantrums whether they come from a single parent family who has sacrificed everything or a two parent family that can provide everything or any other kind of loving, attentive family. Kids have tantrums if their parents are lawyers, or house cleaners, or ECE teachers, apparently. And some kids don’t have tantrums. Take five, breathe, and remember that you guys aren’t the only one, that you’re not doing anything wrong. Go easy.

That’s what I like to tell myself, anyway. Please, tell me it's true!

A Little Language Barrier

Ko te reo te tai kura or te whakaao marama.
Language is the key to understanding.

Alice might not be jumping off furniture, expressing her creativity by drawing on walls, running like a mad woman toward muddy puddles or eating everything in sight. But man alive, does Alice talk. Alice’s first words escape her lips often before she opens her eyes in the morning (usually it’s ‘boo, mama’) and the running commentary doesn’t stop until she’s chatted herself to sleep.
She tells me where the keys are. She yells at dolls for not sitting the way she wants. She talks to her little wooden fish and she demands bubbles – more bubbles! – at least ten times a day. There are animal noises and copy-cat games and weather reports and ‘NO!’, all before breakfast.

It’s pretty awesome!

And now what’s even more exciting, there’s te reo Maori, too. The other day Alice told me, ‘Sshh, manu. Walk, please.’ She took my finger and led me to the front door, where we watched the fantail dance around under the awning catching bugs. I was so excited to hear a reo Maori word spoken by her, un-prompted, that I forgot to listen to what she was telling me about the little manu itself, the whole point of her first sentence.

Alice has said lots of te reo Maori words in the past, but it’s always been parroting me. Counting and animal names and action words have all been repeated back to me which is exciting, but not as exciting as Alice choosing to say ‘manu’ in order to communicate an idea.

Sshh, manu. It MEANS something!

I wonder if it’s common, for parents to be really focused on teaching their child one specific thing, giving it more importance than other skills. Maybe it’s counting, or riding a bike, or milking a cow, or singing in tune. For me, teaching my children to speak reo Maori is pretty much top of the list.

It’s been a huge undertaking that has pushed me on my own learning journey so I can lead Alice through hers. And I was beginning to think it was an uphill battle; after all, Alice’s world is filled with chatty, loving adults that saturate her with language, ninety-nine per cent of it English. I am the only one that speaks to her in Te Reo Maori consistently and even then I’m still learning myself. I was beginning to think the opportunity for Alice to experience the gift of two languages was slipping away. What’s the point?

Sshh, manu.

I’ve had lots of people ask me that question, actually. What IS the point of teaching Alice to understand and speak reo Maori? I sometimes get strange looks in public when I use te reo Maori and more than once I’ve been told what I’m doing is pointless. Apparently, it’s a dying language and there are more useful languages I could be teaching her. They are right, in a way, it is dying. Ever wondered why that is? Is it dying because it has a lifespan and now the language is bedridden? Sshh, manu. It may be dying in some places but in my house, it grows in me every day and now I can see it start to blossom in Alice as well.

I’m teaching Alice reo Maori for lots of reasons. Firstly, the effect a second language has on the brain is huge – children’s brains are crazy busy when they learn to talk, firing off in all directions as they listen, decode, comprehend, and say the words themselves. Can you imagine what a kid’s brain is doing when they learn two?! Positively explosive activity is happening in there! And the more use you can make of a brain - a muscular organ - the bigger and stronger and more powerful it becomes. Language, whatever language that is, is the foundation for life-long learning, be it one language or seven. I’m teaching Alice reo Maori to help her use her brain to its full capacity.

I’m teaching Alice reo Maori because it’s a different set of sounds to English. If she can master the slightly different vowel sounds that come with reo Maori, Alice is better equipped to take on countless other languages, like Spanish, or Japanese, or pretty much any Pacific Island Language. If I knew German or Dutch I’d teach her that, too, and then she’d be equipped with the tools to learn almost any other language on the planet because her mouth knows how to make those sounds. I’m teaching Alice reo Maori because I want her to make the most of the world.

I’m teaching Alice reo Maori because she deserves to know. Thank goodness people are taking a little bit of responsibility now, a little bit of ownership of past trespasses, and trying to right some of the wrongs that has resulted in this language teetering on the brink of extinction. Alice deserves to know the history of her country, history that includes land wars – wars between two races and wars between mountains. She needs to understand two languages to make full sense of one history. She deserves to know how to correctly pronounce government department names, to take part in noho marae, and to engage in debate over the inclusion of the ‘h’. I’m teaching Alice reo Maori because I want her to be a responsible citizen, not a citizen of half a society and pretending the other half doesn’t matter, but of a full society. And she needs two languages to do that properly with a heartfelt sense of belonging and servitude.

Lastly, my heart is wanting me to teach Alice te reo Maori because I believe in it. I believe in Papatuanuku, earth mother, and I want Alice to have a relationship with her. I want Alice to understand the concept of whenua and manaaki and Atua. There is a spiritual essence in New Zealand that lives within Maori culture and in the environment, the two being intertwined like rope fibres. I learned a lot about Te Ao Maori, the Maori world, through being a teacher, and I realised two things. The first is that I know nothing. The second is that, in order to enjoy the intense spirituality of Aotearoa, learning the language is a must. I want nothing more than to share this feeling with my children, with Alice, so I will share this gift with her. Te reo Maori is my gift to her.

Ka tangi nga manu, ka tangi hoki ahau.
As the birds voice their presence, so too do I.

Swiss Cheese and Circumstance

March 9, 2015

Not long ago, my home town was shaken by the tragic death of a toddler in the most unbelievable, heart breaking circumstances. All over town people were talking about it, voicing their anger and their disbelief, while somewhere in the suburbs a family drowned in the grief and silence left in the wake of their lost baby boy. A mother had her world fall away from her under her feet while carrying the weight of a town’s ‘two cents worth’. Thousands of comments, well-wishes, and calls for justice made by people she had saved, made by people she might recognise on the street, and by people who don’t even know what colour her hair is.

I’m not going to talk about her any more. I’ll talk about me and Alice instead.
 
Alice got sick on Christmas day last year. It was her first ever fever, the first time she’d gone off food and the first time she just wanted to lie on me all day and sleep. It was the first time she was determined to sleep with me at night, too, which meant her discomfort and fever kept us all up for most of the night, every night, day after day.
Her first unexplained sudden rash came two days later, and it spread quickly. It was holiday season and my doctor was closed which added to my growing concern.
The day before New Year’s Eve I found an open doctor’s practice and begged them over the phone to find an appointment to see my girl that day. Luckily they could squeeze me in, and I had less than an hour to get Alice ready, fed, and in the car to drive the thirty kilometres from my house to the practice.

Am I a bad mother yet?

 When we were finally ready to go, I sat Alice in the car seat with a cold flannel. Her shoelace was undone so I tied it again. I don’t normally care too much about the position of the sunshades on the windows, but Alice was so hot and I didn’t want the sun on her at all. So I used two precious minutes to meticulously re-position the shades. I kissed her forehead, closed the door, and walked around to the driver’s seat.
I drove at 105 all the way in to town. I drove at 57 in town where I could. I just wanted to get to the doctor’s and have them tell me that Alice was okay.
Am I a bad mother yet? Do I deserve public ridicule yet?

When we finally arrived at the doctors and I opened Alice’s door, I realised that I hadn’t done up Alice’s car seat belt. Not only that, Alice was actually sitting on the belt, so she wasn’t even sitting properly in her seat at all. My heart dropped in to my stomach, and the ‘what if’ hit me like a brick in the face. Not the ‘what if’ I’d been pulled over by a cop and they’d discovered what I’d done, it was the ‘what if I’d crashed’? What if, because of my choice to speed and take a chance with our lives as it was, I lost control and Alice was thrown from the car? I felt like I’d dodged a bullet and I couldn’t fathom how I had forgotten to do the very basic action of fastening a belt. An action that, in the wrong circumstances, would mean life or death for my baby.
Be it by God’s good grace or sheer luck, I was given a free pass. No one saw what I had done, Alice wasn’t hurt, and you can be sure I triple check the seat belt every time we get in the car now.
Am I a bad mother now? I broke the law, for god’s sake. This is the first time I have really talked about it and even as I write, I feel panicked by what I had done. Am I a bad mother?

 You know me, you know how seriously I take my job of protecting and nurturing my own child as well as the children I teach. If Alice had died, would you console me? What if you saw the headline, ‘baby dies in crash, mother ‘forgot’ to fasten belt’. Now am I a bad mother? Do you still feel sorry for me?



I have read that life, or rather, the series of events that lead up to an event, is a little like Swiss cheese. It’s full of holes all over the place, the random nature of the holes means you can pop a toothpick in each one and eventually hit cheese before you get to the bottom. However, by complete chance, there are rare occasions when those random holes in each slice of cheese align and the toothpick falls right through.
Let me explain;
Hole one - Alice has been sick for three days and I’m exhausted, having had very little rest.
Hole two – I’m stressed because we’ve got no time to waste, I’m anxious for the well-being of Alice, I’m worried because we’re going to a different doctor.
Hole three – I lose focus with the flannel, the shoes.
Hole four – something out of routine happens, in this case I’m preoccupied with the sunshades. Again, because I’m concerned for Alice’s health.
Hole five – My decision to add five kilometres to the speed limit to cut half a minute off travel time.
And then my toothpick hits cheese. The weather was good for driving, I didn’t meet any erratic travellers or drunk drivers, my car was road-worthy and got me to the doctors safely.
Does it make me a bad mother?
The woman I mentioned at the beginning had very similar looking Swiss cheese to what I’ve described for Alice and I. Except for her all the holes aligned, right down to the end.

Being completely responsible for a person and having to protect them from a dangerous world, bad people, human error and divine circumstance is bloody scary.

Tell me. Tell me to my face. Does my mistake make me not love Alice anymore? Am I a bad mother? Do I deserve public ridicule now?

And I have to ask myself – am I brave enough to share this moment of utter disbelief at my own forgetfulness and feeling of stolen luck in order to highlight how easy it is to judge someone else? To ignore their story, their circumstance, the series of events that lead to their outcome, however tragic? Am I brave enough to point out how easy it is to say ‘that would never happen to me’ and ‘I’d never do that to my kids’ when, in actual fact, circumstance and human error means that, heaven forbid, you might?

It is human to charge forward with judgement. It is humane to strive for understanding. But to go forth with compassion and love, that is divine.

And for god’s sake. Give someone a hug, will you?

The Strength of Women

March 3, 2015

 

In between the sleepless nights and teething and wondering how Alice got such a small amount of sweetcorn in that many places (mind blowing, really), I find myself daydreaming about who Alice will be when she grows up. Not so much what she will do for a living, but how she will treat people, where she will find peace and happiness, how she will handle herself in times of doubt or stress. It’s daunting, knowing that I have such a big influence on these outcomes for her. The values and ideals that Alice experiences now will set the tone for the rest of her life, and that is a very humbling thought.

Being a teacher I am no stranger to philosophies and mission statements, but I never thought I would feel the urge to develop a philosophy of raising a daughter. There are things I want Alice to know, to believe, for when she is older and needs to look inside herself for guidance. Things like empathy, and gentleness, and cultivating the ability to see beauty all around her. And I want her to believe wholeheartedly that she has strength.
The following is today’s email to Alice, and the first overt lesson in what the strength of a woman is all about.
 
So, Babygirl, yesterday was a pretty big day for me, and I kind of have you to thank! Yesterday I cut off most of my hair and donated it to be made in to a wig for people who have cancer. I took you, too, and you chatted to people at the gym and played with the swiss balls while I talked to the people from the newspaper and had my pony tails cut off. Our friends and family also donated $1000 to the cancer society which helps cancer patients and their families in lots of ways.

Here's why I have you to thank. The first reason is because, when I was pregnant with you, you made my hair grow long and strong and it hasn't stopped since. Because of you I don't have time to wash my hair as often as I used to, and that means it's super healthy. I think this is an example of how having children changes your life in every way possible, even down to how a mother looks after her hair. Luckily I wouldn't have it any other way!

The second reason I have you to thank for yesterday is because you - sweet little
unassuming you - have taught me all about the strength of women. Girls are powerful. I hope you know that, and if not, I'm telling you now. From the day I found out about you I have been learning about the strength of women. Women have babies, we fight history and make the world our oyster, and the truly powerful women use that strength to build up others. Truly powerful women know that strength is within themselves, and they don't need to bring down anyone else - man or woman - to express their power. And the amazing thing is that women do all this with their finger on the pulse of their emotions and an eye on the greater good.

YOU have taught me that I am capable of this, too. I might be tired or hangry or maybe even a bit frightened, but you have shown me that, with a deep breath and a plan, I can overcome everything. I hope with all my heart that you know you are capable of this, too.

So, yesterday was about celebrating this strength. The gym we were at is all about the strength of woman, and so is the Roller Derby team that the money is going to the cancer society through (Just quietly, if you ever get involved in this sport I'd be so happy! Those girls are the epitome of tough and they treat each other like family!).

And of course, the hair is all about strength, too. A woman with cancer might be using all that strength inside her just to fight it, to keep her family together, to remain positive. We can get more strength though - maybe from reading or dancing or the love of our family or eating a piece of chocolate. Well, little pudding, strength can also come from a good hair day. So you have helped me share my strength with another woman who is already using up every ounce of hers. Thank you, baby girl.

I hope you don't mind me sharing a little bit of this email - Can you imagine how wonderful it would be if the lesson you have taught me could help others, too? Strength is a bit like love, after all; share it with others and it grows.

We are going to have a wonderful day today!
Lots of love, Mumma

Even when I do something that has nothing to do with her it's still, in some ways, all about Alice.

365 Days Of Gratitude

February 1, 2015

A year ago today I was sitting on the couch watching Despicable Me on DVD with a near four-month-old Alice asleep. It was a fairly typical summer’s day, with lots of sun but a howling wind blowing through our little valley. I looked out the sliding doors in our loungewhen a particularly strong gust of wind brought hundreds of thistle seeds to life. Little white clouds of magic danced in the sunlight and brought an instant grin to my face. The only downer was that I often have moments like this and either 1) I’m on my own and have no one to share my excitement and appreciation with, or 2) I AM with someone and they look at me like I’m a little bit… not all there…

And this is how my 365 days of gratitude started! Thanks to facebook I started to photograph and share the things I am grateful for. On the whole my photos would go unnoticed but it was a way for me to share the little things, like thistle seeds, with people like my sister who has an equally gigantic sense of appreciation for the simplest of miracles.
Little did I realise, but the photos I took during the next three hundred and sixty five days would come to document the highs and lows of parenting, an appreciation of nature, and everything else that life threw my way.

One thing that kept this project going was being able to use it to celebrate special days that come around every year. Birthdays, Father’s day, Christmas and the first day of Spring made an appearance, and I was brimming with gratitude for being involved in a number of weddings throughout the year. I used the sixth day of gratitude to pay homage to Waitangi day, a day to remember the actions of forefathers and to celebrate living in this stunning little country.

There were unexpected events to celebrate, too. Visits from old friends and making new ones, family celebrations and trips to new and exciting destinations. I celebrated my first workout at the gym, a beautiful walk to work, an impromptu dinner date in front of the fire, and the first strawberries of the season. These were some of the events that reminded me about my truly blessed life.

 There were days when my gratitude was directed at a beautiful or unusual discovery. This was easier than it sounds; I live in in a place filled with native birds and wild flowers and random farm animals that visit from other properties. I was grateful for discovering mushrooms, frogs, cicadas and hail stones. All of this was possible because my life was forced in to a slower pace and I had time to notice these small but beautiful things. And once I felt I had exhausted the possibilities for discovery within my own fences, I took to photographing the small but miraculous occurrences at parks, lakes, and anywhere else the opportunity arose. This gratitude folder took my appreciation of nature and help me form a personal relationship with it.

And on days when nothing new or spectacular happened, I was able to express gratitude for some of the things I love most. Books, music, cooking and shopping all get more than a few mentions. I was able to document my back to work journey as I endeavoured to find a teaching/parenting balance, and with this came gratitude for the many people who made this possible. Through this project I shared the things that most accurately express who – and what – shapes who I am as a person.

Of course there were days when my gratitude was for things I take for granted every day; my washing machine, a working oven after a power cut, a sunny day to get the wet towels dry. I was grateful for a tax credit, and for a hot water bottle, and for a home-made foot spa. And why wouldn’t I express gratitude for these things? This is what this project is all about; realising that it’s the things like electricity and a road-legal car that make my life run smoothly. They may not make my heart sing like a beautiful sunset, but what would my life honestly be like without them?

 

I think Paul and our journey comes in to this category, too. He is someone I am undoubtedly grateful for every day, but I sometimes forget to show it. The gratitude project became a record of the work he’s done to finish the house he’s built for his family. I took photos of his ridiculous sense of humour to remember – and maybe use as evidence later on. And it became a celebration of the small but significant gestures of love that remind me just how perfect we are for each other. Gratitude for him will continue long after this project is done.

 

But I’m not at all saying that I was one hundred per cent committed to this project every single day. Life happens, after all. Often this was because things got busy and I didn’t have my camera on me. But it was something I thought about every day. I’d have a minute or two before bed time when I’d rehash the day’s events and think of things that I was blessed to have. The week after Christmas Alice got sick and it was the first time I didn’t actively think about gratitude every day, but I felt the medicine the doctor gave her was a weeks’ worth of gratitude, anyway. And there were a few days I didn’t express gratitude on purpose. It’s okay to be sad or angry at the situation. And two days later, when I was sitting at a funeral listening to the testimonies of people who were in love with my friend, I was able to express gratitude for having known her at all.

And of all the things I’m grateful for, of all the photos of beautiful things and music and learning and happy experiences, I shared my appreciation for Alice. Of the 320 or so photos I took over the year, 121 of them are of my girl and her journey from baby to toddler. There were many more photos of things that would never have happened if Alice wasn’t around, like impromptu trips to the beach or a freezer full of baby food or the many, many photos of toys and photos and cool kids programmes on television. I was grateful to be there for her first ride on a swing, and her bringing me mother’s group, and her instant love of goats, pigs and ducks. I was grateful for her eyelashes, her toes, and the face she makes when she pretends to blow her nose. There were photos taken to thank people for gifts or toys they’d given to Alice, or for the time they spent with her, and the gratitude project is a record of Alice’s growing relationships with some of the most important people in our lives.

I was talking to a friend who started her gratitude project around the same time as me and we agreed that the collection of photos, regardless of what they are of, hold some of the most profound and vivid memories. She said that this could be because they were taken during a year of such incredible, life changing growth; finding out who we are as people who identify as parents as well as many, many other things. I couldn’t agree more, and now that my project is over I have more than three hundred photos that tell the story of the single most defining year of my life to date.

Mine is a humble story. A story of slow pace and simple words. It speaks of nature and small joys and the seasons. It speaks of people and places and things. Of happiness and finding solace. It speaks of love.

2014 Music Review

January 2, 2015

Happiest of New Years to you!

I have always used the first of January to reflect on the year that’s been, to remember moments that marked the passing of time and that changed me as a person. This past year I’ve learned more than I could ever record in a blog, there have been so many reasons to celebrate I could keep a balloon factory in business, and I have never found life in general so…hard.

And do you know what the one, droning constant has been though all the ups and downs?
Channel 9. C4. Edge TV. Music video after music video of the world’s most current pop music. If I was at home the TV was on, and Channel 9 played the backing track for the day in /day out lives of Alice and I.
Anyone that has known me from high school would be wondering who I am and what I’ve done with Tiffany.
It’s fair to say that I have a better grip on the top 100 songs of 2014 than I ever have at any time in my life to date, so I’m going to use that music to sum up some other meaningful experiences of the past 365 days.

If I have learnt one thing, it is to let it go. Dirty little hands on my white shirt? Let it go. Late for a coffee date? Shake it off. Paul hasn’t stacked the dishwasher exactly how I would have done it? There is no need to turn in to the monster from hell. I found it was so easy to get wrapped up in the little stuff while the important stuff happened around me, and it took some really conscious re-focusing on my part to change that. However, post-pregnancy hormones had a lot to do with me stressing the small stuff early in the year, and crying for no reason is still a luxury I allowed myself as recently as last week. I think it’s a privilege of the sleep-deprived.

All year I’ve had money on my mind. Being financially independent is super awesome… until you’re not. For the longest time I hated depending on Paul for financial support. Luckily, he’s the man and has supported Alice and I like a champ. It’s not like we buy a lot of ridiculous, fancy things, but his support has meant I’ve been able to go to the gym (so I’m not all about the bass) and Alice and I haven’t been stuck at home.

Although the massive change in work status was a huge, overwhelming problem at the time, I look back now and think it’s a blessing in disguise. Relief teaching and casual work means I have been able to teach in ten different settings in nine months. In kindergartens, preschool, infant care, homecare and even professional support for other teachers, I’ve had the most incredible year for exploring early childhood education. I could engage my brain and I started feelin’ myself again. And at the end of it, I got an incredible job that couldn’t suit me and my family better. At the beginning of the year I found trying to balance work with being the kind of parent I wanted to be too was much. But now I find now that teaching is something I need. (don’t tell ‘em, though, there’s probably a law about being too happy in your job).

I must say there were quite a few days where I wish I could just hideaway, or drop everything and run away to Budapest. It could get really overwhelming, all the responsibility and having to think about every little detail of every single thing. There were things that happened during the year that didn’t have anything to do with Alice, like my niece being born early or the house finally getting finished, and I wasn’t able to engage as much as I’d like because of my commitment to Alice. That little lady has taken all of me, dictated every aspect of my life, for a whole year. And just when I thought I was caught in a riptide, Alice does something wicked-cool and I realise that there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.

I think if I had to sum up 2014 in one word, it would be happy. Alice was changing from one week to the next and has amazed me with her awesomeness every single time. She has given me so much, like the courage to sing to her in public and a reason to try so many new and exciting things. And don’t even get me started on all the crazy, stupid love that fill my days from the second Alice wakes me up every morning. I’m in love with the way she talks, with the way she gives nuggles, and the little wiggle she does when ‘Blank Space’ plays on Edge TV.
Alice has also given me mother’s group, which I think has brought me half a dozen women who I can truly count as friends. When we get together we may roar with laughter, or find ourselves thinking out loud when trying to solve one of the endless problems that parenting throws our way. I know that when I’m asking myself ‘am I wrong?’ those women put a smile on my face and my mind at ease. Serial, those women are superheroes.

My year has been filled with gratitude, and stress, and simple but outstanding joys. There were first birthdays and first steps and in the last days of December, first illnesses. I went to weddings and had lunch dates – sometimes they were with people, sometimes with a book and the river. There was lots of mess and lots of milestones and off course, there was lots of music. I look back on the year and I can honestly say, she looks so perfect.

It's Christmas Time!!!!!

December 25, 2014

It’s Christmas! Did you know? Have you seen the lights, and the painted shop windows, and the stand-in Santas? Have you taken advantage of early boxing day sales and the warmer weather and the bar tabs at end of year parties? Have you driven yourself bat-shit crazy with Christmas Carols and supermarket shopping and trying to think of a secret Santa gift for your third cousin’s girlfriend who’s visiting from Peru?

I have!!!

I’ll tell you what else I’ve done this festive season – I’ve thought long and hard about what Christmas actually means to me. I’ll tell you what, I lost my way for a few years there. I was an awkward in-between age where Christmas had lost its childhood sparkle and I was failing to see its purpose.  Enter Alice! I thought my childhood Christmases were awesome, but this being a parent thing takes celebrating to another level!

This Christmas is the first step in creating traditions that will last her whole childhood – hopefully her whole lifetime. I’m hoping to take the focus away from getting truck loads of presents and turn it toward gratitude, family, and the fostering a love for giving. Tomorrow our house will be filled with grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, and more presents for Alice than I care to count.
Alice has a huge, doting family so I’m hoping the traditions our little unit create around giving and receiving gifts help Alice remember gratitude and that other people in other houses may not be so lucky.

I’ve talked to Alice’s Dad a lot about how we are going to give Alice gifts in the years to come. And I’ll tell you, Facebook and Pintrest have thrown up some great ideas that Paul and I think are a great guide for buying gifts for Alice. The first is;

One thing you want, one thing you need. One thing to wear, and one thing to read.

This, along with a wee Christmas stocking filled with Christmas treats, a few toys, and a toothbrush, will be the guide for our gift giving. I could think of nothing better than Alice, older and discerning, chanting this poem as she made her Christmas wish list.

So where does that leave Santa? Originally, we thought that Santa could be the bearer of the big stuff – bikes, expensive electronic toys, the cell phone in many, MANY years to come… but then I read something that made me think twice about what the Jolly Fat Man brings for our babygirl. It can be hard to explain to an inquisitive young mind why Santa brings some children trampolines and motorbikes and other children gifts that are not so flashy and impressive, if you understand my meaning. A parent can explain differences in wealth easier that a discriminating Father Christmas.
Chances are Alice won’t ever think about Santa like this, I know I didn’t as a child. But it’s a guide for Paul and I to follow, to make sure Santa’s gifts are generic, but classic, true-blue Christmas toys. Rag dolls, metal trucks, pull toys, and musical instruments will arrive under the tree via a man in red, and Paul and I will take the credit for the big stuff that Alice spends months asking for.

Setting tradition around gifts is something I can start this year with Alice, who is not yet overly interested in presents but gets a kick out of seeing the adults around her act like crazed performing monkeys when she does something cute. Next year, we can start the tradition of decorating the tree together, the next could be baking on Christmas Eve, and then can come making gifts for family, and volunteering on Christmas Day, and making up stories about our mischievous Christmas Elf.
I think this is what I’m finding most exciting about this festive season – I’ve got years of tradition and celebrating ahead of me to help Alice discover the magic of Christmas!

It's Moments Like These...

December 19, 2014

For weeks Alice has had the most unsettled nights in her entire life time. I’ve made it sound cliff-hanger drastic because that’s how it felt; especially at four o’clock in the morning when she woke for the fourth time and I was out of options. I would have ticked all the boxes – bottle, nappy, temperature, pain relief, and cuddles of course. I would be in tears. I could count the hours of sleep I’d had in a week on one hand. Chinese masters of torture would be proud of my sweet, blue-eyed baby girl.

My partner could feel my frustration and I could feel his, and we blamed ourselves for her crying and clinginess. Nights of broken sleep turned in to weeks of broken sleep and I feel like our water-tight relationship weathered its first storm. For no good reason I thought Paul – beautiful, loving, strong, peas to my carrot Paul – truly resented me for not being able to figure out what was going on, and I took everything personally. I am still not entirely comfortable with the fact that I am being financially supported by another person, and after weeks of sleepless nights, the guilt of being a burden as well as the cause of his fatigue ruined me. Helpful tip – don’t ever think a baby is going to fix a bad relationship. It will make a bad relationship so painfully unbearable that you would rather scrape your corneas out with sandpaper than have to deal with your equally aggravated partner.

Alice has cut her tenth and eleventh teeth in the past two weeks; two bottom molars that have changed the shape of her jaw and given her ulcers on the inside of her cheeks. By day, Alice was her usual, chipper self, if not a little precious about me being too far away. By night, her cheeks burned and her voice cut through the night time silence like a rusty knife. This is the first time we’ve had any really significant effects of teething, and I think Alice was as thrown by it all as we were.
I felt her pain. I can’t imagine what life must have been like for her these past few weeks.
Alice has been getting frustrated, too, with not being able to exercise as much control as she would like. Bum shuffling isn’t quite getting her from A to B fast enough any more, and there are things on higher shelves that she would like to reach. Therefore, she has learnt to tantrum. Quite effectively, too.
It seems that placid, angelic Alice now only comes out in public and special occasions.

And do you know what she did today? She walked. For the first time, Alice left the arms of her Daddy and tottered like a drunk toward me, falling with a squeal of delight in to my waiting embrace. As I held her close to blow a raspberry on her neck, I forgot how exhausted I was. I looked at Paul and fell in love with him for the 89^th time, seeing the expression of pure joy on his face. Alice giggled as I turned her round to walk back, and shrieked with glee as she fell on her backside half way there.

The moment Alice stepped away from Paul was a defining moment in all our lives, not the sleepless nights or teething or tantrums. The challenges over the past few months just didn’t matter any more (although now I might have another explanation for them – It’s good knowing that unsettled sleep can be a pre-cursor to the mastery of a new skill!). The three of us, ignoring dinner’s dishes and sitting on a carpet in need of a vacuum, celebrated Alice’s first steps for half an hour and let the sensation of bliss wash over us like a well-deserved, well-needed balm.

I think this is what parenting is all about. I can’t believe how hard being a mum can be; the worry and sleep deprivation and confusion can seem endless and all-consuming. And yet those long periods of challenge and difficulty are nothing – NOTHING – compared to those moments of joy and love and celebration. Fatigue and frustration don’t compare to what I feel during once-in-a-lifetime events like first steps. Those moments are potent, and enduring, and years from now it is what I will remember most vividly about raising Alice.

One Last Thing - A Breatsfeeding Footnote

18 October, 2014

It has been a fortnight of one year anniversaries for us; Alice’s birth, her first cuddles with family, her first bath, her homecoming. They were all such monumental events at the time and now, a year on, they are a sweet memory and a reminder of how far we’ve all come.
Well yesterday was probably the last memorable anniversary that I acknowledge with a sense of nostalgia; a year ago yesterday was when Alice had her first bottle and I gave up on my dream of exclusively breast feeding.
I won’t re-hash all the drama as I’ve already covered it in past posts. But here are the main points;

• I was terrified that Alice’s immune system was going to suffer and that I had put my baby at risk of SUDI because I didn’t ‘try hard enough’.
• I felt intense guilt from not being able to exclusively breastfeed, and I was painfully disappointed with myself for not being strong enough to cope with exhaustion as well as making enough milk for her. I was worried about the comments I would receive about my ‘decision’ from friends, other mothers, Plunket and the general public, and I was embarrassed to buy formula.
• Despite knowing better, I believed in my heart that the relationship I’d have with Alice would be jeopardised and I would never experience that all consuming bond of love that comes with breastfeeding and regular skin-to-skin contact.
• I basically felt like the world’s worst mother and that Alice deserved better.

Talk about a pity party.
Despite all this guilt and hurt and anxiety, life goes on. Alice saw to that. She was hungry, dammit, and then she was dirty, and then she was tired, and then she was hungry again. There is no time to wallow in the grief of shattered parenting dreams when a little person is demanding your attention. And days turned to weeks and weeks turned to months and maybe, after all, this whole bottle feeding business isn’t really that bad.

Well last night I was having a bath with Alice. She had been talking and singing non-stop for about two hours and had worn herself out so she sat on my knee, warm water up to her belly button, her head on my chest and her arms spread out to hold my arms. We sat like this for about fifteen minutes, with my cheek resting on the top of her head and my arms around her round, naked body. I was afraid to move in case I broke the spell. I was thinking to myself “My god, I have never been so in love as I am right at this minute.” And that’s when I remembered the anniversary.

I wish I could go back in time to when Alice was two weeks old and I was train wreck and tell myself that everything will be okay, honest.

I would tell myself that Alice doesn’t get so much as a cold before she’s one-year-old. There are sniffles with teeth but other than that, there will be no illnesses, no nasty bugs, no rashes or bad coughs or stressful trips to the doctor. I would tell myself that Alice’s immune system is A-grade top-notch stuff, and her health is not something I need to be overly concerned about. I will do enough worrying about germs without any added fear caused by not enough immune boosting breast milk.

If I could go back in time I would tell myself that I am well within my rights to rant and rave to any stranger who feels it’s their business to comment on the ‘decisions’ I make, and that I am allowed to give them a ten minute explanation of my feeding history and tell them that in future they should keep their comments to themselves because, in actual fact, their judgements damn well hurt.

I would tell myself that it’s okay to feel angry if healthcare professionals say things about not breastfeeding that make me feel guilty,  and that when the national breastfeeding campaign says ‘breast is best’, I can add ‘but only if your boobs work’ for my own peace of mind.
But I would also tell myself that everyone I care about will be incredibly understanding and supportive, and that as time goes on you won’t care what strangers think, anyway. I would tell myself that one day you will go to town with pureed carrot and silver beet in your hair and milk vomit down the back of your shoulder and you won’t even know, let alone care (true story). Buying formula won’t even be on your radar and it was never on anyone else’s to begin with.

I will tell myself that by the time Alice is one-year-old, you will develop your own philosophy on breastfeeding and because of who you are and what you do, you will find yourself advocating for and reassuring mother’s who bottle-feed for whatever reason as well as those who breastfeed.

 I will tell myself this story;

One day in late spring, I saw a ewe eating grass while she fed two “lambs” that were nearly as big as she was. They were so big they were kneeling as low as they could get and it still looked like they were lifting their mother’s back end off the grass. Their undocked tails were like woolly helicopter propellers and they were close enough that I could hear their murmurs of appreciation as they suckled greedily. I thought to myself – I wonder if anyone tuts at the ewe and says ‘your lambs are far too big to be breastfed. Time for cows milk, don’t you think?’

This story will make you think how sad it is, that society’s pressure to stop feeding is almost as great as the pressure to start, when there shouldn’t be any pressure at all. If I could go back in time I would say that just because you didn’t feed for as long as you would like, you will still have a philosophy of breastfeeding and you will share it with others who want to hear it, that your opinion is as valid as anyone else’s.

I will remind myself that I’d always said I’d feed until something stopped it – like Alice self-weaning or hormones or another baby. I did just that, it all just stopped sooner than I expected and that’s okay. Maybe with the next one, I will have the chance to feed until their old enough to ask for it, much to the disgusted horror of the other mothers at school. Ha ha! Take that!

Lastly I would tell myself that the fact that you’re so devastated says that you’re the perfect parent for Alice, and she couldn’t do any better.  I would tell myself that it’s okay to be sad, to grieve for the loss of a chance to experience all that breastfeeding entails (including cold cabbage leaves and leaking in public) and to join the great, feminist sisterhood that feed in public just because they can. I would say that being sad is fine, but don’t for a second think that you are any less of a mother. Don’t be sad for that.

This is the final thing I’ll say about my breastfeeding journey. With Alice, anyway. The next little person will no doubt have their own unique feeding journey that will bring its own special set of challenges and triumphs and therefore a need to write about them. For now though, I’ve done my mourning, I’ve danced all I can at my one woman pity party, and now I see that I can celebrate where we’ve come from. I think I might rename it ‘the bottle-feeding journey’. And there’s nothing wrong with that.

A Whole Year!

October 9, 2014

Holy cow, kids, Alice turned one year old on Sunday. I’ve had a few days to get used to the idea but it still makes me shake my head in disbelief.

The Friday before is when the reminiscing started – A whole year ago that day was when I went for a long, lovely swim in the thermo-pool with my mum, lifeguards looking anxious as I floated on my back with my enormous, three-day-overdue belly sticking out of the water like an island. It’s actually a wonder I didn’t sink.
I missed my belly on Friday, I have done for a year. And then Alice sings along with a tune on the radio or gives her wooden spoon a nuggle and I get over it.
Saturday was an emotional day of remembering my incredible labour – when I was giggling with contractions in the early hours of the morning and thinking how hilarious it was trying to shave my legs so my midwife wouldn’t have to deal with prickles later (because, of course, my hairy legs would be her biggest concern).
At two in the afternoon I fought back tears at a friend’s house when I realised a year ago at that moment, my midwife told me she could feel the skin on Alice’s head and she was convinced she had hair. I was talking to a friend about Alice’s birthday prep and choked up – she must have thought I was an emotional nut case.
I remembered my exhausted tears at four pm, after 16 hours of labour, made worse by the guilt I felt when I saw how dog-tired Paul was, too.
I remembered, at eight-thirty pm, that it was a year since I rang mum (wringing her hands at home all day, poor thing) to say that we were getting ready to leave for hospital, but we’d still be another half hour so don’t rush. She bet us there by fifteen minutes.

And Sunday, well. We had an amazing day with forty five people filling our living room to help Alice, Paul and I celebrate. The cake was awful. The table wasn’t big enough for the food I had made, let alone what everyone else brought. I forgot to give Alice her afternoon bottle. But we were surrounded by family and friends and there were kids everywhere and it was wonderful. Alice was a social butterfly for the first time in her life and she got spoiled rotten. And when I climbed in to bed that night tired and teary, I was able to remember that year ago that day, Alice took her first breath and took mine away.

The 365 days that have just passed has been the making and breaking of me.
For the first time ever there has been strain on the relationship I have with Alice’s dad, and yet I can say without hesitation I have never loved him more.
I used to happily define myself as a teacher, letting the title speak for itself as a description for what I do as well as who I am. This doesn’t work any more – not because I don’t teach any more, but because my identity has been stripped to its bare bones to become something entirely new. In fact, it’s still in the process of ‘becoming’. But ‘teacher’ is not a big enough title to describe who I am, to sum up my hopes and dreams and motivations and fears and personality and quirks and faults in one, succinct term. ‘Mother’ almost does it, though.

 And Alice, oh my god. I don’t even know how to say how incredible it’s been, having a whole year of achievements and cuddles and pure, unadulterated  joy provided by just one sweet little person.
With the outside world, I celebrated Alice’s first birthday on Sunday. But just her and me with her dad, too, we’ve celebrated a year long love affair that we all fall deeper in to every day.

My Baby Food Fumble

September 15, 2014

Alice is 11 months old now, and my goodness, my head is spinning. In two months my quiet, easy going, peaceful baby has grown in to a loud, mobile, and wilful little girl (except when we are out, of course, then she’s all seriousness and solemn observation). I can’t believe how much everything has changed; about the only thing that has remained the same is that Alice is still a ridiculously happy little person. With all these changes come a lot of excitement and celebration and photo taking. During this time, Alice had mostly been my guide; if she’s happy, I’m happy. However, I still seek the reassurance from people who know more about raising babies than me, like other mothers, my mother, and Plunket, because as well as celebration and excitement , there is also a lot of uncertainty with so many changes so quickly.
One of the things I have been uncertain about has been food. When Alice was nine months old she was still eating mostly pureed vegetables and fruit. I could count on my fingers and toes what she had eaten since her first taste of baby rice at six months old. But at nine months, my mild uncertainty grew to full on panic and I did something I’d never done before; I changed something for Alice before she told me she was ready.
In the space of a few days I was given screeds of advice from people that I trust, advice that was given with love and good intentions after I had asked for it. I was told, unequivocally, that at nine months babies should be eating what adults eat. I was told that babies who stay on pureed food for too long become fussy with texture, as anything they haven’t experienced before 18 months of age they would refuse. I was told to give her everything because babies at nine months put everything in their mouths. I was told to stop worrying about her gag reflex. I was told she had to hold the spoon so she learns how to feed herself. I was told that iron deficiency is catastrophic in infants and essential for healthy brains, and so Alice should be eating lots of red meat. I was asked if I eat paté or lambs fry and when I said I didn’t, I was told to go and buy it anyway and given recipes for how to prepare them.
As well as this, some of the babies around Alice’s age were having full-on meals and eating all sorts of things, from butter chicken to cream donuts. And here was my girl, nine months old and not moving from where she sat and eating smashed up pumpkin and silver beet from a spoon she doesn’t hold (because, to be honest, I wouldn’t let her and she never asked for it). For more than a few awful moments I thought my relaxed approach to introducing new food had stunted Alice’s development.

Overwhelming, right?

So, what followed was a week of me giving Alice the food she’d already been eating in its normal form (cooked, of course), as well as introducing yoghurt, ground beef, cheese fingers and I’m pretty sure she had her first wine biscuit around this time, too. What also followed was a week of Alice hating meal times, habitually waking during the night for the first time in seven months, and having a struggle with every bottle. She gazed at the broccoli florets, and only after I put it in her mouth for her would she chew, gag, throw up, and not eat any more. After a week I gave up and we went back to more pureed food than not and things settled again. Of course this was concerning it itself – when the hell am I going to transition Alice to proper food when she’s fussy already?
It’s funny how I haven’t learned from months of lessons that Alice has taught me.

About three weeks ago, Alice started refusing to eat off the spoon unless she was holding it. She started yelling – YELLING – at me when I tried to give her pureed food, but would open her mouth like a new born chick waiting for a worm if she saw yoghurt, scrambled egg, pieces of raw plum or chicken coming her way. When I gave her mixed vegetables one night she ate all the peas first, then the beans, then the corn, while picking up the carrots between her thumb and index finger and tossing them on to the floor, one by one. Alice breaks mini rice crackers in half and shares some with me. She points to things on my plate at dinner time, with a hopeful, hungry look on her face. And as for putting everything in her mouth, nothing is safe be it edible or not. There is no hint of her being fussy with texture, and she took away the need for me to intentionally introduce her to nuts when I found her sucking basil and cashew pesto off a plate she found on the coffee table.

I think back on my approach to food a few months ago and wonder what on earth I was thinking.
When I think about those conversations I had with those lovely, knowledgeable people when Alice was nine months old and I was freaking out, I wonder what stopped me from taking their advice and comparing to what I already knew about Alice, myself, and our existing approach to meal times. The week that followed would have been very different if I had thought about things rationally.
Because the truth is, Alice wasn’t putting everything in her mouth at nine months old.
The truth is I was never concerned about her gag reflex. I didn’t introduce solid food because she didn’t need it, not because I was afraid.
 The truth is Alice was (is) getting plenty of iron from milk and vegetables, and her intelligence is anything but stunted.
The truth is that Alice has four or five years to learn how to use a spoon before people start asking questions, and she can clearly feed herself.
 The truth is that I wouldn’t have had sushi, camembert cheese or vodka shots when I was a baby, so maybe not having every single food and texture under the sun isn’t such a big deal.

The truth is paté and lambs fry is flipping gross and I’d never, ever inflict that on Alice without her choosing it first!
The truth is that some of the babies I had been comparing her to starting eating solid food at four months old so had that much more time to experience food.
The truth is that Alice is observant and intelligent and discerning, and has always been capable of letting me know when she was ready for something to change. I don’t know why I didn’t trust her to do it with food, either.
Food can be such a big issue for families. I feel it every day – wanting so desperately to make sure Alice is eating a variety of foods but not so much to make her feel ill. Wanting to give her healthy foods that don’t break the bank or deprive Alice of texture experiences. Wanting to offer wholesome food that doesn’t take hours to prepare after a long day but not resorting to jars and sandwiches because I’m feeling tired. I see now that fussiness isn’t solely caused by offering pureed food or less than one hundred per cent dedication to baby-led weaning (another blog, another time). Fussy eaters can also be a product of parents stressing about what and how their babies eat.
Alice has shown me, among other things, to embrace my old, relaxed approach to food before I freaked myself out. She has assured me that she’ll lead the way, I just need to make sure the fridge is full. And now, dinner time is fun again, Alice is more hilarious and happy than ever, and my goodness, her cheese and corn mini muffins are pretty delicious if I must say so myself.

On the menu for lunch today? Mashed pumpkin and parsnip, a meatball, and maybe some stewed apple as a sweet little treat.

Welcoming Alice to the World

The arrival of a baby is celebrated in lots of ways. Christenings and baptisms, naming ceremonies, celebrations to welcome a baby to the family… they are all beautiful moments in a child’s life. For me, this celebration is the acknowledgement that baby belongs to something bigger than itself – be it family or faith or both – and I wanted this for Alice. But how to make it meaningful? Though spiritual we aren’t overly religious and being nine-months-old, Alice already has a prominent place in her large, loving family. And so, for the first time Alice’s toes touched earth and I quietly celebrated Alice’s connection to our home.
I thought the best way to explain it would be to share with you the email I sent Alice, explaining this small but spiritually rich ceremony.

Hi Little One,

On the weekend, we buried your whenua, your placenta, underneath a gold maple tree in front of the house. You were exactly nine months old. This might not seem like much, but to me, it's kind of a big deal.
In Te Reo Maori, the word "whenua" means "life giving". The same word is used for earth or land as well as placenta. Your placenta gave you life for the first nine months while I carried you safe in my belly, and your home at PepperTree is where you will continue to live - to grow into a beautiful, intelligent human being. Even better, you will be forever connected to this place because your whenua is here. It doesn't matter where you travel to, what direction your life takes you. You will always belong to this place because life was given, developed, and protected here.

PepperTree, your home, is your turangawaewae - your place to stand. It doesn't matter where you go, your place at PepperTree is strong and longlasting. Your place will protect you, provide for you, give you places to eat and sleep and explore and relax and discover, not only who you are but what your world can give you. But with this great gift comes responsibility. You belong here, you are Tangata Whenua, and your place is relying on you to care for it.


Grow vegetables, baby girl. We'll use herbs from our garden in cooking often. Play in the fruit trees that Dad and I have already planted, and when you eat those delicious hua rakau that your whenua has given you, bury the stones and pips back in the earth.

Walk barefoot on the ground. Papatuanuku, our earth mother, carries the earth on her back - the strength of women never ceases to amaze me! Your bare toes massage her back and help to ease her burden. Don't worry about messy feet and let your hands work their magic on Papatuanuku's back, too. Admire the creatures you find but be mindful - worms, snails, bumblebees and spiders are kind of like Papatuanuku's grandchildren and are so important for the health of the earth. And remember, from their point of view, you are a visitor in their home. Please, be gentle.

Don't be afraid to talk to Papatuanuku either, or the living things she gives birth to. Create a relationship with her - a relationship based on trust and empathy and love. Create memories with her that are soft and slow, or windy and exciting. Tell your secrets to butterflies, especially the white ones - they hang around long enough to listen. Read books to trees and flowers - I'm pretty convinced it helps them grow better, it certainly works for humans. Believe in your ability to sing birdsong to the Kereru that live here with us. Nature returns your love in interesting and beautiful ways, you'll just have to watch for it carefully.

These are ways that you can care for your place, ways that you can fulfill your role as Tangata Whenua of PepperTree, your forever home.

Time for me to go, Baby Girl, I've got to get your dinner ready. Love you so much! Have a brilliant day!

Mumma xxx


My hope is that Alice grows up in a world where she appreciates language and legend, where she finds balance and peace in organic, simple ways, and where her spiritual connection to nature and to her home is so strong it’s almost tangible. I hope this celebration is the beginning of a long, lovely lifetime for her in our little corner of the world.