What Was I Thinking?

Yesterday (Thursday) I decided because we've all been flat-out lately with family visiting in town, and because Amelia had a slight cold and was also was playing so well alone one morning (which has been a rare occurrence of late) , we'd stay at home.

What was I thinking?

Some may think our weekdays are somewhat over-scheduled as we have an activity to go to every morning. Monday is a play-date, Tuesday is playgroup, Wednesday is gymnastics, Thursday is playgroup and Friday is music. We are never usually out for more than two hours at a time and come home for a late morning nap. (yes, both of us!) Sometimes we may go to the park or beach,run an errand in the afternoons or our big afternoon adventure might be walking to the dairy to get some milk. Or we may just chill at home.

The point is, I'm a Mum who needs to get out of the house at least once a day. I need the stimulation and social connections the world outside our two-bedroomed home provides. Amelia needs it too. Although we enjoy the comfort, warmth and security our loving home gives us, we need to get out sometimes.

This was certainly proven yesterday.

It started off well. Amelia did play independently for a good forty-five minutes or so. And then she was into the cupboards. Obviously she'd witnessed me boiling an egg recently and so out came the pot and an egg went in. I watched nervously wondering where this "game" was heading while contemplating whether I should just nip it in the bud then and there or encourage creative play, while supervising from a safe distance. I chose the latter approach. So the one egg in the pot ended up being the whole contents of the egg tray in the pot. And then they all had to go back into the fridge again. And then back into the pot. You get the picture...

It seems Amelia is going through a stage of wanting to imitate life as she sees it. And so bedding was pulled out from the linen cupboard and I was pulled to the ground in her bedroom as she strategically placed a sheet over me. Just days before her Dad had been camped on the floor and I was in Amelia's double bed when family were visiting in town (they had our room).

It is great and encouraging to see that our two year old wants to help out around the house so much. Yet every attempt to help results in a bigger mess than what was there before.

So this Thursday, at home all day with my two year old, I did tackle a few domestic chores from dishes to laundry only to have little hands wanting to rewash dishes I'd already cleaned or items of clothing hung on to the clothes-horse that hadn't been washed. The egg-game continued throughout the day as did the bed-game. A number of other messes occurred around the house that I've chosen to block from my memory for now.

All I know is, a whole day at home is rare for us. We did end up with egg on the floor by the end of the day. But at least it wasn't on my face!

Welcome To My Blog!

Hi everyone,

Consider this the launch of my official blog!

As some of you know, I have had a writing web site for a year or so. That was great except I felt I could only put published works on it. Since I get published infrequently, I am excited to have this new forum to write my heart out! It was put together by my clever-cloggs hubby, Kev, who sweetly said perhaps having my own blog will encourage me to write more. Who knows how frequently I'll actually write - I will let my natural (writing) rhythm work itself out.

All of the items dated before this one are my published works (articles and my bimonthly column) and short story competitions I have entered over the last two years.

Enjoy! Don't be afraid to add your comments. But be nice, as I'm just a newbie on the blogging block, after all!

Lynda
xx

Two Years Of Mummyhood

"New Mum On The Block "
Nelson District Parent Centre Newsletter May/June 2007

Today our antenatal class met for a combined two year birthday party celebration. It seems like just the other day that we gathered to celebrate the first year of our children's lives. Some mums are on to their seconds. I had the pleasure of holding a five week old this morning and I commented how it seems as though my daughter was born a two year old as it is hard to associate her today with being the baby she was yesterday.

We celebrated Amelia's birthday last weekend with a small party which included a couple of her friends. The celebration was quite different from the one last year in which we had just had close family present. This years party reflected how we've networked just a little more into the community and made some great connections with some other families.

Two years of mothering feels quite symbolic for me. When I celebrated one year of mothering, I felt as though I was no longer treading water, that I was out of survival mode and able to see the wood for the trees. A year later I feel quite different. I am much more confident, have clear values, opinions and ideas around mothering and am enjoying the independence that comes with raising a two year old.

Life outside of motherhood is happening again for me. I've been for swims and bike-rides and am doing a course in Small Management once a week. And working two nights a week. I am very fortunate that I have a wonderful, supportive husband who gives me the freedom to do all this stuff outside of the home.

As I grow into motherhood and enjoy it more and more, I feel sad and concerned for the brand new mums on the block who might feel overwhelmed, uncertain, unsupported and confused within motherhood. It seems there is pressure out there to have it all together and to have all the answers by the end of that first year which to me, is totally unrealistic.

If anyone has stuck long-term in a job in any industry, they will know that a year in a job is not long. Only long enough to get to grips with the role; not long enough to fly in it. The same goes for motherhood, I believe.

There is a school of thought out there that believes motherhood comes together in many levels around the second year. That has certainly being my experience. I am a lot happier now than I was a year ago. A lot of what we do during our weeks activity-wise is the same and we still have sleep issues – yet I am much more relaxed about it all.

Two years of being an at-home Mum has meant a lot of personal growth for myself. I started off in my new role with (natural) trepidation. It was all so incredibly overwhelming. And I didn't help myself any by putting such high standards on myself. It has taken many months for me to get to know my daughter, work out what style of mothering suits me, and to make peace around my non-Betty Crocker self. However I do enjoy getting tea on the table very night at 5pmish. I love creating a stable, secure home for our wee family.

Of course I've had stretches of time when I've been bored, and uncertain about aspects of motherhood and recently, challenged with the trials and tribulations of living with a two year old. Yet those times are in the minority. I love going to Playgroup and music group with Amelia, and watching her evolve in these environments she's been going to since she was six months old. She's more confident, more independent, and more involved.

The bottom-line is; I wouldn't change the last two years for anything. Being an at-home Mum has been an absolute pleasure and I will continue to relish our next year at home together as we prepare for Kindy in 2008.

Getting The Support You Need

"New Mum On The Block "
Nelson District Parent Centre Newsletter March/April

I have yet to meet a new Mum who wasn't stripped bare with the whole childbirth experience. Right from the word go there is so much for the new Mum to get her head around – breastfeeding (not as easy as it looks and no guarantees it will even work), nappies (has any one Mum ever managed to perfect the folding of a hospital cloth nappy?), gingerly bathing something smaller than your cat and operating on a ridiculous amount of sleep even though your body is screaming for a week long break on a tropical island somewhere.

Obviously us new Mums are in over our heads. Of course we need support. A ton of it please! And encouragement. We need a shoulder to cry on when the going gets tough, people to tell us we are doing a good job of raising our bundle of joy even though there is dried baby puke on one shoulder and bags under our eyes that hint that perhaps longer than a week on that tropical island may be needed to recoup ourselves. And do tell us we look good even though we are traipsing around in the trackies we swore we'd never be seen dead in or that you turned up unannounced to find us still in our PJ's at 2pm.

A generation or two ago it was a given that a new Mum would have her extended family close by when the newborn arrived. Motherhood was witnessed amongst family and mothering tips handed down in a natural way. These days a lot of us don't have our extended family around us. And so unless we want to go it alone, we are reliant on reaching out within our community for support.

Because we don't have family who live in town, hubby and I set out to create a support network by firstly attending antenatal classes at the Parent Centre. These were an excellent way to connect with other parents-to-be . The Baby And You classes were my initiation into mixing with Mums and bubs. A coffee group followed where it was a relief to know there were other Mums I could meet with that were in the same boat .

Coffee group gave a bit of a structure to my week in the early months of motherhood. Apart from one or two other Mums I'd known before motherhood, these were the only women I socialised with regularly. It's been great to watch our babies move through each stage together – from newborn to infant to toddler and within the next couple of months they will all be approaching Two! As Mums naturally play the comparison game, coffee groups can have a bit of a competitive vibe, yet it is good to check in with those who are raising children the same age.

When Amelia was around six months, I branched out into taking her to a local Playgroup and music group. By taking her to these groups on a regular basis, it started to feel as though my Mum community was forming. New friendships are developing from these groups, but really the support I get from attending these groups is simply in knowing and seeing other Mums out there, week in, week out. In passing one might have a casual conversation about anything from childbirth to toilet training. You can turn up at of these groups after having had a challenging episode with your pride and joy, only to have it all melt away somewhat once you are greeted by a sea of Mums with their tots. In that instance you know you're not alone. So this week when Amelia's groups started up again I was glad to be back in the swing of it all as not only do these groups add structure to our week, a place for Amelia to play and socialise, they also provide me with a great deal of support.

Sooner or later as parents you realise that it is an incredible challenge to raise your child on your own. We did it for what seemed like a long time. Occasionally my Mum would babysit when in town, but very sporadically. I knew we could “just go out and get a babysitter” if we really wanted to, but like many first-time parents, I didn't want just anyone looking after our daughter. So through our antenatal class, a friendship started to develop with another couple who didn't have family in town either. When Amelia was around 18 months, we were ready to start having regular time-outs to ourselves and we suggested babysitting swaps.

So in the weekends hubby and I have been going out for brunch, knowing our daughter is in safe hands. I smile inwardly at other parents who are getting up fifty times during their brunches while I pour my third cup of tea in a row without moving once. (except to maybe go to the loo...) It is a good feeling being able to hand over your child to someone else to look after, even if it is only for an hour and a half once a week.

Support isn't just about babysitters and mixing with a community of Mums, it's also about being respected for the way you choose to raise your children. In this day and age there are so many variations on how to “have it all” as such. It would seem many a Mum is in a quandary as to what might work best for them. There are many reasons why Mums opt to stay home fulltime just as there are many reasons why Mums choose to work casually, part-time or fulltime. Noone has the right to judge another's decision.

Yet us Mums do need to ask for support so that we are able to be the best Mums we can, regardless of whether we choose to be at-home Mums or to combine work with motherhood. Noone else can guess our needs. I've learnt that I have to pencil in time-outs for the things I need to do to keep me sane and healthy. I've also learnt to grasp the pockets of time that do come up during the week as my daughter becomes more independent.

In the early days I turned to Plunket for advice, and made contact with the Postnatal Depression Support Network here in Nelson following a traumatic birthing experience. I have phoned Healthline off and on over the last 22 months with varying questions from problems with breastfeeding to tending to a toddler with a worrying stomach bug. There are organisations to phone for support. It is important to reach out as none of us can be expected to know it all.

Someone just this week quoted me with the African proverb it takes a village to raise a child. There is a lot of truth in that one as none of us can do the child-rearing thing alone.

The Magic of Twilight

Entered in The Page and Blackmore Short Story Competition 2007. Judged by Owen Marshall
An inconvenience leads to possibilities in love.
"A competent light romance tale which tends to become overly sentimental towards the end. "

Geneva tilted her head back so she could relish the feeling of the wind blowing through her hair as she pedalled. It was twilight, her favourite time of night and the beginning of a brand new year. An opportunity to build a bigger, brighter future. Starting with this bike ride. No more toffee pops on the couch while watching bad television.

Clunk. Oh no. Her legs weren't going anywhere. Geneva stopped and sure enough, there was the chain dangling on the footpath like a legless drunk. Nothing she could do but walk the bike home. There was a bit of traffic on the main road in suburbia as it was Friday night. She felt the “will-you-look-at-that-woman” looks but ignored them.

“Nice night for a walk ...with a bike!” The husky American voice startled her. Surburbian New Zealand was hardly a place for tourist attractions. She turned around and was taken aback to see a good-looking, thirty-something dark-haired man smiling at her.
“Hank” he said, offering his hand
“Geneva” she said, shaking it arkwardly.
“ I'm in town for a wedding.”
Her expression must have been “oh.”
“Not my wedding” he winked. “You wouldn't know if there was a decent bar round these parts would you?”
These parts? He may as well have been walking the streets with a horse.
“Well actually there is somewhere – about ten minutes from here. Kind of lame...” he smiled in amusement. “ Well, the beers okay.” she managed to smile.
“Care to show me the way?” he asked, eyebrows high, and his face on the brink of breaking into a smile. “I have a night off from my bestman duties. Tomorrow's the stag night. Thought I better sample some of this kiwi beer so I know what I'm doing.” She took one out-of-body look at herself decked in sweatpants, disrevelled hair from her helmet and shook her head. “I'm heading the opposite way. But it's easy to find – just walk straight down the next turn-off on the right for ten minutes.”
“Shame” he said “You sure know how to let a visitor from out of town down. Well then, if you don't want to come along tonight perhaps tomorrow night then, just as the party's getting warmed up?”
Geneva hesitated. She was so over the bar scene. Really she just wanted to slow down and enjoy the company of a good man with simple nights in. Crikey – she really was sounding the thirty-two years of age that she was. But then she looked at Hank, with his perfect American white teeth and his adorable yankee accent.
“Okay then” Geneva smiled “Tomorrow night it is.”

He grinned from ear to ear. “ See you then Geneva. 7pm. Don't be late!”

Geneva fingered through her wardrobe. What do you wear when you are going on a date with a hot American to a stag party of all things? She didn't want to be too slutty. So the mini skirts, even though they looked good on her, her legs being her stand-out feature – nope – it would just send the wrong message. Afterall, she really didn't fancy jumping out of a cake...So, something not so revealing...Perhaps the capri pants with the fitted blouse would be a good ensemble? On second thoughts, when she put it on it just seemed to scream boring office worker and no, you won't be getting a kiss from me tonight. She didn't want to look slutty but then she didn't want to appear fridgid either...Then, there it was – a classic shift dress with a bow detail at the waist - sexy and simple. Next the makeup. She didn't want to look like she'd been paid to attend the stag party, after all. So Geneva opted for the natural look. Minimal makeup but she danced her eyes up with eye-shadow and mascara. Next went lip-gloss on her lips. She smacked her lips together – not bad!

Geneva stood at the door of the local and suddenly clicked that this was obviously a huge wedding. Then Hank was handing her a glass of champagne “Thought it was going to be a little quieter than this?” She nodded. “ Tom tying the knot is a big deal to this lot – his whole footie team is over there, half his school here. Amazing he ever travelled to America and met yours truly huh.” She nodded as yes, she had wondered how Hank fitted in. “I'm the son of the host family Tom stayed with when he did a school exchange.” “We were like brothers” he added. “Speak of the devil...” and Tom wandered over. Blonde hair, blue eyes – he was the thinking girls jock fantasy. He reeked of push-ups, chin-ups, crunchies and no doubt had a rock-hard body. But he didn't take her fancy. “Tom, this is Geneva” Hank said “Hey” said Tom “So are you going to be Hank's date to my wedding?” Her look must have said it all. “Hmmm...” she said looking at Hank. “Tom!” Hank gave him a blokey slap “I was waiting til she'd had at least one drink before I asked her.” They all roared with laughter at that.
“So? “ said Hank “Even though we've known each other for a whole ten minutes all up – would you like to come to a wedding on Saturday? Please say yes, I'm a decent guy and quite desperate.”
“Sure” she smiled. There could be worse things to do on Saturday night than going to a wedding.
“Excellent!” He punched the air enthusiatically.

Clink. The wedding guests held their up their champagne flutes to the bride and groom. Hank had given a hilarious speech covering some of the experiences he and Tom had had in America. And of course there were references to Janine who Tom had met at highschool that no american girls had ever compared to. There were lots of awwwws when Hank said that, in his charming American way.

Geneva felt a hand on her shoulder. “I'm all yours now” Hank beamed. “My best man duties are over with – so – care to dance?” With that he held out his hand and pulled her to her feet. “Geneva?” he said. Somehow she never got sick of hearing her name in his American accent. “Yes, Hank?” she smiled as they walked to the dance floor. “ I'm leaving in two days...” his voice trialed off. Of course! She'd gotten so caught up in this whirlwind romance that she'd forgotten that Hank didn't actually live here – that he'd actually be leaving soon She felt a lump in her throat. Ridiculous! She'd known him for a whole forty-eight hours. “Anyway” he said turning her head with his hand so she was forced to look directly into his eyes. “I was hoping you might like to join me for a day trip tomorrow. Just the two of us?” That took Geneva by surprise. “Sure, that would be great .” Hank smiled, picked up her hand and kissed it. As they danced closely to the sounds of the jazz band, Geneva could feel her heart pounding in her chest, just like the leading lady in a Mills and Boon novel.

Geneva and Hank went on a picnic where they spent hours drinking wine and talking. They had more in common than they perhaps originally thought – both book-worms who liked to go on long walks. Neither of them liked dogs. At the end of the day Hank looked at her, his eyes misting up a little. “Geneva” he said “Tomorrow my heart will be broken, when I fly back home. It has been the most amazing day...”
She smiled and wiped back a tear too. “I know” she sighed.
They agreed to keep in touch by email and phone calls. Geneva hoped to make it to America within the next six months. She needed time to save and to accrue some leave.

Hank dropped Geneva off at her house early that evening. He had an early flight the next day. They kissed by her front gate and hugged like the lovers they wanted to be. Then Geneva found herself inside her flat. Her bike, chain fixed, stood invitingly in the hallway. Ten minutes later she pedalled off into the twilight. But the magic of the twilight had gone. All she could think of was that Hank would be in the sky tomorrow heading further and further away from her as each second passed. She wiped away an escapee tear and pedalled faster, wondering how different she'd be feeling now if the chain had never come off her bike in the first place.

Gone Fishing

Entered in South Island Writers' Assocation Open Short Story Competition 2007.
Who knows who you might reel in if you give it a go.
"This is a good story with heaps of potential. All it needs is a bit of tweaking here and there."

Sam rushed home in a break from the video shop she worked at. Pie and soft-drink in hand, the plan was to scoff her lunch down on the couch while she watched Oprah. Yet the minute she stood outside the door, jangling her keys, something caused her to pause. The front door was slightly ajar, and the pearls of laughter emananting from inside the apartment hit her right in the guts. Sam and her sickened stomach should have just backed out then and there, since she knew what was coming - she had seen the cheesy scene played a hundred times before. Yet some overwhelming need in her beckoned her to inch closer towards the laughter. Sam drew her breath and whipped the bedroom door open wide.

And there they were.

Not completely unclothed like she might have expected, but intimate enough. Sam shook her head, and walked out of the bedroom, clutching her stomach. It was too much, and she was sure she was going to hurl. Outside she gathered herself together for a minute as really she didn't want to come back here again to this tainted apartment, ever. So she sucked in her breath, grabbed her suitcase from the top of the wardrobe, and walked quickly around the bedroom as the awkward couple watched, packing her suitcase, pulling her clothes out of the wardrobe straight off the hangers and stuffing them into the suitcase – there was simply no time to be standing there folding clothes. She flung her tampons, toothbrush and the toothpaste from the bathroom into a toilet bag. Yeah, he could go and buy another tube of toothpaste. Surely it wasn't a bad deal from his end– one tube of toothpaste in exchange for sleazy behaviour. Incredibly, she managed to pack within minutes. Or so it seemed. Amazing what a bit of adrendlin could do for a girl.

And him in the background. “Wait, let's talk this over. We can figure this out...” all the usual excuses. Even he was embarrassed at how unoriginal and cliched he sounded.

“Thanks” Sam said, suitcase in one hand while she smoothed her hair with her other hand while she
caught her breath “For our time together. This ending sucks. But oh well, it's over then. So I'll just leave you and...thingamajig to it then...” Thingamajig let out a nervous giggle. Sam wanted to slap her, oh-so-badly, but she managed to restrain herself.

She turned on her heels and breezed out of the bedroom.

In the seconds it had taken Sam to walk out of the warehouse apartment they had briefly resided in together, and onto the street, their relationship was now history. Just like that. Funny how one minute someone could be your everything and then they were - your nothing. She shook her head in disbelief for a second. It was time to move on – then and there.

Sam walked fast, dragging her suitcase, trying so very hard to fight back the tears in public. Dammit, it was lunchtime and she felt just a bit conspicious as workers on their breaks took in the sight of a mid-twenties woman, dressed in her video store t-shirt, dragging a suitcase down the street. Damn the staring. Sam escaped into a public toilet and her insides welled up like she couldn't believe and she exploded into enormous sobs that came from the depths of her being. She blew her nose loudly with the scratchy toilet paper often found in public loos and her mind wandered back to that first night, wondering how she'd gotten from there – to here...

It was a hot summer's night in the mid-nineties, and Sam was the first to admit she'd had a few too many. Beer, wine, and a couple of shots. Okay, maybe more than just a few too many. She'd had her hair cut that day and was relishing the confidence her new look gave her. Her jeans fitted her snuggly, her t-shirt showed off her toned arms. She felt hip and trendy and proud to be twenty-five.

The bar was packed, and the music was pumping loudly. Coloured lights playfully twirled on the dance-floor and Sam was on fire. Moving On Up by the M People played, one of her favourite
dance tracks, and she was having a ball. She was dancing with Mr Two-Step, one of those guys who didn't know how to break out of the old side-to-side move. And he was slightly out-of-time. Ok, very out. Kind of cute though - in a bank teller kind of a way.

The song ended, Sam thanked Mr Two-Step and looked around for her friends. There they were. Lola at the bar, chatting up the barman. Again. Sonya standing nearby sipping a drink, coolly surveying the surroundings. Sam ordered three shots of black zumbucca. She threw one down the bar to Lola, gave her a wink and then handed one to Sonya. Sonya nodded thanks. And then the lights came on. Curse those three am curfews. And why did the lights have to be on full? Everyone knew how hideous the average person looked at that hour. The girls with their unstyled hair, melted foundation, exposed zits, smudged mascara, and non-existent lipstick. Then there were some whose bodysuits leaked out of jeans that the drunken wearer had forgotten to tuck in during her last pitstop to the loo. And the guys didn't look so great either at that hour with their greasy hair and sweaty underarms. But then the majority of the patrons left at that hour had their beer-goggles on. Small details like that were overlooked.

So Sam, Lola, and Sonya joined arms together, wondering what they might do next as they wondered along Courtenay Place like the rest of the partiers in Wellington, searching for something else to do. It was late yet these three ladies had only just begun. They'd been dancing up a storm and weren't ready to slow down.

They turned around a corner and literally bumped into three guys who also seemed to be having a good time. A little bit of chit-chat on the street and then they were drinking dacquiris in a downtown warehouse-style apartment. Sam couldn't believe it. It was so glam, so american sitcom. Like being Gone Fishing Page Four
on Friends or in Seinfeld's apartment. Except this was Wellington, New Zealand, not New York. Still, close enough.

“I like your hair” he said. She turned and there he was. Schwing! Dimples, tanned skin, long hair and a brown leather jacket.

”Thanks” she said “You know a few hours ago it was down to here...” she said touching the middle of her back. And with that he touched the exact spot her hand had just left and she knew then, in that moment, that she was screwed. She may as well have pulled her heart right out and handed it to him on a platter.

From the start it was all too good to be true. She got wooed in ways she'd never been wooed before. Flowers, wine, and many a dinner out. Romantic nights in at his warehouse apartment listening to Van Morrison. Weeks turned into months and before she knew it, Sam had moved in. Why not, he said, you're here most nights anyway. She didn't own much, since she'd always claimed to be materially-adverse, so it wasn't a major deal. Just Sam and her toothbush, tampons and a few changes of clothes. She'd just naturally assumed that moving in meant that things had changed gears a little. How wrong was she...

There was a loud knock outside the public loo door. Sam came back to reality. She dabbed under her eyes, got out her compact to check her face, then closed it deciding it was just not that important. She opened the door and a guy stood outside. For a moment she was taken aback. Oh yeah, unisex public loos – it was so Ally McBeal.

The guy looked vaguely familiar. Oh yeah – Mr Two-Step! She smiled, he smiled. “You going to be hitting the town this Friday? “ he asked. “Why not? “ she shrugged and as she walked out, dragging her suitcase across the road into the video store she worked at, her co-workers with questions written all over their faces, with Mr Two-Step watching her all the way, she knew was going to be okay.

Seemed there were plenty of fish in the sea. She just needed to go out fishing again. Soon.

Tommy

Entered in The Romance Writers New Zealand (Nelson Branch) Valentines Day Romantic Short Story Competition 2006.
Love comes in many shapes and forms.
"Characteriaation is excellent. We know a great deal about Tommy and our heroine."

It wasn’t love at first sight. He was almost plain to look at. Medium build. A what-you-see is what-you-get type. No bells and whistles. He’d been around the block yet she liked that he had a history. He was clearly loyal, reliable and willing to go that extra mile. He simply had all the credentials she wanted.

Tommy didn’t say much but she immediately felt at ease in his company. They naturally fitted together so their relationship was a comfortable one from the start. She was slightly more dominating, leading the way a lot of the time. And this suited them both.

When they met she was a bit lost in life. Having recently returned to New Zealand after several years overseas, she felt displaced. She’d left a lot behind and was still reeling from the shock. It was like experiencing culture shock in her home country. It was going to take time to get reacquainted with New Zealand again.

She and Tommy went on many trips throughout the land of the long white cloud. They moved a few times. He willingly followed as she unconsciously searched for a town she could settle in. Their taste in music was similar and they shared many a tune on the open road. He never seemed to mind when she sang uproariously off key to songs playing on the radio.

Tommy was always at her side, supporting her in whatever decision she’d make that affected them. Job and career changes. And just because changes. He seemed to enjoy a change as much as she did. Gradually she fell in love with New Zealand again and his quiet influence had a lot to do with it.

It felt as though he had been a part of her life for so long that she assumed things would always continue the way they had. It was such an easy relationship that it could be said that she took him for granted.

And so the day he hurt himself and his future was unclear came as a devastating blow. It was a moment in time she’d never forget. The car in front braked suddenly and they crashed into it. She sat stunned in the drivers’ seat for a few minutes. The driver from the other car knocked on her window and asked her if she was okay. She wiped away a runaway tear and nodded yes. But Tommy…
Then she got the news that he was going to be okay. He’d be up and about in a few weeks. She got off the phone, her cheeks a rosy glow. Tomorrow she could go and pick up her car from the repair shop. Her Tommy was going to be fine.

Blueberry Muffins

Entered in a Short Story Competition 2007. (forgotten which one!)
A reminder of how simple , thoughtful exchanges provide some comfort in our times of need.

Seagulls squawked above, cars whizzed by. But it was the sound of the wind rustling softly through the trees outside that comforted her the most as she sat motionless in her armchair. A gentle reminder that she was just a wee speck in the grand scheme of things. Carol got out of her armchair, walked the short distance to her small kitchen and flicked the jug on. A cuppa always did the trick.

A clock ticked methodically away in the kitchen, and the jug whistled happily away. Her dog Hector lay on his side, snoring peacefully without a care in the world as Peanut the cat watched with slitted eyes from her perch on the arm of her favourite armchair.

Carol went to the pantry and chose her favourite mug. She'd been given it by one of her grandkids. Probably from a $2 shop. It said “To The Best Nana In The World”. Silly, but somehow it always cheered her up. Even though two year old Sophie wouldn't have even known what the brightly-coloured letters meant. Carol put in a tea-bag. It was always bell tea. She'd tried those herbal teas but they weren't very appealing at all. Her daughter Laura was always trying to get her to try them. Putrid. Bob always said that they tasted like dish-washing water. Dear Bob...she sure missed sharing cups of tea with Bob.

Damn it. She was all out of gingernuts! Bob had always made sure they had a good stock of gingernuts in the pantry. He didn't need any fancy biscuits and used to say a cup of tea without a gingernut was like apple pie without cream. How right he was. Carol wiped an escapee tear away, and shook her head. Pull yourself together girl.

With a violent thud the jug switched her off. Carol fingered the photo in the silver frame on the kitchen sill of a tanned and lined Bob proud as punch holding up a huge snapper that he'd caught in the sounds just last Summer. Just two months before... Now, stop that, don't go upsetting yourself again.

There was a rat-a-tat-tat at the door. Hector woke up with a start and rushed to the door, barking madly. Shhhh Hector. Peanut jumped off her armchair and fled around the corner, her tail fluffed up in annoyance. Carol sucked in her breath and smoothed her skirt. She looked down at her well-loved baby-pink fluffy slippers, sighed, and then decided to leave them on. She sure hoped it wasn't The Stevens. They meant well, but she wasn't up to all that good-neighbourly garbage.

Oh, Billie. Thank goodness. She breathed a sigh of relief.

Dear Billie with her slightly disrevelled blonde bob and her mismatched red skirt and pink jacket. She was her daughter's age but she was like an old soul. Probably because she'd had her own share of woes in her short lifetime. Billie held out a plate of freshly baked muffins.

“I made these for you.”

“Thanks love. Come in. I was just about to...Would you like a cuppa?” asked Carol.

“That would be lovely” smiled Billie.

So Carol went to the pantry and got out another cup. Without looking she grabbed “I Love You Grandad”. She hesitated for a second and then put in a bag of earl grey tea, Billie's tea of choice. She passed it to Billie, avoiding eye contact for a moment. Billie looked at the cup and smiled.

“How are you?” Billie touched her arm lightly. It was hard to not look up then.
Carol cleared her throat and shook her head. “I, um, gosh those muffins look scrumptious – blueberry are they?”

Billie nodded. She understood. She'd lost her husband four years ago and knew that sometimes company was all you wanted – not the words.
And so they sat down in the armchairs that enveloped the occupant like a huge hug, the muffins before them on the formica coffee table, their cups of tea steaming. Seagulls squawked above, cars whizzed by. And the wind rustled softly through the trees outside.

Preserving The Moment

"New Mum On The Block "
Nelson District Parent Centre Newsletter September/October 2006

I'm a Virgo who loves a good project. I like to organise, plan and manage things. I practically organised the whole of our outdoor wedding with just under 100 guests. I enjoyed it. Mostly...But sometimes the logical Virgo side of me gets bowled over by my flaky Pisces side that is also part of my astrological makeup. At times I can procrastinate and choose to live in the moment, leaving things to sort themselves out another day. Astrological shortcomings aside, basically I swing between being on to it – and not. Hence why capturing some special moments in Amelia's early life got captured – and some didn't.

The traditional way to celebrate a babies arrival into the Western world is to announce the babies birth in the newspaper – including weight, sex, name and time, thanking as many people as you like. Then there's the matter of capturing your wee bundles arrival with a camera – still or moving – the choice is yours. Baby footprints and/or hand prints are another memento a lot of people go for in the early months. And don't forget the placenta . If you're not sure what to do with it you could always keep it in your freezer for a bit until you find an alternative home for it. Just make sure everyone in your household knows it's there as I have heard a horror story about a case of mistaken identity.

Will Amelia forgive us in time when she realises that not only did her parents never announce to the world, or to Nelson at least, her arrival in the local newspaper but that we never planted a tree over her placenta or bothered to get molds of her wee hands or feet?
Maybe discussing the above with hubby before she arrived might have helped. I was operating in a blur for the first couple of months, perhaps a side-effect of a general or maybe it was just early motherhood. My organisational skills fell to the wayside. Form filling just wasn't an option and my short-term memory was shorter than ever. In fact, I think I had the memory of a goldfish for the first few months of my daughters life.

But all is not lost. Within hours of Amelia's arrival we updated our family web site from the maternity ward at Nelson hospital. Hubby went home and sent the link out to friends and family so they had all the credentials and a photo of a brand-spanking Amelia.

Thanks to our monthly family web site we have managed to capture snippets of Amelia's early months via photos and verbal descriptions on her own web page. I even print these pages out and store them in transparent folder from Warehouse Stationary. It's the best I can do. As simply put I'm no arts and crafts whiz. Scrapbooking is back in vogue and I wish I had the knack. But I'm all thumbs when it comes to dealing with scraps of paper and glue. Even with six years of Graphic Design under my belt, the thought of cutting up small pieces of paper and sticking them strategically in a scrapbook makes me wince.

We filmed Amelia a bit during her first year so we have a DVD that hubby proudly edited that captures her growth almost monthly. It starts when she is around a month old and finishes at her 1st birthday party. We haven't filmed her for a few months so need to get on to it again before her Amelia-speak turns into real sentences. Hubby and I are also rather snap-happy with our digital camera so there are literally hundreds of photos of Amelia stored in the hard-drives on our computers.

A friend gave me a journal for recording milestones in the 1st year. I started off with good intentions of filling it in. I think I got to about six months and then got my weeks mixed up and the journaling came to an abrupt halt. But there is the WellChild Health Book. There are a lot of moments captured in there. You can see that Amelia has had all her shots, what her height and weight was at different stages, as well as all her different “quirks” along the way. Recently I saw an attractive material-bound cover designed for the WellChild Health Book in a local children's gift shop. Not a bad idea. Perhaps I should get one myself.

So I think there is a lesson in all this. Invent your own way of capturing your child's arrival into the world and the precious moments that follow. There are no rules. Do what is natural and works for you. Even if those milestones aren't recorded in every traditional way possible.