blush

one. hypericum berries and lisianthus
two. my new top, lovingly created by Jay from and the trees

This past week I've been as flighty as they come so I indulged in a bohemian-inspired top and blush-hued blooms. Perhaps I have been day-dreaming about balmy summer weather and watermelon and mint juice. Just maybe that's been the best cure for days upon days of work and a general energetic lull.

When I turned the calender over to July this morning I realised that wishing winter away was neither necessary or beneficial. So this afternoon I basked in the soft light that's been hiding for a good week now. We ate pancakes for breakfast and homemade pizza for lunch. Tonight we'll have an early one and wake a little more ready for the week ahead. 

And when I really do pine for summer stories I'll visit a dear friend and remember that soon, it will be our turn. 

26/52

"A portrait of my children, once a week, every week, in 2012."

Che: Oh sweet boy, you're back from months of uncharacteristic behaviour. Grounded.

Poet: In her presence it's hard not to smile. So we smile - big. 

We're halfway through 52...which means we're halfway through the year. Eeeep! 

green monster juice

About six months ago my vegie-loving four-year-old refused to eat his greens. And while he's happy to eat raw carrot, tomatoes and the occasional cob of corn, anything leafy has not passed his lips.

I'm all for encouraging children to eat a variety of foods but I don't like the idea of the dinner table becoming a battlefield. 

So...I've been sneaking spinach into bolognaise and trips to the local fruit shop have been a brilliant excuse for fresh juice. But while the joy of watching him sip orange/pineapple/celery/ginger juice is wonderful, the cost is not.

My naturopath has been encouraging me to buy a juicer for about a year now. And I've been umming and ahhing about buying a juicer for around the same time. It just seemed to be another expense and it got pushed further and further down the list.

But when autumn hit and with it came sniffles and lethargy I decided to find a really good juicer. One that kept the enzymes and nutrients in the juice and created minimal waste from the produce. Hello juicepresso!

Every morning for the past three weeks we've been enjoying fresh juice and we love it. The best bit? Che has been having a daily dose of fresh kale and baby spinach in his green monster juice (I also add orange, kiwifruit and apple) and I am one happy muma. 

at the workshop

Popa's workshop is much like his potting shed; overflowing with collected bits and bobs. The industrial theme is a little more prevalent though - spanners instead of shovels, oil instead of dirt. But just like Popa grows things in his garden, he gives new life to things at work. He restores old cars; beautiful vintage rides. He can take the shell of a Jaguar and turn it into a prize-wining piece of art. He sources the oddest of engine parts from all over the world and if he can't find what he's looking for he just makes it himself.

My dad doesn't buy a lot of new. Instead, he scours and collects and often, he makes-do. It was a lesson instilled in him during childhood - the second-youngest of five in an English working-class family. 

I love that he's encouraging my children to think the same way. 

25/52

"A portrait of my children, once a week, every week, in 2012."

Che: He declared it a wonderful day because (in order of wonderfullness):

1. We got to visit Popa
2. He got to go on an extra long bike ride

3. He got to eat a cinnamon donut

Poet:....is hatching a plan. A mischievous one by the looks of it. 

52

glorious winter

And with the winter solstice our days begin to grow longer. Although, I really do love having dinner on the stove at 4pm, making that five o'clock chaos a little more bearable.

Right now my working days are punctuated by cups of tea (I'm loving natures cuppa organic ceylon and clipper teas herbal infusions - peppermint, chamomile and nettle) and the occasional square or two of chocolate. Inspiring projects are bubbling away around me, projects that are dream-come-true. I'm collaborating with talented creatives and I feel, for the first time in my career, that this is most definitely right and overwhelmingly good.

When I need to step away from the words I wander on slow walks and photograph true winter. When you start to take a lot of photos you begin to judge scenes by light. And winter has the clearest, whitest light of all the seasons. It's fresh and clean and pure. Innocent, even. 

My days are full right now, brimming. In between work commitments there's a first birthday to organise (!) and the never-ending muma tasks that, at times, are too many to contemplate. Every day, I bellow: "Put your socks on!" 

Far too often there are bare toes tapping the floorboards. 

birth culture

My beautiful friend Natalia gave birth to her daughter, at home, in the water, last September. Natalia recently told me the story of her rich Aboriginal culture and the rituals surrounding her birth and she's given me permission to share it here, with you. 

In her inspiring words:

"...When I went to the Coorong, Murray River, for my first visit I knew I wanted to sit in the dirt with the Aunties and weave. Weaving is a girl's right of passage into womanhood - once you learn to weave you are ready to fall pregnant. I got to weave only a few stitches but within less than a month I was pregnant with Estelle. 

The first time she touched the earth was on this mat. Made by one of the master weavers from our tribe - Ngarrindjeri - down south. Her feet were dusted with earth from where our dream story began. The flower on her back was made by my mother from Pelican feathers. The women originally made them to sell to the "tourists" (treasures made by the exotic other) - it was the only item they had to trade which ensured they could stay "in country" and not be removed in the assimilation policy. 

After making placenta prints (tree of life) my placenta was encapsulated. The umbilical cord we dried in a spiral (the spiral is the symbol for women) and wrapped it in a placenta print with a copy of my story "Returning to Country". I then bound it with paperbark and twine and buried it in country. The women from my culture have buried their babies' placentas and umbilical cords for years.

I felt a strong connection to the land when I visited my ancestral country for the first time. I also felt deeply saddened by the fact that I had grown up detached from my heritage. In a way I felt lost from my soul's song. I wanted Estelle to be born into that connection and know what it is to be connected to her people and the land. I want her to know belonging and not to have to spend a good part of her life, like I did, in search of it. 

I felt privileged that my Aunties and cousins embraced my choice to do this for Estelle. It was a powerful move to realign my life with my culture." - Natalia

Photo by Jane

at home with...

The beautiful Charlotte Rivers from Lottie Loves has posted a little feature on my home today. Enjoy a sneak peek into my abode...

Daniel slammed down the brakes of the car a few weeks ago when I squealed at the sight of a dolls house sitting out the front of a garage sale. It was $20 and a dream come true. 

24/52

"A portrait of my children, once a week, every week, in 2012."

Che: Tree-climbing elf.

Poet: She rumbles and tumbles but rarely does she cry. 

I'm a little overwhelmed by your enthusiasm for this project. Thank you! And of course I'll keep posting. For those that asked...yes, these photos and captions will become a book at the end of the year. Tamara and Lou have jumped on-board too. So should you!

52

sakura bloom sling diaries - communication

It was grey, wet and windy so we rugged up for a quick dash to the fruit and veg barn. I always wear Poet in the sling when we shop, so I can chat to her as we walk the aisles, sneak her grapes to taste-test and show her the world from up high. 

That's the beauty of babywearing - the opportunity for her to observe and learn from the rituals of the every day.

I wear the simple silk sling in amber.

exploration
style
love

*note the overt sibling rivalry with the bubble blower turned lightsaber?! Hmmmmmm

Luisa dodged shopping trolleys and rain-drenched shoppers to get these shots. Thank you!

we gather here

The 95-year-old cottage across the road is up for auction. I wandered over there a few weeks ago to inspect the junk pile out front and I accidentally (luckily) got invited inside. Upon entering the kitchen I found my new table, patiently waiting for me. It has the patina of cutlery scratches and teapot burns. It came with a story, a good one, I think. 

I lit a beeswax candle for our first meal together. It didn't take long for Daniel and I to notice the two empty chairs. A bigger table requires a bigger family. There's two more spaces to fill (but not just yet).

Photos by the ever-lovely luisa who couldn't quite believe that we drink juice from jam jars.

him and i

Around this time last year I was full-bellied and waddling and my almost-four-year-old was holding my hand as we explored. We used to talk, the two of us, about the baby. He always knew it would be a girl.

I remember feeling elated about the imminent birth and yet underlying the excitement and anticipation was a true sadness. In late pregnancy I already missed the time that I would spend with my boy, my first-born, just the two of us. It hurt to think of just how much his life was about to change and just how much I would change, as his muma.

Of course, with change comes growth, and there was very little sadness in those first few months of Poet's life. But since his half-birthday, as he journeys closer and closer to five (!), I have noticed an enormous shift in his little being. 

Because there's one foot in four and one foot teetering at the big school gates. And me oh my it's overwhelming.

My gentle, intriguing chatterbox has discovered determination and assertion. Good traits for school life. Now, more than ever, he needs that time with me, to amble around the garden and pick lemons and climb trees. 

My truth? I need that time with him. To nurture his little self, to chat about why the tree fell down, to plan the baking of jam drops. To be there, with him, and only him. 

School next year - I can't talk about it. Not yet.