Dear Dad

Today you are 80 years old. 80 years.

What an amazing life you’ve led.

I’m know you’ve stopped many times to consider all you’ve experienced and I’ve listened to and loved your stories, I’ve retold them to my children. I hope I never forget.

How different this world must seem to you. How fast, how unnecessarily  complicated when you compare it to the life you lived as a child.  A simpler, quieter, harder life. But a great one.  And a tough one. I love how you tell is how it was without complaint or drama. It just was the way it was ‘back then’.  There are so many cliché’s and jokes built around that old chestnut of ‘when I was a boy we had to walk miles barefoot in the cold just to get to school’  but you actually did walk miles to school, barefoot, in the dark and cold, barely older than Oscar is now. I can’t even imagine it.

You must look at us and shake your head at how soft we are, how good we’ve got it, and always have had it. 40 years I’ve lived and I’ve never really done it tough. Not in the way you did. You made sure of that. You have been there. Providing, teaching, loving, guiding, being.

40 years. 40 years of knowing, without question, that you are there. That I am never without options, that there is another home for me to go to, that I am loved, unconditionally, that there is nothing I could do or say that would change that, that I am loved for everything that is the best and worst of me because you and I know both know you’ve seen it all. You have withstood everything I’ve had to throw at you and never wavered.  On the darkest nights my world just  feels safer with you in it. Even when you have been thousands of miles away I have always known you’re there. There is no greater gift you have could have given to your child.

I know there could have been a different path for you, one where you didn’t become a dairy farmer and continue the only life you’d ever really known, on the land. I know you’ve wondered about where a different, more selfish choice might have led you, the ‘what ifs’ and ‘what could have been’, but rather than grow bitter, you took what you had and you made the very, very best of it and you succeeded, and along the way you and mum created a beautiful life for us. I hope as you look back, you will recognise that no riches or glory could have been better than what we had and the life you built for your family. I hope you know how loved you were, and are still.

I have learned so much from you. Lessons that I will teach my children and hope that they will teach theirs.

I have learned that one of the most important things in life is to be true. You fight so passionately (and pretty loudly given how deaf you are) for what you believe in, for what you know to be fair and honest and while we don’t always agree, there is something I love about our family shouting each other down over the table about one world issue or another while someone calls for more beer and wine to fuel the fire a little more and mum wonders what on earth is going on. You raised us that way, to be passionate and true and stand up for what we believe to be right.

I have learned that when it all comes down to it, that family and the people we love, are everything. Everything.  You and mum raised us to be decent, good, kind, fair, honest human beings. We work hard, we live passionately, we love each other, and you deeply. Thank you for them. For my sisters and my brother. For teaching us to look out for each other.  And for everything you taught us to be.

My love of words, of writing, of expression, of books, are a gift from you. You have the most amazing way with words, a sensitivity, a depth, a wisdom and although we don’t see it often, it makes me wish you had spent so much more of your 80 years putting pen to paper.  I’ll do it for both of us. Every word I write has a tiny part of you in it and wherever it takes me, I will carry you with me.

I see your incredible intelligence manifesting in your grandchildren, in their remarkable gifts and talents and while it’s easy to believe that spotlight should have been shining on you in this lifetime, it turns out it was just gently flickering away in the background, ready to burst out in full glory two generations later.  Look at your family, at these remarkable children, at each of the extraordinary people whose lives you have helped shape and tell me you have not achieved extraordinary things in this life. Your life has been a beautiful gift.

I have been blessed beyond measure to call you ‘Dad’, blessed to see you become a grandfather to our children. I don’t want to imagine a world without you in it and I am grateful for having you to guide me through the first 40 years of this life.

I know I tell you all the time that I love you but I wonder if you really know the depth of how grateful I am for you, for the choices you made, for the life you built for us, for the legacy you will leave. Your love has been the greatest gift to us and that will flow through the generations to follow us. We were protected so fiercely, hugged so tightly, held so dearly, loved so deeply.  That kind of love doesn’t stop at the end of one lifetime.

Happy 80th birthday lovely Father, you are everything a daughter could hope to have and the very best any man could ever hope to be.

xoxoxo

The post a letter to my father… appeared first on Tuesday's Child.

As part of the small achievable goals approach to my more gentle, simpler life, I planned to go for an early morning walk MOST mornings, just 15 or 20 minutes with Teddy, a quiet way to start each day. Some head clearing time to enjoy the cool crispness of the early morning light, some exercise, some me time.

I started on Wednesday and it was perfect, such a gorgeous way to start the day. I got back before the kids had even really realised I was gone and was fresh and bright and cheery. A whole new way to start my mornings. I was hooked.

On Thursday I got up and into my walking gear, as I crept out our bedroom door I heard a familiar little voice call out, like she did every morning, ‘Muummmeeeee, I’m awaaaaake!’ I smiled like I do every morning when I hear it but my heart also sank just the tiniest bit, no way was I getting out of the house without her. ‘Never mind’, I thought, I’ll throw her in the buggy and power walk a few blocks around the streets. Easy.

I scooped her up and told her we were going for a walk, ‘Can I come?” she asked eyes shining. ‘Of course’, I answered ‘but we have to be quick’. I dressed her and tiptoed down the hall with her in my arms, still intent on my mission. A blonde head popped out from the bottom bunk as I walked past the boys room, ‘Where are you going mum?’ Eli asked sleepily.

‘Just out for a quick walk mate, I’ll be back soon’.

‘Can I come?’

I sighed. ‘Ok, but I’m going now’.

‘Me too!’ came a voice from the top bunk and Oscar jumped down with lighting speed.

Not quite what I had planned.

I sighed again but tried to stay cheerful. ‘Ok you can all come but we are going right now’.

They’ve never, ever, got dressed so fast. Then the bickering started, and the ‘I can’t find my shoes’, and the ’mum can you help me with my laces’. Then I got impatient and took a stand.

‘You know what, no, you can’t all come! This is meant to be my time, my early morning walk. I’m going!’

Willow burst into tears and the boys looked crestfallen. I took my stand right back again.

‘Oh alright! You can come, just hurry!’ It was everything but peaceful me-time.

Shoes found, shoelaces done, bickering silenced and we were out the door.

Until Nick piped up with, ‘I’ll be gone when you get back’. So we all had to troop back for goodbyes and for me to remind him to lock the front door because he really did need to be more vigilant about our security. He may have rolled his eyes at me but kissed me anyway and I huffed off, wondering why on earth I was bothering.

We finally left. I was still cranky but resigned.

Then we opened the back gate and the light hit me, and the birdsong, and the early morning gorgeous and I laughed, and they laughed and suddenly it was perfect.

They ran ahead, they danced, they chased Teddy, I walked around the oval a couple of times watching these three perfect beautiful children play in the soft sunshine and wondered how I got so lucky. I felt  grateful that despite not wanting to go on my walk with them that morning, we’d made it out the gate and everything had changed.

There will come a day all too soon when I will miss my children’s footsteps beside me, when my morning walks are silent and my me-time seems endless. A time when I long for the sound of their voices, for the endless questions, for them to still be small enough, and near enough, for me to ruffle their hair.

I know some time for me to catch my breath, alone, is important. It makes me calmer, a better mother, a more peaceful person. But I can choose another time. If my children want to walk with me in the morning, then I will let them, every single time. And it will make my heart smile. I will want them to walk beside for as long as they want to be there, and long after.

Things don’t always go to plan and I am learning to loosen my grip on my expectations of how things should be.

It wasn’t the walk I planned, it was better. And I hope they come again tomorrow …

The post A walk in the park… appeared first on Tuesday's Child.

Because I just love Christmas, the tree, the gifts, the smells, the carols, the candles, the cooking, everything.

Because it was the first year Willow really kind of understood.

Because we knew the boy’s big ticket item that they didn’t really believe we would buy them was under the tree.

Because for the first time, the kids were waking up in their own beds on Christmas morning with presents under their own tree. Because we all still believe in a little of magic and Christmas morning helps us revisit the excited child in our hearts. Because of our perfect tree with its crooked star, decorated with children’s hands. Because even though I wasn’t with the rest of my family, I knew they were all together, and that we while we were missed, we were loved.

Because we had all morning to play and then prepare for a gorgeous Christmas lunch with the most beautiful friends any little family could hope for. Because I had a hot coffee in my hand, made just the way I like it. Because Oscar bought me pictionary so we could have fun together and Eli picked jewellery with green in it because he knows it’s my favourite colour. Because of the little things.

Because this Christmas I remembered that when Nick and I started dating we bought each other Leunig books, because we both love him and now we can share his incredible insights with our children. Because he bought me the most basic of cook books with love in his heart because he believes in me, because he knows how badly I want next year to be about our family and creating a home filled with the smells of homecooking and love.

Because he also knows I am slightly in love with Simon Reeve and bought me his dvd anyway. Because of 1000 other things that fill my heart. Because I love these four people and these two precious furry friends and the happy, noisy chaos that filled our loungeroom.

This little family. This Christmas morning. This joy. This hope of everything I want 2013 to be for us. I am so grateful.

Merry Christmas everyone, and the happiest of Happy New Years xoxo

The post Joy… appeared first on Tuesday's Child.

It’s been a long time coming. The morphing of Tuesday’s Child Photography into this. Just Tuesday’s Child, a little piece of me. A platform to write and to blend my words with my photos, for special projects, my occasional client work and just the day to day beauty that is this life. A space for me to record this journey for me, for my children and for anyone else who would like to travel with me a little while.

Words and photography. My two loves. I think perhaps, if pushed, photography is my second love, a no-less genuine love, a good and beautiful creative life that brings me a gentle happiness when I am at my best, when I am capturing what is between people. It comes easily, naturally and it feels safe to me. I can just do it. Writing is a different, wilder beast. It frightens me, challenges me, brings up my every insecurity and lays them out in front of me, taunting me. So months, sometimes years, go by before I feel brave enough to return to it. But I’m back, again, because it makes me come alive, it makes my heart beat. Faster, louder, stronger. My secret, passionate love affair.  I’ve missed it. And I got to wondering if perhaps I could have both?  If this, the two of them together, not one or the other, was it, what I was born to do. And so here I am, writing and filling the empty spaces with photographs. Or perhaps taking photographs and filling the empty spaces with words? I wonder if they’ll dance around each other for a while, competing for glory, I wonder which will be prettier. It doesn’t matter. Somehow, one day, they will just blend and I will create something beautiful, with my two loves and it will make my heart sing.

So 40 (almost). Am I where I thought I would be? Hoped I would be? I’m not sure. Did I reach my goal weight? Ah no. Am I exercising daily, yelling never, eating sensibly, living to a schedule, being more organised, less chaotic, living within budget, setting goals, remembering who needs to be where, when? Well no, actually, no. Epic fail on oh.so.many.counts. But am I happy? I am. I am happy. I am loved.

I have tiny hands wrapped around my face and a little piece of heaven whispering,  ’wook me mum, wook at me, I wuv you mum’. I have the same boys I yelled at that morning tell me I’m the most awesome mum, ever, that night. I am forgiven. And I forgive myself. And I just breath them in.  I share my life with a gentle, beautiful man I love, passionately, and who, by strange happy fate, feels the same away about me. My door opens often to the gorgeous faces of friends and my kitchen bench is a happy home for long talks and the familiar sound of champagne glasses and laughter. When my house is empty and my phone is quiet, my heart is filled with love for the friends I don’t see as often but who are no less precious and real to me and who have helped shape this beautiful life, helped shape me.

My darling parents, my sisters, my brother are still important, beautiful parts of my life, 40 years after I completed our family. I love that, love them.  Love that we’ve grown from 6 to 21 and that our children have cousins to share their childhood with. I have loved this journey, from my farmyard babyhood to the bright lights of London, from the madness of Egypt to the stillness of the Himalayas, from the carefree backpacker to overwhelmed mother of three, from a thousand journeys to the quiet of my own backyard. The adventures, the travels, the loves, the extraordinary transition from child to parent, the day to day, the dizzying highs and the desperate lows that have all brought me right to this moment, to this feeling. An overwhelming gratitude, a contentment, and yet a quiet determination to make it even better.  My list of goals keeps growing and I love that. So I will push on, keep striving, but gently, more gently. I am learning to remember the joy is in the journey itself, to not lose sight of who is walking beside me, of the tiny hands so quickly losing their warm baby squishiness in mine, of the beautiful boys whose strides will soon be long enough to outrun me. I want to slow my pace down to match theirs, not teach them to rush to keep up with me. I just want them beside me as long as I can have them, before they walk away from me in their own direction, to their own adventures. So I am making time to stop and play along the way, to breathe, to love, to be gentle, to nurture, to be.

So 40, I am ready for you.  30 may have a prettier ring to it,  but you’ll grow on me I’m sure.

I am happy to be here. I am happy.

And I will leave you with my four loves. The four people who made my heart expand beyond recognition and made us this family of our own. Captured by my beautiful Angie, the kind of friend everyone should be so lucky to have at least once in a lifetime.

The post I am ready… appeared first on Tuesday's Child.