Category Archives: Parenting

Mothers.

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My mother and her three.

“Making the decision to have a child – it’s momentous. It is to decide forever to have your heart go walking around outside your body.”

– Elizabeth Stone

Motherhood, it is the most difficult job in the world, but it is also the most rewarding. To my own mother (above) who gives of her space and her time and her love daily, helping Bo and I to find our new direction. Thank you, for everything you have done, for everything you do now, and for everything you will do for us in the future. I literally wouldn’t be here without you.

And to my beautiful daughter who gave me the worlds most precious gift, there are no words to express my undying gratitude. You are the only one who knows what my heart sounds like from the inside, and I will always love you with the ferocity that I did the very first moment I laid eyes on you. May I always have the strength and patience to be the mother that you deserve.

Happy (belated) mothers day, Mama’s.

This holiday life…

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Wow. Well, traveling for three weeks whilst couch hopping with a toddler in tow… is… exhausting! We are home now. Well, not home, but back in the city. Melbourne was amazing. It’s such a fabulous city. Such a magical place steeped in culture and amazing people doing inspiring awesome things that make my once-creative soul cry out for attention.

A sat at dinner and listened to the tales of my old comrades from Drama School days. From the days where we spent 12 hours a day in an exclusive class where we learned how to breathe, we pretended to be trees and we stressed, endlessly about our progress. We also drank copious amounts of alcohol. Funny that. I sat, a different person, and listened to their stories. Listened to stories about artist lives and real world jobs and failures and successes and inspirational projects and so many stories of coming so-close-but-not-quite-there-yet… We shared food and stories and talked a little about the past but more about the future. We laughed and sipped wine and then we went our separate ways.

We went to breakfast with a friend, a favourite friend, who I’ve known since we were children and she lived up the road from me. Our paths cross endlessly throughout our lives, and here she was, once more, taking my little Bo to see cows and sheep at a city farm and eating fair trade organic pay-what-you-like food at one of my all time favourite eating spots. What a treat.

Bo and I walked the streets of the city, early in the morning, as china town began to open and people in suits rushed around looking important. Doing important things. I walked past bars and hidden party places that i used to frequent regularly. Streets and alley ways where I met amazing people and had incredible nights and drank out of science beakers and test tubes in themed beer gardens, in ice rooms, in fake-grassed 50s themed establishments. Places where I lost jackets and cameras and sometimes a little self-respect (though only in the best way possible). Places that I crawled home from, high heels hooked over my finger, bare feet stained from the dirty city streets. Alleyways I stumbled around in, sat on the verge in and had endless deep-and-meaningful-conversations in with people I never saw again. Alleyways were I loved and lived and played and made out with strangers as an early twenty something. These places that are so hip and so exclusive at night, are nothing but a smelly corridor and a graffiti covered door during the day. We walked past my favourites and I reminisced in the morning light.

The alleyways of a former life. It was fun and surreal and bittersweet.

Everything always looks different in daylight, doesn’t it?

Bo and I met with friends in parks and sipped smoothies and played on swings and felt the grass between our toes. We went down the coast and played with new friends that felt like old friends that I had known since the beginning of time. We snuggled new babies and kissed old friends and curled up into balls in the late of night and watched trashy TV when we couldn’t sleep because of a sneaky cold that crept up on us (Bo, it crept up on Bo, I totally would have LOVED to sleep…)

There was so much goodness in Melbourne so much so I’m overloaded with stories and photos that I can’t possibly fit into this post without it taking hours to read… Amazing new-favourite cafe’s, excellent company, beautiful days and lots of laughter and light and respect from some pretty awe-inspiring women who I am so very lucky to call my friends. It was like being amongst family. So much so I was reminded why I loved to live there so many years before. And I have been very tempted to return. I’m working on it. Thinking about it. Maybe… just maybe… sometime in the next year we will return there. To live. We’ll see what life has planned for us.

Coming home is always bittersweet. It’s lovely to be back with our wheels (however crappy they may be) and our own space (thanks to my sister who is off gallivanting through Europe and has kindly left us her house in the city to “sit” for her), but I can’t help but feel a little at a loss too. The holiday was LONG and SHORT all at once. Rushed meetings with friends. Never long enough to chat or inspire or float ideas around… but three weeks is far too long alone with a toddler to be couch hopping around the place. Bo’s sleeping went from very average to un-believably ridiculous. Good thing she’s so cute really.

I’ve been writing a bit for Kidspot of late… you can rad some of the articles here, here and here if you’re into that kind of thing.

It’s Easter this weekend, so for those of you who do celebrate I hope it brings you lots of peace and wonderful celebration with your family and all that. For those of us who don’t celebrate, I hope you also have lots of peace and wonderful family time too.

Happy weekend friends. xox

 

Women and Babies…

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Making babies is a right of passage for a woman. In past lives we would have gathered together around the birth of a new child. Women coming together to recognise the incredible social and biological transformation that takes place, not in the birth of the child, but in the birth of the mother. It’s spectacular.

Things are different now. We don’t gather together. We tend to judge instead of celebrate. We buy things… lots of things… for new babies. But what we don’t offer is recognition. Support. To the mother. And at the end of the day, who needs all of these pastel things anyway?

I’ve been thinking a lot about pregnancy and babies. It is coming very close to the time that we I had planned to start trying for a second child. Planning… not knowing what was just around the bend for my family. I was planning the growth of our family, while he was dismantling it. Seems somewhat silly now. I still have the list of prospective names tucked in my desk drawer. Names for a baby that I was dreaming of. A baby that doesn’t exist. A baby that isn’t mine. But I can’t throw it out.

After a year or so people generally start asking a new mother, new parents, when they plan to have another. And another. From what I have gathered from my enormous birth club community is that after the first year women are in one of two camps. The I do not want another baby (right now) camp, or I desperately need another baby (right now) camp. There isn’t too much in between. Women become jealous and sad when other women get pregnant. They get annoyed or upset that they  feel that they have to justify their desire to push for career or other goals instead of another child.I sit pretty firmly in the I’d like another baby (right now) camp. Which is frustrating… because it’s not an option. And although I know that it’s silly and it’s illogical and it’s out-of-my-hands right now, and although I am extraordinarily grateful (and exhausted by) the little person I already have. I can’t help but let my thoughts stray to those tiny fingers and toes. To the bulging belly and the whispers of promises in the night. The imaginings of face and the incredible unbelievable rush that is that very first moment together. And then feel a little pang of sadness. A little pang that comes from grieving a child that doesn’t even exist yet, from a relationship that has fallen apart.

I know the logic. And it’s how I talk myself down from these feelings every time they creep in. Every time they wrap their little hands around my heart for one good, hard squeeze. I talk myself down with logic. But the feeling is still there.Lurking behind closed doors. Waiting in the shadows, ready to pounce.

What is it? Where does it come from? Hormones? Probably. Isn’t that the age old excuse for irrational female behaviour (note the extent this concept is dripping in sarcasm, can’t stand anything more than being called an irrational woman, emotional woman… like my sex is an insult – but that’s another story)? Hormonal.

As women I think we are isolating ourselves by not talking about these things. One of the many silences… one of the forbidden topics. These emotions, these feelings of yearning and need and pain and loss and love and joy and… and… and… surrounding childbirth both past, present and future. Surrounding pregnancy and loss and relationships. They are universal (are they not?). They are part of the female experience. Part of who we are. Part of our physiology. Are they not? Where is our voice to speak up and say, Hey, no I don’t want another baby, get off my back. Or, Yes, desperately, I feel like I’m not done… but it’s not possible right now. Instead of removing ourselves from each other to deal with our jealousy and our grief. Why do we not band together? Together we say, I am jealous of your pregnancy and I am also so absolutely, wonderfully, completely over-the-moon joyful for you at the same time.Together we say, I feel your pain. I feel your joy. I feel your comfort. I feel your passion. Together.

We can feel jealousy and happiness at the same time and not be ashamed to admit it. We can say, I want what you have, without being bitter or resentful. We can feel joy and sadness and grief together without having to hide. Can we not?

What has happened to our red tent? What has happened to our rite of passage and our village? We used to give birth surrounded by people we knew, women with strong hands and minds and love. Now we give birth with strangers. We return home to our homes. Alone. With no time with which to transform from woman to mother. With many gadgets and pretty little things that are designed to make life easier… but really just encourage us to be alone. Gadgets designed to help us mother alone. And when we come to some of the biggest emotions, perhaps even illogical emotions, we turn inwards. Solitary. Silenced. Afraid that what we feel could be judged as ungrateful, or irrational, or ridiculous. So we turn inward. Leaving us alone.

There is nothing simple about women and babies. The link between the mother who bares a child and every mother who has ever born a child is undeniable. We are many and varied and different. But we are also one.

We are not alone.

Embracing the now.

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Most of us were raised in a culture where we are taught to dream big, chase success, work hard move forward. This is great in so many ways. I was taught to be ambitious and I was raised believing that I can do anything, that I can change the world, that I can be successful, that I can change my situation and that I can provide comforts and successes to my own child(ren) that were not possible for me. This are all great things.

But there is a downside to this culture. The culture of success.

I have realised at many times in my life that I find myself wondering “what’s next,” that sometimes I find myself going through the motions of my day as if I’m waiting for my real (dream) life to begin. As if when I do succeed at whatever it is I am working towards, as if then, in the future, my life will have the meaning that I crave. The success. The fruits of the labour. And I find myself wishing these days away so I can get to that end point faster.

When I was younger I worked as an actor, and I used to believe that when I scored that big break, then life would be wonderful. Then my real life would truly begin. Then it was travel. The next place I go… the next trip… the next adventure… the next party… the next boy… the next… the next… the next… you get the picture. I was so busy chasing that I didn’t often take the time to just stop. To exist in the tumultuous, amazing craziness that I was living. I was in such a HURRY. There were so many places to go, so many people to meet, so many parties calling my name. So I ran through my teens and through my early twenties… in hot pursuit of the next big thing. Living forever on the edge, ready to leap. But not really appreciating the ledge on which my scuffed converse where balancing. Not really appreciating the freedom or the youth or the glorious unknowing.

It reminds me of labour. When I was in labour with Bo I was so keen to get to the end. So keen for the pain and the work and the intensity to be finished so I could have my reward. So I could hold my child. My beautiful doula said to me multiple times, you have to exist right now, you have to feel what you are feeling, breathe in the pain. She was, as she so often is in her advice to me, so very right.

Because even the hard moments are beautiful. I look back on my 42 hour labour with fondness. Crazy right? But it’s because my doula reminded me to exist. She reminded me to feel. To be with my child in the very last moments that we were one. To listen to her. To talk to her. Because never again would Bo be inside my body. This was indeed the beginning of something beautiful, but it was also the end of something beautiful and that needed respect. And so when I remember my labour I remember feeling Bo’s body move as she shifted lower into my pelvis. I remember hearing her heartbeat on the monitor. I remember talking to her under my breath. Wishing her safety. Whispering love. I also remember the burning pain and the long hours and the backache and the bathtub and the tears and the vomiting… but those are all part of the experience. And although hard, they could never destroy the beauty of it all because they were so intrinsically part of it. Part of us.

The other day I found myself wishing away time again. Wishing that I could fast forward until I had my life sorted out. Fast forward to a time where Bo and I had our own home, our own space. Fast forward to a time where the stress of a broken relationship isn’t so debilitating. Fast forward to a time where my husband and I had decided once and for all what is going to become of all this. Fast forward to a time of no more argumentative text messages or painful Skype calls. Fast forward to a time where we are surrounded by love instead of excuses. Fast forward to a time where I had regular work and I had already achieved the mini-goals I have. Finishing my masters. Growing the blog. Signing more freelance contracts. I began wishing away time. And I heard my own voice in my head saying, I wish I could just… and listing about a thousand things as I stood in my food stained track pants scraping dried who-the-hell-knows-what off the side of the couch.

I was shaken from my thoughts. There was a little girl tugging on my shirt. Looking up at me with these amazing dark eyes like deep, endless pools where little secrets hide. Her little tongue poking through two newly formed top teeth. Her cheeky grin. Her grubby fingers. Her amazing-ness.

And then I remembered.

It’s NOW that matters. Yes it’s shit and it’s hard and it’s bloody frustrating some days. Some days I’m running on no sleep and incredible stress and hurtful words are being thrown my way. Some days I’m just so sick of being treated like a doormat. Some days I just want out. Some days I just want to get on a plane, alone and fly far, far away and I want to throw my hands in the air and give up and go to a bar and just let loose. But that’s OK. Because I don’t. I take a deep breath and I keep going. For me. For Bo. For our future. In the future things will be different. We will both be different. And as hard as it is right now. It is also beautiful. As far from perfect the now is, the future will be imperfect too. And there is beauty there.

It’s a terrible thing to wish away your days. Because we never know how many days we have. And each day brings little joys. Like bear hugs and baby kisses and new words and amazing discoveries through the eyes of a child. Each day however monotonous (and that is one thing no one ever tells you about motherhood… the monotony of it all… each of these days is just like the other) is also spectacular, even if just for a minute. And that minute, that minute has to count for something.

I watched her today, my Bo. Fearless. Launching into the little community babies music play I take her to with such joy. Leaping onto other children with giggles and smiles and kisses. Holding hands with total strangers and dancing. Laughing with people she had never met. So eager to play, never questioning her worth or her ability to love or be loved. And I thought. I used to be like that. That used to be me. Fearless. Joyful. Unwavering. It’s amazing what these little people show us. She sees what she wants and she goes for it… there is no looking back. No hesitation. Just strength. And when she falters? She just picks herself up, and goes again… climbing higher still.

So I’m going to try to embrace the now a little more, to remind myself every day that although it’s great to strive for future greatness… it’s even more important to enjoy the greatness that is right now. The beauty that your past created. Because the earth it keeps on turning… and if you spend too much time looking forward (or backward, I might add) you might miss what’s right in front of you. And for me, what is in front of me is new prospects and this child. This perfect in all her imperfection creature. This little person who just wants me. Who needs me. Who relies on me. I am painfully aware of my every move and how it has the ability to shape her.

I have to stop making excuses. I have to stop feeling shitty and start looking up. I have to rebuild my own self esteem after allowing myself, a strong, independent woman, to be treated like a doormat for so many years – after letting that destroy my self worth. I have to believe in myself again. Not future me, but right here, imperfect, messy, now-me, in all my flaws. I’m going to be better for her. For me. For us. Because damn it, this life will be is great. And my real life has already begun and even when it feels like shit… it’s not shit… it’s just what we make of it.

Screw surviving. Let’s flourish instead.

The privilege of being a parent…

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One of the many wonderful privileges of being a parent is watching new skills form, watching your child grow and change and conquer something that yesterday was beyond them and today… they have mastered it.

It is a true privilege to watch a person grow right before your eyes.

This was Bo today with stacking her wooden shapes. She couldn’t do it and then all of a sudden… she could.

And she was SO proud.

So was I.

Breaking the silence: On motherhood.

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When I think about the way that our society expects us to parent, I am surprised. Surprised that there aren’t more women standing up and saying… This is hard. Seriously. It wasn’t all that long ago that we, the women, were a part of a collective, where we gathered together, raised our children together and shared in the responsibilities, the joys and the heartaches. Where motherhood was respected but parenting was not the sole responsibility of the parent, but the community banded together to help raise and grow and shape their little people. Together. It probably doesn’t surprise many of you that I believe that this is the ideal way to parent.

It comes back to the old saying it takes a village to raise a child.

But we live in virtual villages now. We live in housing estates and cities and suburbs where we don’t even know our neighbours. We live in societies where we are scared of each other. Where not being perfect, not being the *best*, is unacceptable. Where being unique or making different choices or going against the grain is not celebrated, where we are judged by men, by healthcare professionals, by teachers, by other mothers. Where we are told that we need to have the right *things* to be the right parent. Where we try so hard to show everyone that we are coping, that sometimes I think we lose ourselves in the every day shuffle of it all. I think there are a lot of women out there who are really struggling. Who aren’t actually coping with the responsibilities and the difficulties that come with the role of motherhood. Women who don’t have support networks. Or even women that do. I know some days I am that woman. I’m sure we all have days like that. But we don’t often talk about it, the true reality of the experience. Or when we do, it is downplayed not only by us (the mothers) but by the rest of society too. Like it’s a joke, good fodder for a meme. Why?

I’ve heard it called the conspiracy of silence. And I think it’s sad that a collective experience that is both as unique and as universal as motherhood is often misrepresented. Where many mothers I know (myself included) feel that they need to define themselves as something more… something more than *just* mother. Even though being a mother, once you are one, is everything. We still crave more. We still ARE more.

I think that we, as a society, put a lot of pressure on mothers to be the givers of life, to be educators, and to raise the future generations. But at the same time we, society, expect mothers to do so in isolation. Yes we have playgroups and mothers groups and support groups and baby groups and baby yoga and library sing a longs and… and… and… where we can book a thousand events for our children one after another all day long. Where mothers come together and talk about snacks and sleep schedules and nappy bags and teething and fevers and… and… and… but it isn’t very often that you hear a mother say, I’m not coping.

Society expects us as mothers to be able to raise children who are gentle and kind and compassionate and able to solve conflict without violence. We are expected to raise children who are cooperative but society allows violent programming. But when a child behaves inappropriately, we place the entirety of the blame on the parent.

We expect women to raise our children but we also expect them to work. We are expected to want “it all.” But having “it all” is defined by society, not by the mother herself. Because if you don’t work. Then you are just a mother. And if you are *just* a mother… are you allowed to have opinions on anything outside of the realm of baby food and burp cloths and stroller configurations?

I think a lot of these problems have arisen due to a silence. A silence about the truth of the experience of motherhood. Not the drivel that is shown on American sitcoms or reality television. Not even the sleepless nights or the stained clothes or the endless cooking and cleaning and washing and scrubbing… But the truth of the every day experience of the mother, the woman, the person. Maybe if we as a society recognised the truth in the role of the mother, there would be more acceptance, more assistance, more genuine interest in the woman behind the mother. The individual who is taking on one of the greatest most important roles she will ever play, without an ounce of training (or pay for that matter!).

Maybe then we would stop these ridiculous debates about whether a mother should breastfeed her child in public (yes, we are STILL debating this in 21st Century Australia and honestly, I’m ashamed) and we would focus more on the act of mothering from the perspective of the woman. Maybe then we would stop judging the mother in the supermarket who is saying “No” to the screaming child in front of the child-height chocolate stand… and we would make more appropriate cultural decisions on advertising and product placement. Maybe then we wouldn’t be selling juice with a baby teat attached to the top of it as a health drink for babies. Maybe then instead of being so quick to judge and we would be quick to offer help. Not advice. But help. Real help.

It’s hard to speak up, I think. To say, what I want or what I need is not in line with the societal expectation. Or even to just say, I’m not enjoying being a mother today. Or, this is the hardest job I’ve ever done… without first assuring everyone, I really love my child. Because of course you do, of course I do, we all do. I think it is rare to grow and birth a child without love and only another mother really understands that. How much you can love LOVE another person with all of your body and soul… but the role of mother, however it does change you, it does not define you, the woman.It does not make who you were before invisible. Even if society expects it to.

It’s something to think about. That’s for sure.

In pursuit of the blissful life.

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My marriage has fallen apart.All of a sudden I’m alone and I there are moments where I can’t remember who I am.

I went from being alone. To falling in love. To falling pregnant. To getting married. To being together. To having Bo. One became two, became three. And now? Shattered. Now I stand here as I did before all of this as one person, completely changed.

I have been known to take the path less traveled, to pursue that which is not the norm, to live out of the box. I always try to make conscious choices about my attitude, choices about the way I see the world, choices about my priorities and the things that are important to me – so that I can design the life I want to live instead of waste my days wishing things were different. It’s what lit the fire under my heels and packed my bag and made me disappear from this every-day-grind so many years ago. I was out in search of my life and every day I found it in a new place, in the eyes of new people in the smell of earth and the salt on my skin.I found bliss in so many moments in so many countries with so many people. Blissful moments. I never stopped searching. And now at the end of the day I am still looking. Even though my search has changed as I have changed (and what is life without change and growth?) the pursuit has always been of the blissful life. Not of money or things or houses or cars. But moments of bliss.

It’s hard to catch and hold on to. Bliss. It’s a fleeting moment. A moment of pure happiness. A moment of perfection, where everything fits and the world comes together and everything aligns. Bliss. There is bliss everywhere. Holding my almost one year old daughter to my chest. Feeding her, her soft breath on my skin, her fluttering eye lids, her cheeky smile when she catches me watching her. Bliss.

I’m slowly healing, though the wound of the betrayal is still weeping. I’m healing from the inside out. Infidelity in a marriage is a difficult betrayal to ever come back from. It’s something that strips us down to our most vulnerable, takes from us our most coveted and spits on our memories. It makes even the most blissful memories of our times together seem like lies. Every happy moment becomes fake and forced, every joyful photograph has a new sinister context. But we can come back from it. Individually. I can come back from it.

I’m learning again who I am. Who I am without him. Who I am now that the world has changed. It’s like I’ve been in the dark for these years and my eyes are just trying to adjust to the light. The little person standing beside me, her hand in mine, is showing me the way.

Six weeks ago my husband left. I told him to go. How can you stay with someone who has no respect for you? How can you stand by one who doesn’t stand by you? And so now I stand here alone, with my child. Strong and weak at the same time. Empowered and bewildered all at once. I stand here, baby on my hip and I face the world. From the ashes of a failed marriage, new trust will grow. Trust in myself. Trust in the universe. Trust in the magic that the world provides when you just take the time to listen. When you surrender yourself. When you learn to let go.

It’s easy to forget. It’s easy to keep the blinkers on and to get overcome by the to-do lists and the shopping lists and the events and the schedules and the daily grind… and forget what is really and truly important. It’s easy to get stuck in the sad or the mad or the bad. To get bogged down in the ugly and to get lost in the darkness that creeps up inside. It is easy to forget that magic is everywhere.

But it’s also really easy to remember it too. If you just stop. And breathe.

Just breathe.

And watch the people around you because magic lives in people. It lives in the people we love and it lives in the people we don’t even know yet.

It lives in you. It lives in me.

And I am going to find it. Every day.

Raising the bilingual child.

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It was always very much in the plan to raise Bo bilingual. Cultural identity is such an important part of our sense of belonging… it gives us a language by which to understand the world around us. It gives us benchmarks. It gives us something to rebel against and something to adhere to (some of us do much more rebelling than adhering, which I think is great). Without it, we would be lost. Some people may think we would be better off, but the reality is we are conditioned by our culture, by the very undertones of the world around us… whether we like it or not we need it as a platform from which to jump. It’s up to us to choose what we do with that cultural shaping. I digress, there is actually a LOT more I want to say about this, but not right now. Right now I want to answer one readers question about what happens now with Bo, with how we (I) choose to raise her.

For me in many ways it would be easier to just raise her my way. In my language. With my social norms (which are not always societal norms – but more on that another time). With my words and my understanding and my (lack of) religion. But that wouldn’t be fair on Bo. Bo is half Indonesian. That culture, those words, the smells, the religion, the earthy beauty of the people, the salt in the air, the generosity of spirit, the grounded spirit of my in-laws – it’s all a part of her. The coconut trees and the dark sand and the salty fish are part of her identity. They always will be. A part of her will always belong to that spectacular archipelago of islands that I fell in love with (and in). It would be irresponsible for me, I think, to ignore that. It is important that she understands a different way of life. It is important that she can eat rice with her hand off of banana leaves and that she can successfully de-bone a fish with one hand. It is important that she understands never to offer or receive gifts or money with her left hand, that can use a squat toilet and doesn’t balk at the idea of showering out of  a bucket. It’s important that she is respectful of her families religion and of their traditions. It’s important that she understands that many people live without the creature comforts that come standard living in the western world. It is important that her family in Indonesia live without hot water, ovens, fancy toys and clothes and house furnishings… that we lived like that for years too… that we will probably  live like that again. It’s important that she understands that what you have does not define who you are, it’s what you DO that counts. I learned all of these things whilst I was there and I will do everything I can to hang on to them so that I can teach them to her. So that when we visit Indonesia she can learn more about who she is from the family there that love her…

I don’t know what will happen next week, month, year with Bo’s father and I. I don’t know what will happen to our relationship or where we will go from here when it comes to parenting our child. But one thing is certain, I will work very hard to ensure that the Indonesian culture is an important part of her life. It is a challenge for me, seeing as I am not Indonesian and we are not living within the culture any more… but I will find a way.

When Bo is big enough to really ask questions and interact more then i will have a better shot at weaving some of the intricacies and differences between Eastern and Western life into the fabric of our day to day lives. For now, that’s a little unnecessary and might be over-complicating things.In many ways the Indonesian culture is a big part of her life still. Babywearing and co-sleeping are very important elements of Indonesian parenting that we (I) have always incorporated into our lives. We didn’t use them because they were Indonesian, but because they were right for us – regardless of the fact they are not Western societal norms. I stand very strongly by my decision to continue to co-sleep as well as extended breastfeeding… but those are food for thought for another day.

For now what I see is most important is language. And that’s a very tall order for me. When I arrived in Indonesia three years ago I spoke not one word of the language. I now can confidently say I can speak Indonesian. I can hold a reasonable conversation and I can understand a fair bit of written (casual) Indonesian without the need for my dictionary, but I am by no means fluent. Regardless of this I talk to Bo in Indonesian a lot. Although Ni speaks very good English his family speaks none, so for Bo to have a good relationship with her Indonesian family it is vital that she can speak the language.

So this is where I start. Language. I talk to Bo primarily in English, because that is what comes nturally to me. But when I give her simple instructions (ie. eat your dinner, it’s time for bed, careful that’s hot etc.) I try to do so in English and then repeat the instruction/explanation in Indonesian. Sometimes now I just use the Indonesian word or simple phrase and I know now from her response that she understands. She clearly understands the words for eat, drink, follow, sleep (lay down), wake up (get up) and kiss in both languages. So I guess we are getting somewhere.

It’s a big responsibility to have alone as a parent. It’s a lot to think about and a lot to consider. I know that I wont be able to give her as full a picture of the culture, as full an experience, as her father would have been able to give her if he had the time or the inclination to do so. But I will do my best. We have a few picture books that are in both English and Indonesian. Unfortunately they aren’t very well written (or illustrated) so they don’t hold either of our attention for long. Perhaps it requires that I do a bit more research to find better stories.

We are at the very beginning of this journey into bilingual childhood. I was only raised with one language so it’s completely new territory for me. I’m sure there will be plenty of stories and mistakes and achievements and set backs and wonderful slip-ups along the way.

Are any of you raising bilingual children? Do you have any tips? I think I could use all the help I can get!

Because EVERYONE has a story to tell…

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I’ve been getting so many beautiful emails over the past few weeks. Emails from readers all around the world. Emails filled with love and thanks and honest stories of both good and hard times. I’ve had emails with desperate words and emails with words full of joy and accomplishment. I am so grateful that so many of you feel the urge to write to me, to tell me your stories. To offer your words of wisdom and to offer an empathetic ear. I’m so lucky.

So I’ve been thinking. Over the Christmas period Bo, Ni and I will be flying East for a busy 10 days with family. During that time I’d love to share YOUR stories. If you are a blogger who would like a bit more exposure, if you are a writer, a photographer, a creative-type or a culinary genius… or if you’re a mama, a woman, a sister, a brother, a child, a parent and you have a story to tell… let us hear it!

I’ll be taking submissions for the next two weeks. Please email them to me directly at sash@inkedincolour.com or using our contact form. We are looking for birth stories, DIY tutorials, photographs, family tales, interesting discussions, awesome recipes, beautiful memories and everything in between.

Everyone has a story to tell, so why not tell yours?

xox

Him and me and baby makes three…

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It’s been a weird few days since Ni arrived, I haven’t written about it yet because I still don’t quite know what to say. I guess I hadn’t prepared myself for the shift in day-to-day life. I hadn’t prepared myself for the adjustment time. I hadn’t really thought much beyond the excitement of having us all together. The excitement of sharing our daughter with him once more. The excitement at seeing the excitement on his face when he sees her do all the amazing things she does now.

Turns out there is a lot more to it than that. Obviously. But, I just didn’t think about it.

It’s wonderful to be together, it is great for me to have him back and it’s wonderful for Bo to have her daddy in her life again. But we are definitely in a transition period There is nothing easy about real relationships, (well certainly no relationship I have been in), there also isn’t a whole lot that is easy about co-existing, but something doesn’t have to be easy for it to be worth it. So we are taking it, the only way we know how, one step at a time. Trying to find time for words, trying to find the right words when there is time. Trying to find our feet. And we will, of course. In time.

PS. Have you checked out the awesome giveaway going on right now? Get amongst it and support some hard working creative mamas. They really deserve your love and support… and YOU could win some awesome prizes too!

xox