There are two children in this family, but sometimes by these posts you could think there was only one. The one who demands more time and attention. The one with all of the needs, that sometimes take over the other, more mundane requirements of a family. The squeaky wheel.

We also have a quiet wheel. A kid who has not given us a moment of trouble since the day he was born. Hang on, that isn’t strictly true- we had a day when he was about a month old called Black Sunday. I remember it well because there was stupid car racing on the telly, and Nathan wouldn’t turn it off, and the kid somehow got overtired and cried and cried and just WOULD NOT SLEEP for a whole day. That one day, I thought he might never sleep again. For those moments, I feared that this may never pass, and that my life would always be like this, with a crying child and a grumpy husband, that I would be pacing the house juggling the two of them forevermore. Then he fell asleep and it was all over, and I learned that he was the type of child who thrived on routine and structure and in knowing what was coming next. So I never varied from the predictable again.

So this baby who was soothed by schedules has become a boy who is independent and knows his own self. He knows what he likes, often before he even tries it, and he can be tricky to coerce into things he has already made up his mind about. So of course, because I am the mother and I worry about things that have not even happened yet, I try to modify that, to make him more open to change, to try new things, to do be okay with spontaneity (even though deep down I suspect it has “its time and its place”*)

That child also came on the bush walk.

His challenges were different to his sister’s. He found the actual activity easy, but he soon tired of the sameness that is the Australian bush. He said he felt like we were just walking around in circles, and that there had better be a good reward at the end of this trip, because the journey sure was boring. I almost laughed aloud at how similar we are. As his sister and father were looking up down and all around at all of the different trees and plants and trying to spot wildlife, we were stomping ahead, intent on ‘getting there’. For us the joy of the journey was in the arriving. We have a lot to learn, my boy and I, from those other two. (Remind me sometime to tell you the story of the Woolomi Lighthouse.)

Once we ‘arrived’ he immediately got prepared for the fun to start. He had seen a rope tied to a tree that someone had left behind, and he was keen to swing into the rock pools. I said to go ahead and do it, mainly because I didn’t think he would.

So I sat back and watched his preparations: testing the rope for strength and then for fastness. He then did three or four practice swings, swinging out over the water, making sure he had the distance right, the grip on the rope sufficient. He did things that I wouldn’t have thought to do. I asked him what made him consider all of these variables. “Standard safety checks, Mum,” was the reply.

Oh. Okay then. You would have thought it came with a manual.

Finally it was time for the real deal.

Got the camera on Mum? Check.

In video mode? Yes Liam, I said check.

Okay, here we go then.

I held my breath a little, still thinking he wouldn’t really do it, but holding it just in case he did, and cracked his head on the rocks or something, not wanting him to do it, yet really wanting him to dare to do something outside his comfort zone.

I didn’t video it.

He gave me a foul look (that I suspect I will see some more of in the years to come) gave the little sigh that leaks out when you have to deal with idiots, and prepared to do it again. For fun? No, for the camera. I pretended for a while that I still wasn’t getting the shot, just to make him do it over and over. All of the videos are almost exactly the same. He swings the same way every time, drops at the same moment, surfaces, and gives me a thumbs up. Mission accomplished.

Pretty much how he does his life.

When did you last do something that takes your breath away?

Are you trying to change someone’s ways because you think they could be better?

*A quote to run your life by right there: from the character, Alison, in “The Sure Thing”, sometime in the 80s.

Also: I would have loved to have shown you the video (which I did take) but I can’t figure out how to import it over here. Feel free to enlighten me WP nerds.

…From The Ashers

Today the Evil Geniuses had their first introduction to the evils (and merits, depending on which side you’re on) of gambling.

Evil Genius One (who is the true genius in this story), drew up four notes. See Exhibit A:

Exhibit A: The four cards. One says “bup-bawll” like the noise on Family Feud.

He placed these notes in a little box and began his spiel.

He talked long and lyrical about the lusciousness of Lindt chocolates (of which he happened to have a full box) and the luck we might encounter, by placing a mere fifty cents in his sweaty little palm. Fifty cents bought us one lucky dip, a one in four chance (which he assured us were ‘excellent odds’) of ‘earning’ a Lindt ball.

I had one dip, did my dough and declared myself out of the running.

Evil ‘Genius’ Two however, was smitten.

She hauled her money box upstairs, and gave him dollar after dollar after dollar, in an effort to procure just one small ball. Her luck was so bad, that eventually he had to show us the notes, to prove there actually was a winning one. He was holding all the cards and she was holding back the tears.

I told her to stop giving her money away. She said she couldn’t because “I’m so close now Mummy, I can’t stop. I just have to win one soon.”

I told her that wasn’t necessarily true, and anyway I had Mentos in my bag, and I would give her one for free.

I told him to give her a break and just give her a choccy. He said he couldn’t because, “That goes against the rules of the wager.”

Eventually she did get a bit of a run on, and won a few chocolates, to calm those jangly nerves.

At the end of it all I asked them if they had learned anything useful from all this illegal gambling.

Liam: Gambling is addictive and ace, especially if you are the one holding the cards. I don’t know why it is illegal. It’s an excellent way to make money, if you make the odds good enough.

Coco: Gambling is fun and exciting, a bit like a scary ride at Aussie World. You have to pay out a lot and you might have to be patient, but eventually you win. So it makes it worth it.

Great.

Epilogue: There are no Lindt balls left, and Coco has about 25cents to her name.

…From The Ashers xx

Kelly Exeter always tells me amazing and useful things.

I say ‘me’ but she actually tells all of us, it’s just that the things she chooses to say seem to be all about me. She has a knack of doing that thing that Sylvia Plath once said about being “a voice speaking from my own soul”.

Yesterday she gave me some great things, all of which have been running around my head all night. I had a night of wakefulness and what seemed like non-stop dreaming, so I know there was a lot to process.

One of the things that stuck with me was the concept of space. Of how two things simply cannot occupy the same physical space at the same time. The blog link was about thoughts, and how we can’t have a positive and a negative thought at the same moment, so we need to prioritise just how much mind-space we want to use up with junk.

I’ve expanded the idea to consider our physical space, the toy cupboard in particular. Take this lego on my floor right now for example:

They say there is an average of 67 blocks of Lego per person on Earth. I think we have more than our share.

There are so many of those pointy little foot-stabbers in that bucket, that it is overflowing. The Evils get the bucket out most days, and most days I have to shove it all back in the cupboard and close the door quickly, lest it all come tumbling out.

Me: Liam, I think we have too many toys, and waaay too much Lego. We can’t possibly fit another toy into that cupboard and the Lego bucket itself is overflowing. You can’t possibly use it all, and in fact I think you only ever use the top layer. Perhaps we could give some to some kids who don’t have any? The way it is right now you can never get a new toy, because two things can’t occupy the same space at the same time. You need to clear out, in order to make room for new things to come into your life.

Liam: I like the old things. I don’t want any new things. Other than computer games, and I have heaps of space on my hard drive for those.

Me: But there might be new things, new opportunities and experiences you don’t even know about yet, and you’re limiting yourself because you don’t have space to fit them into your life.

Liam: Don’t worry, I can get a bigger box.

So there you have it, the wisdom of Liam. No need to clear out the clutter, just get bigger, improve, stretch, create new boundaries.

Someone once said, “The mind, once expanded by a new idea, can never regain its original dimensions.”

Expand.

Oh, and he also solved the problem of getting to the bottom layers.

And that’s not even all of it!

Do you have Lego that appears to be breeding?

Do you have space for new stuff?

…From The Ashers xx

Image courtesy of Grey’s Anatomy, 37th ed. I knew that bloody heft of a forest would come in handy one day…

Me: Hey mate, I hear you are growing a bit of a Mo, how’s it going?

Liam: Not bad, not bad at all.

(Strokes ‘moustache’ like his Pop used to do)

Liam: Yeah, its’ coming along, about on a par with my hairy legs, and a little in front of my chest wig.

(Lifts t-shirt to reveal Mr. Puniverse thorax, with a completely, absolutely and utterly, bald chest.)

Liam: It’s weird, I have this Mo, but no other public hair.

Me: Huh? Did you say public hair?

Liam: Yeah, you know, the public hair.

(Gestures to his nether regions. Thankfully he doesn’t feel the need to elaborate with a display at this time.)

Me: It’s called PUBIC hair, mate. As in, the hair that grows near the pubis, pubes, or pubic bone of your pelvis.

(Now I’m gesturing to my nether regions. Oh sweet life, WHAT is going ON here?)

Liam: Ohhhhh, I thought it was public hair, as in, it tells the public that you are ready to reproduce. And stuff.

Conversation Officially Terminated at 7.10am. Way too much information has been shared before my first coffee (or wine). I do not wish to know what “and stuff” is. Not at all.

So how are your pube-y talks coming along?

Have you been putting your pubes out in public? (For strictly reproductive reasons of course)

…From The Ashers xx

Liam has just turned ten. He is medium sized, blonde and a little on the skinny side. So not at all precociously developed. He wears size eight clothes.

He came to Nath yesterday rubbing his upper lip.

Liam: Dad, I think I’m about to hit puberty.

(He is desperate for puberty because he is hoping to get pimples. Yes, he is my son.)

Nathan: What makes you think that mate?

(As clearly it is not the presence of any primary sexual characteristics that has prompted this thought.)

Liam: It’s just that I seem to be developing quite quickly at the moment. Check out my moustache. It’s still blonde, but as you can see, it’s really coming along.

(There is no visible evidence of said moustache.)

Nathan: Hmmmm

(Not wanting to offend Liam’s impending Manhood.)

Liam: I know, it’s weird right? I mean, usually it’s usually the other way around, you get the pubic hair and all that, and then secondary sexual characteristics come, well, second. I’m doing it in reverse order. Weird.

(Nathan now has nothing. He isn’t even sure what is a primary or a secondary trait.)

Liam: I reckon I’ll have to shave by Christmas as this rate.

(Liam walks off, talking to himself about Pokemon, in a voice so high pitched canines were cowering in Cooory.)

Seems legit.

Behold the magnificence of the Mo

…From The Ashers xx

By the time you read this, it will be exactly one decade since we welcomed this dude into The Ashers.

10!

But of course we weren’t really The Ashers then, we were just Al and Nath. This little fella made us into something bigger than ourselves. He popped into my uterus as a bit of a surprise, what with all the androgyny of me (It’s okay to say it, I know I might not be the most voluptuous, oestrogenic looking chick on the planet) and the cancer of him and his boy bits. I think it’s safe to say I thought that we would be pretty safe from being Offspring Infected. I didn’t even have my fingers crossed in ‘Barleys’ like we used to at primary school. (Yes, I know, it was my legs that should have been crossed)

So he buried himself deep into the warm folds of my womb and stayed there until he was nice and ripe and he was fit to burst right out of my skin.

He birthed himself just like a text book, and followed our every plan to the letter. So many times we would look at each other and say, “Is this for real? Is this kid Baby of the Year or what?”

Because he was.

Still is.

He is funny, quirky, clever, challenging, straightforward, just, logical and about seven steps ahead of us most of the time. He has a blog over here  if you want to see how he rolls. He has a strong sense of self, and so far, I think that is what I am the most proud of (other than the fact that I pushed his 9lbs7oz out of my very own vagina).

This morning he said to me with a sigh, “Today is the last day of single digits, the last day of my first decade. It gets tough from here.”

I thought he was talking about footy, “What do you mean, the competition?”

He looked at me like I was an idiot, “No, life, it gets rough from here on.”

Now it was my turn to look at someone like they were dopey, “I’m forty-three mate, my life isn’t rough. It doesn’t have to be rough.”

He sighed again, speaking slowly, as if I was a little feeble minded, and counted on his fingers, “Your Dad died, you have to make the lunches every day and then there’s taxes.”

I laughed and told him he didn’t need to worry about those things for a long time.

He looked doubtful and said, “It’ll be here before you know it. And the lunches: every.single.day.”

I left the room, shaking my head at this little grandfather-child we were raising, a little sad that he knew all of those things so early: the repetitive nature of life, and of death, and of course taxes.  I worried that some of his attitude was from having a sister with a thing, from spending too many of his days in hospital waiting rooms, seeing things beyond his years.  Or perhaps it was from his precocious reading, devouring stories meant for more mature minds. Or maybe it was just that he had seen too much of death and The Cancer. I vowed to bring more frivolity to his next decade. To encourage silliness and nonsense and time-wasting. To create space for daydreaming and giggling.

And then I heard some stifled laughter coming from the wizened one’s room, so I popped my head around to see these two idiots:

Very mature

goggles on, and taking pot-shots at each other’s heads with Nerf guns.

My heart lifted a little.

Maybe there is hope after all. Maybe the next decade will be just fine.

Happy Birthday Liam. You rock. And not just on the drums or the guitar or on the…erm…clarinet

…From The Ashers xx