About Me

Perth, WA, Australia
Hi friends. To those I have met in person and the many I haven't - welcome to our nest. Thanks so much for stopping by. I am a mama of six baby birds and wife to one papa bird. Our nest is an intricately woven home, crafted over time, through the highs and lows of life, and many in-betweens. We are soon to leave our Australian nest to re-locate to our second home, the UK. This is our story, of our new life in a new country, the trials and tribulations, bidding goodbye to precious friends and embracing new. I know at times, our wings will be flapping so hard to keep us moving forward that we will tire, however, a little perseverence will bring effortless gliding amongst a soft breeze, and even stronger wings for the journey ahead. Welcome to our flight......

Sunday, 12 February 2012

Ken's Tale

A terrible thing happened in our home today.  Ken was decapitated. The head was found under a chair, and the body in the kitchen.  I think rigger mortise had set in.  I was sad.  Ken had been with us for 13 years. I buried him in the recycling bin.

In retrospect, he had a good life.  Surrounded by a harem of young, blond, tanned beauties.  You could say he was the centre of attention his whole life.  He never married, but who would with the undivided attention of ten young ladies?  A shame that he never had any children as I am sure they would have been a mixture of ruggedly handsome and beautifully blond.

He didn't really have a home.  I should have set him up in a wooden construction with cardboard on the back, depicting lovely homely scenes.  Instead, most of his life had been spent in a plastic purple tub, amongst lots of teeny weeny clothes (especially bikinis), stiletto shoes, hair brushes - and lots of pink, lots.  There would have been a fair amount of dust and not a lot of fresh air, and definitely not any other male company.

I fear the only exposure to other males would have been on the construction belt in the factory where he was, well constructed.  However that experience may have caused severe trauma as all the other men folk looked exactly the same as him.  He must have wondered where his brothers all went.  What their fate was? He probably struggled with feelings of abandonment.

So, men, if you are having a rough day.  Give a thought to Ken.  He could never get away from women!  He couldn't even drive, well not in our house, as we don't own a pink barbie car or even a moped.  Imagine, the PMT, nagging and bad hair days.  He never had the opportunity to sneak away to the local for a few pints, crisps and a quick game of darts.  No male joking or back slapping.  Nobody to call 'mate' or 'buddy'.  Quite a tragedy really.

RIP Ken boy.

Monday, 6 February 2012

Oiling the Wheels.

Growing a large family takes time and energy - both of them in spades. Occasionally, I would like to rest the spade against the fence and go AWOL. Interestingly, it is not the big highs and lows that I find difficult, although of course they have their trials, it is the day to day, oiling of the wheels that I find most challenging. One part of me loves routine, needs it, and the other part of me, I fear, has gypsy blood, and dreams of escaping the norms of the world and living each day in whatever direction the wind blows. Totally unrealistic for a family our size, or even for any family in the western world, but there you have it, it is there all the while I am busy 'oiling'. Most mornings before the crew are up I take a few hours for myself. I drink tea alone, I write in my journal, I talk to God and I run, thriving on the sweetness of the early morning air and a new day. I love the solitude, the space that is just me and the outside world. My mind rests and I remember to breathe properly and freely. But then, the moment I step inside our home, those wheels need oiling and moving forward towards another day. And somebody has to not only oil but direct and steer. That is the role of a parent, if a tiresome one at times. It is a fact of life that we all need to eat and drink and shower (mostly!) and dress. To look presentable and clean for the outside world. To stretch our minds, train our hearts, show all kinds of good and noble qualities. To tidy and pay bills and ensure that all the basics are met...and then some. But, oh, how that gypsy in me calls and beckons in all of these moments. She promises me freedom and escape and excitement. To embrace a simpler life, devoid of all of the trappings of this western world. And when my hands tire of the 'oiling' I give in to these thoughts and test the OBH out. "Honey, how do you feel about sailing around the world and homeschooling the children?". Silence. "Or we could drive instead - you know around Australia?" Raised eyebrows. "Or live in France for a bit?" This last one more of a mumble. And what does my lovely OBH say, "Honey, do you need a break?" Yes please, a gypsy caravan would be just the ticket!