I was so excited to do this shoot because not only are Lily and Sophia just beautiful, their Mummy and I were best friends in Grades 5 & 6 in Papua New Guinea!  We’d not seen one another for 23 years! (Wow, it’s alarming adding that up).  Thanks to the power of the www, we managed to get in touch not long ago and when Nikki asked for her twins to be photographed, it couldn’t come round quick enough!

I have so many gorgeous images from this shoot but won’t get a proper look until after Explore finishes in a few days.. I’ll share some more at the end of the week -  it’s so hard to be patient!

S x

I’m not sure I’ve ever written two posts in one day.  Today can be that day.  I’ve mentioned before, it is not always easy to openly speak of grief once the shock dissipates.  It’s hard to mix up such intensely personal thoughts with the light chatter of everyday life.  But I can’t not, it happens that those are the elements that make up my days.

I have “met” many friends around the World who live in the same universe as me – the one that includes all the elements of an old life, almost, but is now seen through a filter called Grief.   Friends who, throught no fault of their own, have lost their children to tragedy and illness.   I am connected to these unseen friends in a way I can’t describe, nor need to.  We are just bonded.  When I see mourning parents on television, I relate in a way I never imagined – to know I could pick up my phone and ring those complete strangers and that we could talk for hours.  We carry each others sorrow.   I suppose this sounds sad and awful.  But it’s not, it’s just a depth of understanding amongst a group of people that I don’t believe can be mirrored in many other sitations in life.

Yesterday was the birthday of Hannah.  I read her Mummy’s blog and worried for her yesterday, knowing just how impossible certain days can be.  Yet we still wake up the day after.  How?

Grief falls into a pattern in time.   The feeling of “floating”, as I call it, that stays for days, allowing you to carry on with life and make happy moments for your family and to plan and anticipate and enjoy.  Then, for reasons known and sometimes not, the rug is pulled from you – the Earth tilts the wrong way – the sky falls and you find yourself suffocating.  Quite litereally.  The Missing. The sense of their vacant space, the one they should be standing in, dancing in, resting in.  Where they should be laughing and growing and loving.  Where. They. Should. Be.

It’s indescribable and it’s unbearable and it’s so much more than we should have to endure, as humans.  As parents.  As fragile, hopeful, trusting people.  There is no ecaping, no cheering up, no stepping over.  When grief visits, everything stops.  And over time we become familiar with its presence and we allow it to pass through and ravage because we have no choice.  On the other side comes a tranquility and the floating returns, for a while.

I see now that time lets us float for longer periods and life settles into a new normal.  It’s hard to remember the perfect World, yet we could never forget.  Against what we thought possible, we carry on and our memories include smiles too, and for that I am so, so grateful.   It doesn’t mean there aren’t a thousand moments in the day where we secretly do nothing but wish.

Rach,  I wish you a floating heart soon.

Sheye x

I’m often asked here to show my house.  Really, you don’t want to see my house.  It’s tired, it’s weary, it has a stained glass kookaburra on the front door.  We bought it to renovate, and the renovations are just beginning.  I promise to get some before and afters but you’ll have to wait until we’re at ‘after’ stage.  Every now and then you’ll catch a glimpse of pink vertical blinds or mottled (or is that matted) beige carpet in the background of my photos – trust me, that’s as much as you want to see.

Saying all this, it’s amazing what you get used to.  Sure, I love my homewares.  I buy Vogue Living (and Belle and Elle and the rest).  I know exactly which Florence Broadhurst wallpaper I’d like to line my cupboards with.  But, put simply, none of it really matters.   It’s important to have a safe, clean house but what makes you feel genuinely happy is not based the window coverings you look out through each day.

I’m so grateful to just have my family around me, to hear the kids laughing and to tuck them in at night..to have found a great school for the boys, to have Mum down the road, to know Angie is about to return from overseas.  The beautiful emails and packages I receive each week.  The artwork Ivy brings home.  My photos. These are the things that give me real pleasure.  These make me truly content.

I’ll enjoy our renovated house when it’s here but in the mean time, I get much pleasure from little corners that hold things dear to me..I’ll share a few from around my study here.

I buy the kids a classic childrens book each birthday plus I collect vintage books myself.

Ava’s things:  This little collection sits in my bookshelf.

Beautiful gift from Jennifer.

And something else that makes me smile: Another sweet parcel arrived from Krysta last week.  She’s my personal shopper with extra-ordinary taste which was working very well except lately I find I can’t shop for myself anymore, I shop for Krysta instead.  We’re pretty sure we are the same person who’s been split in two and placed on opposite sides of the Earth.  Only she looks like Jessica Simpson and I don’t.  Damn that.

Speaking of beautiful emails, I must confess I am a little um, stretched at the moment.  I won’t lie, I’m struggling to stay on top of my Inbox and as always, I hate to think I’ve missed  replying to someone.  It’s also school holidays now so I’m not likely to find peace and tranquility any time soon.  Please forgive me if you’ve written and not heard back – every single sweet message I get makes a difference to my day. Thankyou!

S xxx

It seems I can’t post about anything other than my beloved daughter lately.  I think it’s possibly because I can’t see anything other than my beloved daughter lately.  Just like Ava at this age, Ivy is glued to my side.  So, as expected, I do have more photos of my sweet little attachment further on but before that, a rundown on the day that was..

Today began as a tired day.

Ivy woke at 2.30am. She was back asleep by 3. Me, not so lucky. The sun had well and truly risen when I returned to the land of sleep. In between the meeting with the toddler and the sunrise, I workshopped and shop-shopped online. It passed the early hours quite well but did not make for the most energetic start to Saturday.

Then today became a busy day.

I sorted, I organised, I emailed.  I planned and I diarised and I was oh-so-capable and all this whilst managing three spirited children.   I was a multi-tasking vision of organised lovliness.

Then, well, today became a little bit challenging kind of day.

The spirited children turned into downright evil children, the sleep deprivation got a hold of me and Mason tried his very best to empty out my brand spanking new $30 hair product.  Dinner was handed to us over a counter.   Children were sent to bed early.  Mothers threatened to leave and never, ever come back.  And these were the better bits of the evening.

So, remind me. We sign up for this mothering gig because???…

Anyway, back to smoke and mirrors.  Here’s something I prepared a little earlier.

Ivy got here first birthday party invitation via her first letter in the post from Ms Cassy-Dee. It was very exciting.

Kate’s gorgeous invitation included a slideshow of Cassidy that originally I thought was so cute.  Now that I’ve seen it about three hundred and twenty seven bajillion times, I’m growing a little weary.  Still, thanks Kate, it really was sweet the first thirty times around.

S xx

A few weeks ago, I think I mumbled something about sleep being inconvenient. I was wrong. Sleep is very, very necessary. I don’t do it often and I don’t do it well but when I decide it’s time, it has to happen. Full stop.

Unfortunately, last night was the night where I needed to catch up about a months missing sleep which happened to be the night Ivy decided she would adopt my “sleep is inconvenient” theory.  All night long, she would sporadically wake, yell like her cot was on fire, then calmy inform that she “didn’t feel like sleeping”. Off to our bed she’d go, for 15 minute periods, where she’d chat like it was 4pm down at the Coffee Club. She’d then request to return to bed. This was played out in a horrific loop from 11pm till 3am. I didn’t find her remotely amusing then but now I giggle at recalling the conversations, me in a constant state of sleep-hover with my back to the chirpy one.

I: Mummy, I can’t see your legs. You have no legs.
M: (mumbling): I do have legs Ivy. They’re under the covers.
I: Oh. Sorry.

I: Mum?  Mummy?  I can’t see your lips.
M: (turning head around)..
I: MWAH  (Big wet sloppy toddler kiss).

I: What’s that Mummy? (pointing to the edge of the blanket).
M: (Seeing opportunity). Oh, it’s umm Mummy’s taggy. I hold it to go to sleep, like you. Lets go to sleep.
I: (Giggle). Oh! Mummy’s taggy! Where’s your bottle? You want a bottle? I can pat you. (Begins patting my head a little too hard).

M: You need to go to sleep, everyone else is asleep. This is just getting silly.
I: It is NOT silly. I be-am-having. You go to sleep, Mum-mee.

And on. And on.  Except I forgot to add that most of her sentences ended after a pause with “meow”.  In the cold light of day it makes sense really, her nocturnal activities are obviously because she’s half feline.