{photo a day challenge ~ january 2012}

{day 31 :: you, again}

If I was getting graded on this challenge, I think I would have just scraped through with a pass. Just. 17/31. Once I went into unwind mode (on holiday), I just couldn't keep up. And didn't care. So there. No re-cap, no catch up. We arrived home this afternoon, just in time to wrap up #janphotoaday and head into #febphotoaday. This one I will complete. This household is staying put for a while. We've got a big month ahead. The inevitable end of holiday funk {read: crazy children stuck inside for the past week because of torrential Queensland rain, little routine and not enough sleep} means we're all feeling a little like this..

I am looking forward to another photo challenge. Make sure you head over to Fat Mum Slim to check it out. If you want to stalk me on Instagram, I'm milkpleasemum there too. Crazy I know.

URGENT DONOR CALL OUT :: Melbourne Breastfeeding Mamas

I just read this over at Che & Fidel (via Lexi) and had to re-post ~

Are there any breastfeeding Mamas in Melbourne, Australia who could be part of a milk tree? A woman named Caroline died this week after giving birth to her second daughter.
 

If you can help please contact Eve Wintergreen - 0419881502 or email evesdance@bigpond.com.

Please spread to any networks who may be able to help. Thank you!
 

And please pray, meditate, chant for Caroline's family - 3yr old Lulu, 5-day-old Zahra and husband Nick. Tragically sad. "We hold your beautiful daughters and husband in the light."

52 weeks of grateful :: hands

More hands. Helping hands. Grandparent hands, great grandparent hands, aunty and uncle hands. Caring, loving, teaching, guiding hands. To scoop up my three babes, or just to hold. Showing them love. I am grateful.

Linking up with the lovely redhead over at Kidspot.

{this moment}

{this moment} - A Friday ritual. A single photo - no words - capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savour and remember.

Linking up with the ever-inspiring SouleMama.

~~~~~

 {yes, I'm doing the boat}

noise pollution

{via}

Total whinge alert here. Also warning this may be the most boring post I have ever written, but alas, this really gives me the shits so I am going to have a good whinge.

Saturday afternoon will see the noise pollution in Melbourne rise considerably. When two screaming banshees take to the great Rod Laver Arena. Perhaps they are grunting banshees? No, I think I was right the first time. These two have taken grunting to a whole new level.

I really enjoy the tennis. I have been to the Open a few times and spend many a late night glued to the tele during the tournament fortnight. I was bummed to see Roger exit the way he did tonight. I think he is hands down THE. BEST. that has ever been. Everything about him SCREAMS excellence. His demeanor, behaviour on and off the court, respect for the players, game attire. His game. FULL. STOP. No bullshit rituals before serving, picking his poorly chosen jocks out of his backside, wiping his nose, tucking his imaginary hair behind his ears, bouncing the ball thirty four times before serving {yes for a second serve too}, grunting and screaming around the court, abusing lines people and/or umpire. His game is made to look effortless. He is a gentleman.

I have to admit I much prefer to watch the men whack the ball around, than the ladies. And for some, I use the term ladies loosely. A lady would wear a skirt to play tennis, would she not? Not shorty short shorts. A lady would not make sounds when she hits the ball (and even when she has already hit the ball for that matter) that sound like she is being inflicted with some sort of punishing violence. It drives me mad. Which is why, as much as I love the game, I will not be tuning in on Saturday for the women's final. I don't even care who wins. I was hoping Kimmy would make it through for back to back titles. She's got guts to her game and she keeps her mouth shut. The two finalists are both as bad as each other. For all their pretty hair and impeccable grooming, it's all lost when they open their mouths. And don't try and tell me the hideous noise makes them play better. What a crock. The list of greats who didn't need to piss off the crowd to win countless tournaments and grand slams, is long. Very long.

As much as the grunters and screamers give me the shits, I am equally disappointed by the tournament committees' and officials' response. Or lack thereof. Why don't they address the issue? Players are fined for racquet abuse, verbal abuse toward officials, poor behaviour on the court. Why not some kind of noise violation? Some of those girls are still screaming when their opponent hits the ball back to them. I think it's really sad to see such a truly classic, courteous and well-mannered game, being played out like that.

The jokes will be rife come Saturday, everyone will have a good laugh. Plenty of ammo for the commentators. I would love to see Andy Murray get through tomorrow night. I would also love to see him shave. But I just don't think it will happen. The winning or the shaving. Bounce-the-ball-thirty-four-times-before-I-serve-Djokovic is too smooth. That's why he's number one. Djokovic/Rafa final? I'll tune in for the unbelievable tennis ability, and put up with the bullshit rituals, but I won't really care who wins that one either.

**Sincere apologies for the profanity. I am not a swearer, unless something gets under my skin. And I was right about the boring factor. Apologies again.

almost

This little bottom is almost one. My beautiful baby boy is almost one. Toddling more than crawling, chatting to anybody who will listen, smiling and giggling, the sunshine in our everyday. Very soon there will be no baby in our home. That makes me a little sad. But I am a glass half full kinda girl, and thinking of my little guy becoming more independent and joining in with his big brother and sister more, crossing over into that next phase of our little family life, well that makes me smile.

Almost one means there is a party to plan, a cake to create, a very special visitor arriving. After seeing what he's been up to lately between Stacey and Claire, excited just doesn't cut it. Goosebumps kinda stuff. Go and see.

flicks

Today I went to the movies. I love going to the movies. When hubby and I first started dating, it was our thing. We would go almost weekly and alternate between whose choice it was. I usually preferred the commercial flicks; I like to check my brain in at the door, have a good laugh or cry, and collect it when I leave. He always went for the art house, independent, low budget, sub-titled, hunt-down-a-boutique-cinema-that-actually-showed-it kind of flicks. Sometimes they were woful. Wo-ful. Sometimes they were surprisingly brilliant. He opened my eyes to appreciate a different kind of film. And as much as he didn't want to admit it, he liked some of the commercial stuff too.

Sadly, this is a thing of the past. I honestly don't remember the last movie we saw together. Something equally as sad ~ the last movie I did see at the cinema, was with my sister when I was pregnant with COLE. He's two and a half. It was Bride Wars. Remember I said check your brain in at the door, laugh, cry.

Today's outing to the cinema, was not with my hubby. But it was with the same sister. And my sweet girl. A first. Her first outing to the cinema! Some may ask why I waited so long to take her to the movies for the first time (she turned four in September). The only movie she has ever sat through from start to finish is Charlie & the Chocolate Factory. I thought she was ready to go probably about twelve months ago. Right when her baby brother arrived. Life got busy. I don't have any help in our day to day (aside from hubby). It's me and the kidlets from the time hubby leaves for work in the morning, till the time he returns in the evening. No grandparents round the corner to drop off for an hour or two and run errands. No childcare. Eliot had little routine to his feeding, he's always been a hungry boy. So ducking out for a few hours to catch a movie with my girl was just impossible. Until now.

And so it would seem I was right to wait this long to take her. Around the one hour mark she whispered to me in the darkness, 'is it time to go home yet?'. Bless. We saw The Muppets. I loved it. Like laugh out loud loved it. It had some great adult humour. And I fell in love with Kermit all over again. The movie aside, it was great fun. To leave the boys behind, run to the cinema in the pouring rain, line up for tickets, enjoy a pre-flick coffee and baby chino, buy the overpriced medium popcorn (which is small - how can they call it medium without small size on offer?), marvel at my girl's enthusiasm at the size of the screen, take her to the loo half an hour in, and a little post movie shopping (new clothes for kindy and two pairs of the sweetest little shoes).

Now that Eliot can survive without me for longer periods, I would like to make these mama~daughter outings more regular. There was a great animation in the ridiculously long previews.

What age were your littlies when you started taking them to the cinema?

dawn

The word holiday means nothing to an eleven month old. When my little guy woke far too early this morning, the house still quiet and my eyes struggling to stay open, I threw on some clothes and we hit the broadwater. It sure kept my eyes open.

I quite enjoy the novelty of pushing just one kid. Who doesn't speak. Adele did all the talking and the gentle woosh of the ocean took care of the rest. At first it was quiet, only passing a few seasoned early morning exercisers. As they passed, they smiled and said good morning and then returned their focus to the pavement. I find an odd pleasure in watching all the different styles of power walkers/joggers/runners, and my favourite, trying-their-hardest-beetroot-faced-about-to-keel-over-any-second-runners. I don't understand why they are running? They could walk faster than they are running.

We took a break at water's edge for some breakfast and to watch the oldies plunge into the big blue for their routine start to the day. I can't help but smile when I see this. They all looked so content. By the time we turned for home, Dad called to say the other two had risen and they would meet us on the sand.

When we met, they were teaching Pa how to make a sand sculpture. The lure of a chino got them back onto firmer ground. And that coffee could not have tasted. any. better.

52 weeks of grateful :: exhaling

This week I am very grateful for exhaling. No explanation necessary.

Linking up with the lovely Maxabella over at Kidspot.

{this moment}

{this moment} - A Friday ritual. A single photo - no words - capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savour and remember.

Linking up with the ever-inspiring SouleMama.

~~~~~

{photo a day challenge ~ january 2012} catch-up

I'm about to fall off the Instagram radar. Boo. We are airport bound this afternoon (woo hoo!!) and that means I will lose wi-fi to my iPod touch. I am loving this daily challenge and will miss posting and seeing everyone else's photos each day. I think a few trips to the Maccas carpark will be in order to post and check in.. sad I know. I will do another catch up at the end of the month when things are back to normal and I can plug in again.

{day 10 :: childhood}

{day 11 :: where you sleep} 

{day 12 :: close up} 

{day 13 :: in my bag} 

{day 14 :: something I'm reading} 

{day 15 :: happiness} 

{day 16 :: morning}

Happy Monday friends! x

52 weeks of grateful :: my darling hubby

I am still playing catch up. For everything. I have to write myself a note that I need to grateful post on Thursdays now instead of Saturdays. Thursdays.

We've had a week of procrastination and nothingness. Perhaps that should be I've instead of we've. And long nights. Eliot is still trying to cut another tooth and his conjunctivitis, lovingly shared by his big bro, cleared up, then came back, cleared up, came back.. grrr. So he's been a bit cranky through the night, I think it's scary for them when they wake up and they can't see properly. Any kind of deep, rejuvenating slumber must be happening in someone else's home. I have had to sleep in every morning this week because my body physically couldn't function when I would normally get up. Enter my darling husband. I think all days bar one, he got up with the kids while I stayed in bed either with Eliot, because he wouldn't settle in his cot, or after feeding him as the sun was coming up and putting him back to bed. And now my body clock is out of whack because of it. It's midnight and I'm not tired. Hmm. I am so thankful we now have a few weeks to really rest properly and recharge the batteries, get the body clock back on track.

I know lots of friends who have an understanding with their husband about who gets to stay in bed and who gets up with the littlies. In the four years since becoming parents, I think it would be something like a 90/10 split between me getting up with the kids, and him. When the kids were babies (clearly we still have one baby), I never expected him to get up to them through the night. After all, they only wanted my milk anyway. Plus, a train could come through the bedroom and he wouldn't wake up, so a hungry baby is but a whisper to his ears. Hubby has to go to work every morning and I didn't think he should have to show up for work yawning and functioning at half strength, when I had the chance to rest if I needed (okay so that was only with #1), and if it had been a long night we could take it easy at home the following day. By the time you get to #3, you can usually function on any amount of sleep, no matter how small. My hubby needs his sleep, he's cranky without it. And putting up with cranky husband makes me a cranky wife. And then it's the kids who usually suffer with cranky mummy. Like many mums, my clock is set to the kids and I find it hard to sleep in unless my body is absolutely exhausted. Which at the moment, it is.

My batteries are running extremely low. And hubby knows it. And he stepped in this week, every time he saw me flailing. And that's one of the many reasons I love him so. And that, my friends, is what I am grateful for this week.

Linking up with the lovely Maxabella over at Kidspot.

gbs

No house this year. A stable instead. A gingerbread nativity scene. Is it unchristian to eat baby Jesus? And his coconut chocolate bar manger?

{one poor wise man was stolen from the cooling rack, decapitated and lost a limb before I could save him.. yet he still offers his gift. what a trooper.}

Jokes aside, we are good Catholics. Promise. I also promise that was the final flood of Christmas snaps. Hurrah again!