Absence Makes The Heart Grow Fonder

I've noticed that a brief separation from someone I love generally heightens my appreciation for them. And then on the flip-side, sometimes spending too much time with certain very short people can prompt a rapid decline in my enthusiasm for their company. I'm not exactly sure of the precise mechanisms at work in this phenomenon, but it seems to be a fairly consistent rule of thumb.

I started thinking about this recently, following Chloë's transition to full-time kindy. Because she's away from me for a few hours each day, I really enjoy our subsequent reunions. And it seems I'm always more excited to see the girls in the morning (following their lengthy slumber) than I am in the evening when they've only been in bed for a matter of minutes. I notice it at Nathan's triumphant homecoming from work each day, which I always get excited about. And then there's the fact that both my parents and all four of my siblings currently live in other cities, which has made me really miss their various eccentricities.

But there's one person in my life who I almost never get the opportunity to miss. My little Zayla is with me wherever I go - my little shadow, my additional limb. Sometimes she lets me leave her in the church nursery, and I try to leave her once a week so I can attend a 50-minute tutorial at uni. But generally speaking, wherever I am, she is.

I gather Zayla sensed that she was missing out on the 'absence = happy reunion' experience because yesterday she staged the perfect separation - one which ensured she would optimise the benefits of a reunion. It was at Civic Park, site of the community 'Kindy in the Park' event in which dozens of local kindergartens set up various preschool-directed activities for hundreds of four-year-olds and their siblings. Upon our arrival, we experimented with a few of the activities, but I was soon mildly bemused that of all the novelty options available to my girls, they most wanted to experience the one that was a permanent fixture at the park: the playground.

I've never seen a playground so overrun with children, and I considered it a miracle that we were able to fulfil Zayla's passionate desire for a turn on the swing. I also discovered that it's incredibly difficult to keep track of two separate children in a crowd, especially one swarming over multiple levels. It was hectic out there. But on the upside, I ran into a friend who also had a child on the playground, so I didn't have to supervise alone.

What I didn't anticipate was that two adults wouldn't be enough, and long story short, while I was attending to  Chloë, Zayla and my friend's daughter stealthily wandered off into the unknown. An ever-so-helpful gentleman informed me that he observed Zayla wandering off unsupervised with another little girl (thanks for stopping them!) and that I might want to take better care of her (oh, you're so helpful!). With an unfenced duck pond on one side and busy North East Road on the other, it wasn't my ideal scenario; so my fellow mother-in-distress and I decided to separate and inspect the various activity stations for signs of our girls.

It was probably about five to ten minutes before we retrieved them. They were at the rotunda, blissfully bopping along to music and imitating all the actions that characterise toddler tunes. Zayla was apparently ignorant as to my state of distress as I scooped her up and assailed her cheeks with countless kisses. In my heightened state of maternal emotion, I felt so fortunate to have this precious little cherub safely with me, and suddenly the wonderful attributes of my two-year-old were paramount in my mind.

I, of course, also felt a certain ineptitude as a mother. But I took the opportunity to resolve to increase my vigilance and appreciate more the company of my little ones. Upon later contemplation of the incident (in light of the happy ending), I was a little bit glad that it had happened. It made me consider the intrinsic value of motherhood and the rich rewards it offers. It forced me to contemplate the bleak prospect of forever losing a child and it reinforced to me how much I love my two little girls.

I wish I could constantly appreciate those around me, regardless of the situation, but I suspect I'm benefited by various circumstances that sometimes separate me briefly from my loved ones. It gives me an opportunity to miss them, wonder what they're up to, and anticipate seeing them again. So I guess what I've come to realise is that absence really does make the heart grow fonder - and just imagine how fond I'm going to be of my girls once they're at school everyday!

V.I.P.

I’m the kind of woman who travels with an entourage. Not a large one, but a dedicated one nevertheless. Wherever I go, my devotees follow – whether I go shopping, to the cinema or simply to the bathroom. They are my biggest fans, my harshest critics, and some of the most heartfelt people I know.

It can sometimes be quite the challenge to be so highly sought after and admired, as mine is certainly different from the typical lifestyle. I can’t just walk out the door and into the public eye on a whim, nor can I circumvent the unwelcome attention that my (literally) screaming fans regularly generate. It’s often a delicate balance between being adequately prepared to handle the commotion associated with public outings, and keeping out of the general population when possible.

But despite the challenges associated with my loyal following, I know that their presence suggest that mine has been a truly blessed life. Not all women have the opportunity to be the subject of such unwavering admiration or to hold such a significant role in the life of another. I know that the very fact that they are watching my every move places me in a position to be a major influence in their lives.

So I try to take the time to get to know my followers, to give the people what they want. But in truth, time spent with my fans is equally for my own benefit; they are my inspiration. They are the reason I get up every day and keep doing what I do. They have made me who I am today. And if I ever win any awards, I will dedicate them to these beautiful people who have been my true support.

 Shame, really, that there's no academy awards for motherhood.

Lucky Me

It must be my lucky day.

That is, I’m using the term ‘lucky’ loosely. Granted, the day started out pleasantly enough. We survived the morning’s peanut butter drought; I had demonstrated commendable negotiation skills in convincing Chloë to wear weather-appropriate clothing; and the girls and I were less late than is generally the case on our way out the door. For the most part, it was looking to be a respectable day - a leisurely final few hours before heralding in the weekend. It was all looking good, until a rather regrettable incident occurred.

It happened on the way to kindy. The usual scenario – kids vying for my attention in the back seat, me contending with the school drop-off traffic. The moment itself was incredibly brief, particularly considering how much airtime it’s had in my mind in the hours since. It turns out the woman in front of me hadn’t taken the break in traffic as an opportunity to turn left, as previously suspected. Looking back, I probably should have confirmed this as an alternative to rear-ending her car, but it’s amazing how clear everything is in hindsight.

The most salient part about this scenario was that it was completely my fault, which always makes for pleasant conversation when chatting with the insurance company. I thought I was past an age where I wanted to be older than am, but speaking to them on the phone I found myself wishing I was at least 25 so as to avoid having to pay more than double the standard excess. I also enjoyed my conversation with the crash repairer, who got a kick out of continually commending me on my ‘good job’.

The day hadn’t quite turned out how I had planned. So naturally, I did the only reasonable thing. I found my slouchiest jumper, a jar of nutella, and did a fine job of wallowing. The girls tried to be helpful – Zayla reiterated that I ‘crashed car’ and Chloë advised that I ‘should’ve been more careful’. But somehow their words didn’t have quite the healing effect they were supposed to.

So how has this been my lucky day? Well, there’s a hero to every tale. A knight in shining armour for every damsel in distress. My knight just happens to be the same one who rides home to me every evening (albeit on a mountain bike as opposed to a stallion). He’s the kind of gentleman who’s unfailingly kind, understanding, and aware of the best way to react when his wife tells him she’s disfigured the car.

Not only did he not freak out, he told me that it didn’t matter and he was glad we were okay. He came home early just to give me a hug and help me feel better. He pretended not to notice that the house had gone to ruins while I’d been writhing in self-pity. Then he assumed all parenting duties until the girls were safely in bed. And he made it his mission to make me smile. Typical Nathan behaviour.

Some days are good days and some are just not. But on the upside, days like today remind me of why I love being married to Nate: because even on my unluckiest days, I still feel like the luckiest woman in the world.

Managing the Unmanagable

"The chaos of life", at least for me, refers partially to the uncanny ability of my children to wreak incredible havoc within relatively short periods of unsupervision, and my often fruitless attempts to prevent this phenomenon. I suspect any seasoned parent would agree that as startling as it is to hear the sounds of children wrestling or the contents of a well-organised drawer tumbling onto the floor, the real danger lies in those moments of apparent peace. The times when children are both silent and somewhere outside of the immediate vicinity. And especially if I'm trying to have a shower.


My initial suspicion during these times is that the toilet roll is now an unravelled heap sitting on the tiled floor, or that Chloë has concealed herself in the pantry with the container of chocolate chips I use for baking. But sometimes that's just me being a bit too optimistic.


I had one day recently when Zayla decided to open the fireplace and use the ash to create black masterpieces on various nearby surfaces. Perhaps it was my naivety that prompted me to send her away to play while I cleaned up, thinking it would prevent the further spread of ash. She did go away, and all was quiet during the clean-up. Too quiet. Upon investigation of the suspicious tranquillity, I discovered that my girls had combined their mess-making powers to achieve an even greater state of disarray.

I was a little bit impressed that they had managed to pull books from all but the highest shelf, it suggests to me some first-class climbing skills. But I can't say that was my dominant reaction at the time. I did, however, have the foresight to photograph this moment so as to leave their father in no doubt as to the extent of their guiltiness once he came home to a (hopefully) restored house.


But the story doesn't end there. Thinking that my children were somewhat repentant, and having still not finished with the ash, I returned the site of the initial crime to finish cleaning. But again - a prolonged and uncharacteristic silence descended upon the house. Yet this time the girls weren't in their usual lurking places - they were in my room.

I literally caught Chloë red-handed and Zayla red-faced. I also discovered after this experience that my lipstick is indeed wear- and waterproof, especially since Zayla's hair had a bit of a red tinge to it for the next few days.


Fortunately this concluded the day's shenanigans, partially thanks to the pseudo-babysitting abilities of the children's channel on the TV. But as I've discovered in the world of child-initiated disaster zones, tomorrow is always another day!


Isn't motherhood wonderful? Lucky I love them so much.

Hello, Hello.

Hey there, World Wide Expanse. I'm impressed that pretty much anyone can get published these days. Sort of.

I've been intending to make my debut into to world of blogging for a little while now, for a couple of reasons. One is that I think I'd get a little kick out of it if anyone actually bothered to read what I have to write. And secondly because I'm an terrible record-keeper, which I'd really like to remedy. My experience of motherhood has been that my days are a flurry of activity around my two girls, following which I collapse exhausted into bed each night. I'm generally aware of all the things going on in my life and what efforts I need to muster in order to keep the boat afloat; yet as I look back on previous weeks, months and years, its all a bit of a blur. So I think I should probably chronicle our whirlwind of events, activities and adventures so that after the dust settles I'll be able to look back thinking more than just "wow, what just happened?"

My current status in life is that I'm a stay-at-home Mum of two girls - Chloë, who turns four next month (much to her excitement) and Zayla, who has just turned two. This is them:

My wonderful husband Nathan is a teacher, and we've been married for just over five years.

 Just this past year we moved into our first house, which we built, so we're busy working on getting that established. I also study at uni part-time, which commitment functions primarily to keep me connected with the rest of the adult world. And we're also Latter-Day Saints, which is probably the best and most involved part or my life. So there's a lot going on for us, but it's an enjoyable existence and I can't think of anything I'd trade.