The dark side of feeling.

Robbin Williams took his life yesterday. I look back and i see a childhood littered with his voice and it makes me smile, and then i stop.

Depression is a tricky one. People close to me know that it is something i have struggled with myself over the years. Depression, PTSD and Anxiety are words that bring back a flood of dark and shadowy places that leave you just outside of reach of anybody.

People throw around phrases in times like this, things like, 'suicide is selfish' or 'it's a cop out'. But the truth is when your in the haze of that kind of pain, a pain that is intangible and elusive, suicide holds a reprieve. Even if it is the most horrible kind, it is a reprieve and that is all that matters. The thing is when we look at depression, when we look at suicide, we are hammered by thoughts surrounding the loved ones that are to be left behind, the children the lovers the parents the friends - how could someone do that to the people they love. But there in lies a traumatic truth, there in possibly lies a glimmer in to how all-consuming depression is. Because in the light of all the love that surrounds them, the life that thrives just beyond grasp, there comes death.

People fail to fully comprehend that Death is the only light at the end of the tunnel for these people, and so with that in mind, maybe you get an idea of just how dark a place depression can really be. People are so encapsulated by the darkness of depression that to end their life becomes their final hope.

So to make gruff remarks about  'suicide is selfish' or 'it's a cop out', is not productive of conducive to helping those that are in the darkest moments of their life, wrangling each day with a cloud of endless, un-meetable desperation. Instead it is damaging, in ways you may not even fathom.

I was a lucky one, for a many varying, perfectly timed and balanced reasons, i - on this day, am a winner.

But it never really goes away, it's always there in the back of your mind. Not that you are these things, these words, simply that you had it. Like a black cloud that ceases to evade, it follows me, alongside the life i create, as a reminder of a time in my life when i felt alone and weaker, despite the love that pressed in on me from all around.

When i talk about it with people, i can almost hear the shock. The thing is, i think the shock comes from my ability TO talk about it.People avoid eye contact, they brush over it and they change topic very quickly, because it un nerves them to do so. So here is my advice, just listen. Let what they talk about be ok and safe, let them pour themselves out to you with out question or judgment.

We live in a culture where not being ok, isn't ok... and that's not OK!

Why can't people reach out and ask for help without feeling like they are being judged or belittled. Because i can tell you now, that's what it was like for me. People don't know what to say, how to react. And the most difficult part to explain to people, is that depression is not about being sad.

Sad is a very different thing. Depression is about deeply, so very very deeply, feeling hopeless, beaten and exhausted. Feeling sad would almost be a reprieve in it's own. depression is so very much more, a complex, debilitating and consuming state of being. To look back on it now it is even almost to difficult to put into words what it feels like to be depressed.

Perhaps that is where the problem lies. People can not relate, they can only relate to being sad,and well being sad sucks, but you get up, you dust yourself off and you move on-wards, right?

Not being able to relate to something intangible is difficult for people. There in lies the reality of mental health and mental illness.

How do you ask people to be patient with you, for years, for something they can not see and/or even begin to understand?

For me i was lucky. It took years, but i can safely say my life has never looked better. I have hope, i have love i have cleared my skies and danced in its sweet sweet light. But we do not all get that opportunity to heal, some of us fall down like defeated soldiers in the face of its wrath. Just like Robbin did.

My heart goes out to his family, and my heart goes out to anybody that is touched by this disease. It's a heart wrenching journey that takes it's toll, and theses people need acceptance and patience above all.

xxx

if you think you or someone you know is not ok ---->      http://www.beyondblue.org.au/

Little adventures

There are days when the world pulls at me. Yesterday was one of those days. I yanked Mason out of school and we spent the day hiking through Aussie bush, the warmth of spring was evidently close as we let ourselves thump with joyous muse through the trails blazed through a Swordgrass and Banksia playground. Our reward was the sweet salty air, an implosion of white baking in the warmth of the sun as well as maybe a chocolate milkshake at a darling cafe.

Real Mothering Hurts

Dogs teach children lessons a parent never could.

he hates to admit it, but he loves his mumma taking photos

It can be hard not to feel dejected at times, beaten within an inch of my life by the constantness that is motherhood. I sit here failing to grasp just how I could articulate what it is to be a mother. For all its beauty and for all it’s overwhelming purpose and simplicities, motherhood, leaves you with pangs of defeat, moments where no attempt no matter how great could ever abate those feeling of disenchantment one simple moment can bring you.

I spoke with one of my friends just the other day. We spoke of how as parents we unite, yet as mothers we can at times feel so alone, so isolated. What do you mean? You might ask. Well what I make reference to is that part of mothering that ceases to take pause, the constantness. That part where it is always mum as option A, dad as option B.

I sat at home the other day, writing, trying my best to get in the ‘zone’ and I suppose truly, it was a fail on my part to even assume that was possible, to get into to any form of zone with little feet parading around the house. What wore me thin more than anything else though, was that although their father sat almost less than 3 meters from me, with them whilst they watched some afternoon cartoons, it was me they proceeded to come up to an ask, for permission, for help, to inquire, to dob. I found myself in states of complete disenfranchise. How could mothering be such a menial task! How could everything I love, everything that fills me with that heart wrenching love, also take me to some of my darkest parts of myself? I sat that disillusioned with the revelation that this is the mothering that is not talked about. This is not what they tell you about in parenting classes, or on those heartfelt blogs about the authentic, totally enamoring gift of parenting. And truly I love my children, that is not to be questioned, what I question instead is the ability to love myself, and to love it on my own terms, to be able to be anything other than mum all of the time. To have those moments which solely are mine, to have moments where dad is chosen first, if not purely out of proximity.

I am one of the lucky ones, I have an amazing husband and brilliantly engaged father – he is cooking AND doing the dishes as I type here fervourously. So why do they choose me, why do I have the constantness?

Why because I am mum, and that is what we do without question of condition.

It will abate with time, I know… I hope. And in the shadows of that loss, years from now, I know I’ll draw a tear as I find reverie in the times when they needed me so fiercely.

Yet until then, I want you to know, that this is the part of mothering they don’t tell you about. This is the part that hurts, the part where you feel lost and tired, the parts where you can’t wait for bedtime, where you feel disillusioned and lied to. They are transient but they are real. Mothering is real and it is ok to feel defeated because tomorrow you will rise to the occasion once more, you will stand strong and roar your mothering roar to the face of the wind as it dares to call your bluff. Because your love is fierce, your love is strong and it will stand unwavering against those dark moments despite what you think you feel, despite feeling as though you have been crushed by the constantness of mothering. Because that is what we do, we are mothers and our love is never broken, it is only hidden beneath surface, always ready to break free.

23\52 | Simplistically us.

he lay like this for a few minutes, savoring life? who knows

his life is complete so long as a ball is in hand, dirt staining his skin with childhood memories.

I took a hiatus these last few weeks from social networking and I found myself feeling guilt ridden, more so for not complying with my commitment of blogging each week. Then I thought, WHY?

As a mum of two young boys, and fulltime worker, I think I manage my life well. Sure there are moments with greater clarity than others, however, on a whole I feel as though my intentions are merited. I enjoy the and look for pleasure in life’s meritocracies, which in essence means that I am an actively grateful person.

so i got to thinking... 

When did we decide that we can only be grateful for triumphs that are outside of normalcy? When did we decide that it was ok to judge simplicity as average, and measure success in the complexity and difficulty of an ascertained achievement? Our lives have been corrupted by social media, and not in a good way. We seek to achieve in comparison to others, we measure success through our online relationship to what we are perceiving. Pinterest for example, i love it, it inspires me, but it also has the potential to remind me how mediocre (at best) i am as a person, as a wife and as a mother... if i let it!

I think as mere human beings we need to take the time to acknowledge our simplicities. We strive so hard for superiority and greatness, that often times, we negate the beauty that lies in that which passes us by, that which we did not strive for.

I walked out of work yesterday and the smell of winter was on the air, I don’t quite know how to describe it, other than it was crisp and fresh, I could feel the beat of a winter air on my face as the wind blew over the river below and cascaded up an over the ridge towards me. For a brief moment I was mindful, I was present. I closed my eyes lightly and let go and gave my thoughts away. There was so much appreciation in that moment for so many things, more simplistically of them was the ability to be mediocre. To head home to my family, ‘mundane’ as that might appear, to drive my average car to my average (though totally adorable house), to my average family, where we will fight over what is for dinner (something not very pinterest worthy im sure), settle arguments with chocolate, not always get the kids bathed before bedtime, and dare say get them to school late more times that I should. I found myself aptly grateful for the simplicity of normality, and it’s context in my life.

So I have decided to shake off the onus feeling of not engaging in what I have strived to complete – said blog. Instead I revel in the appeased feeling of appreciation for taking a few weeks out to be simplistic and mediocre. It was beautiful, I suggest it!

xxxx

Family roots

My boys love their family. This week, today in fact, my boys (mason more so)  played their last footy game with uncle Sean for a while. Uncle Sean is venturing off to the Navy and has a year of study and training ahead. It was a big decision that he has worked hard for. 

Bitter sweet to see this manly display of respect, love and adoration of my sons and their uncle, of my husband and his brother. Sean has a wife and daughter, who my boys adore greatly, and for the sorrow i know my boys may feel at not seeing him for that while, i know that pain will be ten fold for his small gorgeous family. 

Family roots

We will be here, supporting your family while you build a better life for them. Everyone is proud of you mate! You've got this ;)

19\52 | Mothers Day

part amphibious - he would play in here all day.

It's that time of year... when the summer tan starts to fade and the winter winds approach.

It's mothers day today. My children beamed into the room this morning after hubby ensured a small sleep in. They were ecstatic for a whole 5 minutes then preceded to carry on with their own little lives. I didn't mind. I was celebrating mothers day on the back of some nasty food poisoning, and so to be left alone was not a huge issue for me, in fact i welcomed the reprieve.

I laid in bed, drifting in and out of slumber, to the familiar sounds of my life, squeals, screams and giggles. Thumps to the walls and thrumming of little feet as they run through the house. 

Mothers day. A day to celebrate and acknowledge the hard work and sacrifices made and endured. Also a day to reflect and be grateful for the normality my life holds. 

Grateful for two little boys.

Grateful for their health.

Grateful for a supportive husband.

Grateful for financial security.

Grateful for family support.

Grateful for normality.

There are mums out there today making hard sacrifices for their families, mothers nursing empty blankets as they console themselves in the memories of a life lost. Mothers at work to earn money to put a roof over their child's head and a warm meal in their belly. Mothers who have no one but their own self to rely on. Mothers in hospital wards nursing sick children. Mothers fighting ugly custody disputes.

We come in all shapes and sizes, we try hard, we hurt, we strive and we make make sacrifices for the love a child, that simply, pure love.

So to all my mums out there,  i hope your day is special, and i hope you know how amazing you are!

Happy Mothers Day!

Linking in with Jodie and the 52 Project and the girls over at The Whole Hearted Journal

18\52 | Chillin wit the boys

He is always looking for a way to find his own little space in the world.

He loves the bunnies, and i love how much he loves them... all on his own!

This week we found balance, we had coffee in the familiar hum of our local grind. we took venture to new places and found new and exciting places to explore. We came home and snuggled on the couch and made sure someone enjoyed his fav team on the box.

17\52 | The difference a year makes

Mason - always the adventurer  

  Jettah - always the lover

This week i found my self looking back - looking at how far they have come. I admire them so much and i appreciate the way they allow me to see such vibrancy in the world. Mason with his vivacious lust for life and Jettah with his poised ability to see the beautiful in everything. They ground me and push me to new heights all at the same time. 

I hope one day they are able to read back on these moments and know how much i love them. How much they help me be the best i can be. I watch them grow and my heart aches, it aches for the hoe of time standing still, just long enough to fully breathe their scent, to trace the lines in their dimpled smiles and the shape their hands in mine. But time does not. It never will. It pounds ahead daring us to pick up speed and run along with it, in a dreamy haste to move forward and upward. 

Oh the difference a year makes. 

I wonder what lies ahead... i wonder what next year will bring.

Linking in with Jodie and the 52 project and the girls over at The Whole Hearted Journal

16/52 | Watch them grow

 

 

There are parts of motherhood that escape me. It's as if I have popped my head down, to rest for just a fraction of time. Yet, there is no rest for mothers and so when I raise my head, time has lapsed and there they are, my boys grown.

 

This was one of those weeks.

 

Watching Mason grow, everyday, is not hard. He is the eldest and I suppose there is a thrill that comes with watching them meet milestones, of uncovering new depths in their own little selves. The first time they sit, the first time they walk, the first word, the first stick figure, we celebrate the firsts for them, we reach for them and relish them as mothers do.

 

With the second, we ache. We hold on to them, because we know!

 

As mothers we know just how vicious the resting and the reaching can be for them as children, we know that they are not forever. That the dimples on their bottoms fade, their want for the breast, their reach for our hand.... it all fades. We rest less, we celebrate less, we mourn.

 

It is no less beautiful, it is no less a marvel to see our little miniature humans thrive the way we so hope they would!... Simply we know and respect what time takes from mothers.

 

When my eldest left for school last year, for his very first year - in uniform too big for him, in a  bag that hid him from the world filled mostly food and hope. I wasn't sad. I didn't cry like I thought I would. Because he was my first, he was my big boy... I was proud and I forgot about the rest, I forgot about time. I was simply proud of his aging and his moving forward.

 

This week however, my big boy lost a tooth. 

 

For the very first time, I took pause, I ached and I acknowledged that no attempt from me, no matter how big, will ever hold him back for me, will ever allow me to  keep them just so, with their tininess nuzzled in my neck. They will always grow, they will always reach. And as their mother truly, it is what I know and want for them.

 

But this week as the toothfairy made her round, she paused, she breathed in his sticky scent of dirt and sweetness and wiped the tear from my cheek.

 

He will grow, despite me, and I will love him every day for it!

 

 

Linking in with Jodie for the 52 Project and the mums over at The Whole Hearted Journal

15/52 | milton

I forget how big he is getting... always my baby



LOL - ever the dramatic. kissing the guns after winning a round of soccer with his brother whilst I watched on with my coffee

It can be hard finding balance, and with the holidays approaching and knowing I would be working every 'school'day of them, I decided I needed to yank the boys out of class for the day and go on an adventure. It was splendid! We ended up in Milton and Narawallee, beautiful areas. We found Lama's and old trees and even a bee hive in the rainforest walk!  Ahhh balance... I may have found you this week!

linking in with Jodie and the 52 project and the mums over at Wholehearted

14/52 | That Mothering Ache

     

Their love for each other overwhelms me to no end.

There is something about mothering that opens your eyes. I know that sounds tired and cliché. What I’m talking about is something a little different. As a young child, as an aspiring adult, our self-indulgence and somewhat narcissistic nature allow a certain haze to hang about us. We venture through our life never really acknowledging or caring for the lack of permanency it holds. Seldom do we stop to really see, the haze instead swirling through the rationality of our minds, never fully allowing us to embrace the fleeting beauty that is life. To awaken.

We live. We die.

And too often as humans we fight so hard for tomorrow, raging against the torrents of being here, there, doing this now, getting things done quick! We infrequently take pause. We disengage from being present.

I feel this change with mothering. Oh the beauty of mothering. Small fingers, small toes, dirty feet and aching cries, cries that tug at you, cries that warm your bosom as they flow from their eyes to your heart. We as mothers know a love that is greater in strength than any feat imaginable, though there is a paining payoff for the knowing of this love.

We live overwhelmed with the now. In vast contrast to our former selves we are ever present. We humbly nod our heads in recognition of the mortality of this life. We hold our babes closer; we commit their scent to memory and drown ourselves in them. For as mothers we are confronted with the possibility of it all escaping us, of being out of reach in moments. As mothers we ache.

Yesterday as I got ready for work, I had an ominous feeling take hold. It was nothing and for no real reason. Just an irksome itching in the deeper parts of myself that told me to hold my babes that little bit longer. To make sure they heard me say ‘I love you’, before I left them. Later that day a child passed away at work. It was enough to shake the darkest parts of me alive, enough to make me stop and think. Yes if the world, My world stopped today! In this moment, my children knew.

My love for them is big, it is huge. But we are small and not immune to the mortality of this world. And so for all the hugeness of my love, for all the greatness and centering mothering brings there is that pay off. So I ache, every day for my babies, that beautiful, raw mothering ache, which stops the world and pulls at your heart.

We live. We die.

Linking in with Jodie and the 52 Project, aswell as The Whole Hearted Journal, mothering as it is.

12/52 | A mother's love

Some times we just don't make it to the night routine.

His pride in typing a sentence, fills me with a an achy pride i never knew possible.

A mother’s job is to love her child. There is no complexity to this, it is simple, yet it is a task fraught with endless fear of failure. We dive deep with raw and endearing pursuit to achieve, to conquer and to rise above and beyond our own on measures. Yet we burst through the surface of that love in constant throws of guilt. Barely do we break that surface, barely do we stop and breathe deeply, our lungs filling, relishing in the relief that possibly, just maybe today we got it right!

I sit here tonight in judgement of myself, of the choices I make which as a mother I feel lead me to an endless torment of criticism and judgement on my own part. This is wrong. I am a mother and my job, in this lifetime is to love them, is to love them with the deepest parts of myself and to tire in my efforts to ensure that this love is known, and felt by them. Everything else will follow in due course. So when the day has taken hold of whom you are and left you raw and broken, turn to your little babe and ask.

‘Did I love them today?, Did I love them deeply and wholly, with such fervorous resolve and reverence for the little person they are?’. Because that is your job. To love them so as they know that who they are, this little person they are becoming, is not judged. Rather it is welcomed, is celebrated. In your arms above all else they will be sheltered, they will be loved, they will find home. If you can do this for your child, if you can be this for your child, then I say you are being the best mother you can be. You have broken the surface, so take a breath, inhale deeply and delight in it’s soulful replenishment. For today you were the best mum you could be.

Linking in with Jodie for the 52 Project and the girls from the wholeheartedjournal - A celebration of motherhood.

11/52 | The dawn

When he wakes early on those few occasions, he does not wake well.

My little big man, rising for mumma, savoring his time with her, every moment he can get.

It starts with a sound, ever familiar it grows, reminding me it's time to rise. Each morning passing, each morning I discover my momentum grows steady, my feet hit the floor. It is dark. I stretch, I reach and I fumble as I climb from my bed and softly make my way though the dark, the hard floors beneath me eager to announce to the world my arrival to the day. I tip toe with gentle breaths, struggling to slide their bedroom door to a close. Most mornings I fail. His ears are cued for my waking. His sleep washed eyes, peep around the door and I know, it is over, the game was lost this morning. He is awake, my small boy, my big boy. He has grown so very much these last weeks. I see the young many beginning to shape. I see parts of him, adjust in a way I had not anticipated and quite frankly not given him credit for. I reach out my mumma arms, his safe place. He hold me and I hold him back and suddenly I find myself selfishly satiated that he is awake now, in this early morn, when the sun has not yet risen I am happy, am whole. I sweep him up and kiss his cheek, carry him to the lounge where our ‘routine’ begins with him snuggly and warm, remote in hand. I sing out to him at random ‘I love you’, and his reply never fails. I am happy. I am whole. The morning quickly buzzes to action, in the darkness of the day, still new from it’s birth. I ready myself for another day at work, torn with guilt and proud of the role model and provider I have fought to become. As the morning endures and the world awakens, the shaded grey sky announcing dawn, I make my way to their bedroom, I kiss my little babe in that part of his neck, you know the part. The part all mummas devour with relish. He hugs his cheek to mine and for a bliss-ed moment I am happy, I am whole. I leave him be, my little sleeper. He will rise late, this much I know. I make my way for one last hug with my other little man. His heavy eyes fight his desire to see me off. I tell him I love him, I tell him I wish mummy could stay too…

I close the door behind me, my little world separated by a slither of timber. And for a moment I am sad, I am lost.

Joining in with Jodie and The 52 Project

10/52 | A small reprieve

For the amount of food he devours, i don't know where is puts it!

The best way to eat cake, is simply to just 'get into it'!!!

Our lives are starting to settle, we are finding our own gentle rhythm. No longer  does the humming of our life drown us out and keep us wired. Instead we are finding our feet neatly placed on the ground and time within the reach of outstretched hands. It is sparse but it is there. I spent yesterday afternoon sitting at the dining table, tea in hand, relishing the conversation of my boys. We discussed their day and their thoughts over cake. A treat in our house. They devoured their cake, just as i devoured my time spent with them, listening and laughing together. A rarity of moments that has found its way back into becoming a staple in our lives.

Following with Jodie in the 52 Project

6/52 | Big Days

Mason entertains himself on the pad, whilst chaos surrounds him

Little Jettah, exhausted by days end, and what would a day of his be without being naked...

It's been long days for them. As we  track from house to house, back and fourth, moving and cleaning. They patient little minds are exhausted and withered by days end. Crashing out, some nights too tired to even endure dinner. Instead waking to the sound of a rumbling tummy.


Following along with Jodie and The 52 Project

5/52 | A new adventure!

Our new little abode

So for all intents an purpose this space was one that i would use to allow my self to connect creatively with people who have followed my journey with photography over the past few years. This all got turned on its  head however a few weeks ago when we decided to buy a house!

It has been exciting new adventure for our little family, that has coincided with my new position as a nurse in the intensive care unit at my local district hospital. It has been a tumultuous few weeks, with exhausted little people, and emotions on high. Tantrums by both big and small people. a cascade of tired, empty thoughts as we re adjust to our new 'normal'.

Over the next few days i will endeavor to share the journey with you all, which we have so fervourously powered through these past weeks.

About me

Hello You,

My name is Aymie. However you came across this page, i hope you have a read and enjoy what it has to offer. 

I'm a creative soul, attempting to raise children, and love my husband. We spend our days off together, frequenting Op shops and market stalls, pursuing forgotten little towns and antique stores. The beach is our second home, our first is a little piece of our own we have tucked away in a small coastal town.

I am a nurse, working in critical care, the science and art of nursing (and all things medical) thoroughly intrigue me. I can honestly say i love my job.

Previous to this i was a professional photographer for  years. I suppose to an extent i still am. These days i find myself shooting more and more for myself.

I often am asked why i left the photography industry, i guess the demands of an unappreciated profession got the better of me. I was worn down be people who wanted it cheaper and quicker, but with all the quality of a seasoned pro.

So here is my happy medium. A place where i can enjoy my creative soul and life's inspirations, big or small. I hope you enjoy it as much as i do.

xxx

Aymie

4/52 | The small stuff

Today i had some fun playing with the multiple exposure setting in my D700. I think a new lens won't be far off.

As the holidays wind down, so too has the heat. We find ourselves tinkering around in the backyard, catching frogs and lizards. 

I am trying take the time to stop and be grateful, for all the little things my children delight in. The things they innocently revel in. In return they gave me a few short moments in front of the camera, before tottering off for trampoline action.... of course i got in on that too!

"Listen earnestly to anything [your children] want to tell you, no matter what. If you don't listen eagerly to the little stuff when they are little, they won't tell you the big stuff when they are big, because to them all of it has always been big stuff.”

                                                                                                                 ~ Catherine M. Wallace

The coward punch: A societal fail!

I jumped on line this morning as i turned on the T.V. I was instantly confronted with an assault of media contention surrounding the very despicable act known as the 'coward punch'. 

We are seeing it everywhere, in the papers, on T.V, discussed in our social circles. We are turning to our politicians, demanding them to 'step up' and make change. 

But wait...

Hang on...

What about YOU!

What I see when i turn on the T.V. When i read the newspaper, when i jump online. Is a narcissistic generation, raised without accountability. Good job.

We live in a time where it is OK to celebrate the mediocrity. Is OK to let children live at home well into adult hood, because well, you know, times are tough. I am sorry but that it such a cop out! All you are doing is enabling your child's self serving, lazy attitude. Congrats!

I have several friends who enjoy a wander-lustful lifestyle, Financed by their hard work and sacrifices. Mummy and daddy do not finance their lifestyle. These people are mature, giving, considerate members of the community (when they are here to engage in it). They were raised in way that meant, they respect themselves enough to not 'mooch' off their parents hard work. They earned their life, therefore they appreciate it's fruits.

When i look at the violence fueled nights at kings cross, what i see is a bunch of BRATS!

Plain and simple.

A generation of 'children' raised to believe that the world begins and ends with them. That to take a life is nothing. That it's OK to fight and argue, to yell and drink into a stupor. Desecrating public property and spewing profanities into the night. In fact, they believe it's their RIGHT!

You taught them that! Good job.

You taught your child that this, all of this, was Ok. You taught them not to be humble, you taught them not to be accountable or selfless. You said yes when what you should have said was no!

And now you have the audacity to rely on the government to step up where you failed. 

What i will thank you for, is the insight and clarity of thought surrounding my parenting style. I will say no to my child. I will take responsibility for them. I will raise them to respect and to give. Most of all i will teach them to step up and be accountable for their actions.

There are brilliant people out there, they are not all bad eggs. Though unfortunately the situation is what it is, on a whole, this generation has been failed in their upbringing and now we are living the results. It must stop here.

3/52 | Something for moi

natures candy... a blackberry bush. The boys and myself will delight in these soon enough!

the wistful dandelion

Add caption

possibly my favorite image of the afternoon. The flow and composition scream beauty, fluid strength

I awoke today in the midst of midday heat, scattered after a night shift of answering buzzers and cleaning bottoms. This year will be a challenging one for me personally as i take on full time work. It will be the first time i will work full time since having children. I find the hardest concept to wrap my mind around will spending time away from my youngest who will be potentially having his last year at home before 'big school'.

As the holidays come to a close and my new graduate year creeps upon me, i find myself savoring the sweet (and chaotic) moments of time with my babies. An everlasting beach romp, topped with ice creams, midday naps and late nights on the couch.

I kiss their soft skin, just in that crevass of their little necks, the hint of salt still left from the days endevours. They are my world. Though despite all this, and all my motherness. I am also simply me. I am not mother just as much. There are parts of me that swell with want, for which no amount of them can fill. These parts of me are not to be ignored. They call and reach for me, tugging at my deeper parts. 

These are the parts of me that desire, vision, thoughtful renderings, creative pleasures. If i neglect to pursue a balance in my life of these parts along with my motherness, then i fail to be the best of myself.

So this evening i took my camera and i headed barefoot for the bush. Just me on my own, the sounds of birds, the smell of summer afternoon heat. It was lovely to just exist. Never underestimate the power of connection with the world around you. Walking barefoot revitalises the soul, you can feel the energy pouring through you from the earth.

I took these images by flipping my prime lens, a sneaky little trick that can be used to somewhat replicate the delicate macro flavor i was after. The result being some divine images, that remind me of the soft delicate feminine nature of the flower, which has the strength to remain strong and beautiful in the harshest of environments. Reminding me of how,we as mothers are delicate too. With the capability of unmeasured strength in the face of adversity.

Tend to all your you parts, what ever they may be!