Life with children & furry animals...

Your pets – they start out as your fur-babies. Cuddled constantly, fed the most expensive food, wearing the best accessories and given endless attention; let’s be honest, they are spoilt rotten. They sleep on your bed (cat), they have their own spot in the car, mostly on your lap (dog) and come with you on all the exciting little outings, tagging along like a well-behaved toddler (sometimes). They are your fur-babies, top of the food chain and top of the heap. Then the first child arrives to join the family, and oh dear, how the family hierarchy changes. Pronto.

I’d heard it all before; well-meaning friends telling me how the moment baby number one arrives, your beloved furry friends will quickly descend to the lowest rank of, dare I say it, pets. Never, I thought to myself, for these furrykins could never be so low on my priority list as to descend to just mere animals. They’re part of the family, I would argue, they’re our first ‘children’, so to speak. But oh how the mighty have fallen. Because when a certain little Miss arrived on the scene, not only did J and I drop on the priority list, the fur-babies fell to the bottom of the food chain quicker than you can say ‘home brand pet food’. Ok, we didn’t go that low, but close enough!

It wasn’t intentional, it’s just that when a baby comes into the house, everything else takes a backseat because pretty much all of your attention is focused on caring for them. Any time left is a bonus and used for sleep! Which more often than not, isn’t much time at all. Suddenly these pesky little pets, used to being the centre of attention, begin to misbehave, on an epic scale, typical of the first born. The dog starts to poop on the rug. The cat pees outside her litter box (seriously – head in the box, butt hanging over the edge. I swear it’s deliberate!). The dog barks at anything that dares to move within his domain – a rustling leaf, a Muppet on tv, small defenseless children daring to walk past the house, his own fricking tail. The cat follows us round the house, meowing incessantly – I mean, NON-STOP, FOR HOURS!

These misdemeanors seem small compared to the most deplorable and heinous crime of all – waking the baby. UNFORGIVABLE. And yet they do it constantly. Despite my threats of sending them to the farm to live with another family (dog), never speaking to them again (cat), never walking them again (dog) and worst of all, turning them into a furry hat (cat and dog, though cat would probably be more suited). I’m not proud of these moments, yet they fly from my mouth in sheer frustration when I hear the baby start to cry shortly after she’s been put down to bed. This is generally the exact moment I have a) made a cup of much needed tea, b) am about to sit down to write or c) am trying to go to sleep myself – all the things I love to do yet have little time for nowadays. The guilty brute generally makes themselves scarce upon seeing the look of fury on my face or hearing my raging outburst, leaving me to deal with the consequences of their beastly actions. GRRRRRR!

So how do you find a healthy and happy balance for the whole family (without resorting to one of the above options)? To be honest, I’m still trying to work that one out. But I do know this – as much as I hate admitting to my parents being right (and damn it, they regularly are – given they have collectively 90 years more life experience than I, it’s not that surprising), I do think there is much to be said to pet’s living outside. This was the rule in my home growing up and having always sided with the animals, I never understood why, until now. And though I’ve not been particularly pedantic about this rule before, now that I have a child, I do see the benefits. The most important being that the furry animals know where their place is, bubba knows where her place is, mum and dad know where theirs is (generally last) and the line between the species is clear (ie the animals know they are pets and not children!). Then, hopefully everyone is happy with their place in the world. That’s the idea anyway.

 The Fur Beasts

The pressure…. of a cake…

 When your partner’s a pastry chef and a brilliant one at that, how is one to ever bake a cake without feeling the pressure of comparison? It’s a question I ask myself every time I bake. Am I being silly? Maybe, but when I spoke to a close friend and mentioned I was baking a birthday cake (a few days before my only child’s 1^st birthday mind you), she asked in amusement “Whose birthday cake are you baking? Can’t be Lilybelle’s, J will be making that won’t he?”… I’ve come to expect and to accept these kind of comments – as I’ve mentioned before, I’m the first to admit baking and I aren’t the best of friends. Thankfully (and rather cleverly I think), we decided to break up the parties between family and friends, so I quickly put my hand up to bake the cake for the family ‘do’ so as not to disappoint friends who have come to eagerly await Justin’s cooking whenever they come to visit. My poor family would just have to lump it (or eat it in this case).

So scanning the internet in my quest to research the easiest possible children’s birthday cake I could find in the hope that I wouldn’t make a complete ass of it, I was inundated with ridiculously difficult and crazy shapes and characters in which some over-achieving mums had moulded out of batter and icing! A handbag? A high heel? Barbie? Oh my god. What is wrong with these mum’s? Are they crazy? What happened to a yummy cake with lollies on it, like we had as kids? Apparently they went out of fashion just as the phrase ‘super-mum’ came in. Crap.

So why did I care? What was so important about baking this damn birthday cake anyway? Well I pondered this for a while as I took a breather from the super OTT display of images (my head was seriously spinning – I needed some air!). What I realized, with some surprise, was that this was really important to me – this was my little girls 1^ST BIRTHDAY! My only child, my first daughter, my baby – I wanted to make her something special that was delicious and filled with love that somehow represented just how much I love and adore her. Wow, heavy stuff when cakes are meant to be light and fluffy.

Honestly, the things that come out when I ponder the world – I put some of this emotion down to breastfeeding and crazy hormones, but I can’t dismiss all of it on that. I’ve realized that this 1^st birthday is not only a celebration of Lilybelle herself, but it’s also an incredibly special time for all of us as a family – a year ago today I was in labour and all three of us underwent an incredible journey together, one that was humbling, moving and changed me (and us) forever. Because when my daughter was placed in my arms, I became a mum. And J a dad. And 1 year on, looking at our little girl, we both feel it’s been the most amazing year of our life – and that is something truly special to commemorate.

Having this realization of course upped the ante somewhat. But I took a deep breath, baked a simple butter cake, made a yummy rosewater icing (I am a Rose after all) and made pretty marshmallow flowers to decorate. Yes, I went old-school and it turned out hmmm, ok – next time I’ll do a trial run first. It certainly wouldn’t win any prizes, but I put as much love as I could into that cake and that was what was important to me. And hopefully to Lilybelle, who thankfully has not had cake before and therefore can’t compare it to Justin’s yet! My family’s reaction? They kindly sucked it up, made hmm-hmmming noises and refrained from making comment!

 I think she enjoyed her first taste of cake...

“A well kept house is a life misspent…” It’s a perfect excuse for a messy house!

I was planned – I was prepared – or so I thought. Just before we are about to go away for a much needed mini break, Lilybelle get’s sick, the dog get’s sick and the kitchen sink starts leaking. Shit. And I was so organised this time – really. I started packing days before we had to leave (not the night before or the morning of which is much more true to style) and I had everything planned out. And then disaster strikes. Ok, bit dramatic I know, but this is why I struggle to plan things. I find the more I plan, the more things don’t go to plan. So what’s the point?

Aside from disaster disrupting our organised getaway, we had the pleasure of visiting very dear friends along the way – they too made a lifestyle change and moved out of the city but instead opted for a tree change rather than a sea change. Finally we got to visit their gorgeous new country cottage and Oh. My. God. It was perfect. I mean literally. It was like a House & Garden spread. Everything had its place and everything was in its place! While I pictured our own messy house, I was overcome with feelings of inadequacy as a stay-at-home mum. Why aren’t I this organised and neat?? I kept asking my friend, “where do you put all your crap? You know, your piles - of stuff – magazines, newspapers, letters, keys, etc….????” The short answer was essentially this - everything has its place. I love it – in theory.

In practice, it just doesn’t work in our house, not matter how hard I try. We have piles – everywhere (ok let me clarify here that I’m talking piles of accumulated stuff, not piles of the hemorrhoid variety!). And I am forever trying to tidy these piles of stuff but only end up creating new piles. Neat to begin with, but messy again in no time at all. Damn it, will I ever have a perfect home? In our defense, storage is not great, hence the need for piles. But I think the crux of it is, we’re just not neat nor super organised people! Let’s be honest, our house is bohemian at best, messy at worst. Is that because I (ahem, we) struggle to plan and be super organised like my very organised friends (and let me just say here, I am in awe of both of their organisational skills)?  Is it a part of my (our) essential nature to be a bit cluttered and chaotic (minimalism will NEVER be our style!)? Or is being neat and organised qualities I should be cultivating, especially as a mum where being prepared and ordered (at least to a certain degree) is essential for even leaving the house?

These are questions I ponder as I sit here typing at the kitchen table surrounded by little piles – neat piles because I’ve just tidied – but piles none the less. And the quote in the title of this blog – that is what J has kindly written up in a prominent position in our house – a daily reminder that chaos is just our style. So I may as well accept it.

Fashion faux pas' and funny dreams...

I had a terrible nightmare the other night. I woke with a start, breathless and sweaty with a pounding heart, horrified by what I had just seen in my dream.  Wait for it… I was wearing black jeans with, errghhh, white socks and sneakers! I know, can you believe it? The horror! I would never! How could I dream such a horrendous thing? An outfit such as this would never, I repeat NEVER be worn by me. So why did I dream it?

Dreams are fascinating to me for so many reasons. The fact that our subconscious conjures up stories and images while we sleep peacefully (mostly) seems utterly amazing to me and that there should be hidden messages within these dreams? Even more incredible. I have had a number of dreams that have stood out in my mind over many years, ones that I can recall in a second and still see the visions come to life in my mind. These dreams have given me important messages that I have both listened to and also ignored, perhaps at my own peril. 

One such dream occurred just after I was offered a full time position in a new company, one that I was so excited to be involved with. However I had my own business to run (Ciao Meow) and while I didn’t mind working as an independent contractor, I had sworn to myself never to be an employee again. Yet I felt torn as the position seemed so exciting with an enticing pay to go with it. Unable to make a decision, I dreamt I was working full time again and I HATED it with a passion! And the suffocating feeling of being trapped and smothered woke me in terror. Alas, I ignored the dream and took the position anyway. It was a disaster! Stressful does not even come close to describing my time there and devastatingly, friendships were lost. I feel terribly sad about this and often wonder if, had I listened to the important message in my dream, would it have all turned out differently? Hmmm.

Another pivotal vision that I will always remember was a dream I had a few months before meeting lovely J. In this dream, a tall dark handsome man (looking rather like Eric Bana) whom I knew I loved inextricably (as if you wouldn’t if he looked like Mr Bana!), proposed to me with a ring of Tigers Eye (this is a type of gem stone, one which I’ve never personally worn). When I looked at this man in my dream, I felt truly loved and I could see a beautiful family, which is exactly what I wanted for my future. When I woke I remember thinking how strange, why on earth would someone propose with a ring of Tigers Eye? It didn’t make sense. A few months later, I met tall dark handsome J and we became instant friends. One night when we were out together, I noticed he had a necklace on (not normally my style!)… as I took a closer look I noticed it was a gemstone. I honestly felt my heart stop beating as I asked him if that was Tigers Eye. His answer of course, was yes. This time I listened to my dream!

So what about this recent dream with my hideous fashion faux pas? Well I think there are 2 messages – firstly a reflection of how stuck my wardrobe is right now (c’mon, you know important this is to me!). I love clothes, always have, yet at present I have to admit to feeling very stagnant and out of touch with my beloved world of fashion. I wear jeans and Tee’s with connies pretty much every day (though since the dream I have been parading round in a cute pair of leopard print ballet flats to rid my mind of the sneakers-with-white-socks vision!). It’s a fashion conundrum that I have been fighting with for nearly a year now (since becoming a mum) and one that I have not yet resolved.

Which brings me to the second, probably more important message – that it has been nearly a year now and the stirrings of creativity have become stronger and stronger over the last few months. They are screaming to be let out because they have essentially spent nearly 12 months on the shelf while I first adjusted then embraced my new role as mum, which is a role focused almost entirely on nurturing others and the essentials of every day living and caring for family. It doesn’t leave much time for personal creative time! Actually sleep deprivation pretty much robs you of all desire and ability to be creative anyway, so there was really no point in worrying about it until I felt half human again. Which I am pleased to say that I do! Feel human again, that is. So while I am thoroughly enjoying my creative time blogging, I am feeling the need to amp it up a notch. If I don’t listen to my dream, I may very well find myself shopping for socks and sneakers! So stay tuned, I’ll keep you posted, as I shall be listening to the message this time – I have learnt my lesson on that front!

A trip down memory lane...

I went to Brisbane on the weekend and visited my old suburb of Paddington. Oh my love, how I’ve missed you. The intoxicating smell of freshly ground coffee wafting from café’s, the lure of the tiny boutiques selling everything I must have, the voyeurism of people watching and the excitement of the new – new boutiques, new antique store (LOVE IT!), new cafés – there’s always something new and fabulous. And oh how I enjoyed my life there – weekends were simply mine, all mine to enjoy!!! Waking up late, meandering down to my favourite café’s for latte’s and croissants (my naughty addiction) with a delicious bout of shopping on the return trip home followed by lazily reading my favourite fashion mags in the afternoon. Night time often brought walks up to the Barracks for a movie and a bite to eat or dinner with friends round the corner.

 Lazing about at our old house in Paddo

So I was thoroughly excited to be heading back to re-visit my old stomping ground and catch up with old friends – it was all planned out (not by me of course, being the non-planner!) with friends booked in, shop-openings to attend and coffees to be lingered over and enjoyed. Yipppeee! But alas life with a baby never goes to plan (see this is why I’m a non-planner – what’s the point???) and after a sleepless night on Friday night I realize Lilybelle is coming down with something. After that, nothing goes right.

I won’t bore you with the details, let’s just say my longed for weekend away was a nightmare. Not all was lost – I did get to catch up with friends, though briefly, including my old friend Paddington and it made me miss a life now gone.  Don’t get me wrong, I adore being a mum and I LOVE my precious baby girl – however I would by lying if I didn’t admit to wishing for some more time of my own and just occasionally being responsible only for myself. Oh and double income – when I could spend whatever I liked on whatever I wanted! Suppressing my shopping instinct (yes, it’s an instinct and part of who I am, I swear it!!!!) is just unnatural.

So by the time we left Sunday afternoon, I was feeling rather low – missing my friends and my old life on top of no sleep, a sick bub and a sick dad (that’s another story entirely) – and even questioning whether our move to the coast was the right one. Finally, with gritty eyes blearily fighting to stay open, we turn off at our exit and drive the last leg home. That’s when I notice the trees, the green spaces that you just don’t get in the city, the lack of traffic, the salt in the air and then the ocean, glittering blue and endless. And I realise, we did make the right decision – this is where our life is now, together, with our daughter, by the beach. And I’m happy again.

A family picnic - how relaxing, right?

Ahhh, the sun is shining, the breeze is gently rustling the leaves and the water’s edge beckons… it’s the perfect day for a picnic. And what’s more relaxing then spending the day by the river with your partner, baby and dog?  Well, let me share…

It’s more in the getting to the picnic that I’d like to share here… just a little glimpse into my Sunday. It’s beautiful out and J has the day off, so we decide it’s time to get out in that sunshine and go for some fish and chips. Cool, let’s get organised – first, bubba. We have a small window of time between Lily waking from her nap and the time for her next nap, about 3 hours, so time is of the essence here people!

Man, how much crap can you really need for one child, I ask you? And don’t get me started on all the things one must do before stepping out the door! Let me give you the brief version – breastfeed bub (she’s just getting her first 2 teeth and I am a tad nervous), change nappy, choose outfit (she is very picky), get dressed, put shoes on (this job alone needs at least half an hour), give something to munch on to entertain whilst mum and dad run madly around the house getting ready.

Then there is the packing of the nappy bag – nappies, wipes, hat, sunscreen – damn, where the hell is the sunscreen??? Did you have it? Ooops, don’t worry, here it is! – toys, vom-rag.  Done. Shit, don’t forget food! Ok, riffling through fridge, what can we feed bub? An assortment of fruit, organic baby food, bubba biscuits and water bottle are jammed into the food bag. Done. Who forgot the frickin bib???

Packing the car – shit, why is only one set of keys working?? Go outside to check second set, Henry (the dog) gets over-excited at the sound of keys rattling and gets his leg caught up in the outdoor bench to horrific howling. I rush over to unhook his leg only to get peed on. Shit! No, I mean piss! Yes, you heard me, piss. And not just on me, on the keys too (you know you’re not meant to get them wet right? Eww.) Gross, more time wasted on me having to remove dog spraying.

Ok, back to packing the car – pram, nappy bag, picnic rugs, camera, my bag, J’s man-bag, food bag, baby, dog. Done.  I go to lock the house and can’t find the keys. Damn it!!!!! Who had them last? Crap, I did – last time I saw them was just before the dog peeing incident. I spend 10 minutes retracing my steps through the house, under the papers, on the table, in the kitchen, CRAAAAPPP! Ok, back outside again to the scene of the crime – aha! I must have flung them in the air in shock when the pee hit me. Found them in the grass.

Finally, lock the door, get in the car, cranky and looking at the time – yes it took us an hour to get ready. Damn it, we are one hour down on our 3 hour time window and both shitty (well I’m more pissy actually). As we look at each other in irritation, we finally crack up and laugh. Jeezus. Luckily the day remained perfect, the fish and chips were delicious, the gelati even more so and Henry & Lilybelle loved their frolic by the river. Another glorious day with the fam!

 Lily & the pee culprit by the river

Doing things your own way

So I recently became engaged… yes, I know, very exciting :o) Now that the initial excitement has worn off, I have come to realize that perhaps there is a good reason why there is a traditional order of sequence to these kind of things. You know, you meet, you date, he pops the question, you get married and then along come the babies.  Being non-traditionalists, we of course had to buck the system – meet, move in, have a baby, get engaged and at some stage in the future, get married. Doing things a little differently is all well and good, however becoming a parent, whilst a truly wonderful experience, does comes with its fair share of challenges, particularly on your relationship. Not because you love each other any less, but because you’re suddenly tired all the time, you’re both learning how to look after and raise a baby together and two sets of family values come into play. Gritting your teeth can quickly become a daily jaw exercise.

This does not always make for a peaceful household (I say that with love in my heart sweetie :o), which is why I believe following the order (as listed above) may well be somewhat easier, mostly because you’ve not yet seen each other at your worst - aka tired zombie crankerton who occasionally has hysterical outbursts “who left - the washing in the machine/the milk out/the dishes in the sink” – feel free to insert your own words here! AND before bubs come along you have all the time in the world for romance because it’s still all about the two of you. Life does not yet revolve around a third person, which can make it extremely difficult to find time for just the two of you, let alone get romantic.

I take it as a testament to our solid relationship and deep love for each other that in the middle of this new parent craziness, my partner decided he wanted to marry me, and I him.  Of course there are moments when I’m sure we both think jeezus, what am I getting myself into, however I love the fact that in doing things the non-traditional way, we have also discovered the strength of our love for each other. We also have the most delightful symbol of our love – a daughter, who makes us laugh and look at each other in absolute wonder – wonder in that as a couple, we had a part in creating such an amazing little person. Wow, here's to doing things your own way.

 Awww, my happy family