Hello!

How are we all?

I’ve missed a truck-full of moments here on WP.  Have you been blogging till your eyes were bleary? I’ve been wandering, aimlessly at times, through the writing wilderness.

The first thing I did was find and join the SCBWI chapter in South Australia. I have to give a big shout out to Robin for this.

Three and a half years on and I’m delighted to be back on WP to launch my website. And I’m overjoyed to include details on my site for my first picture book published in November 2016.

Pop in here, if you’ve got a minute.

Kelly

Love in Hindsight III

In Post 1 and Post 2 of this series I looked back on my time as a pre-parent teacher and then as a parent in the present day.

While teaching and parenting are hugely important aspects of my life, they don’t define who I am.

It is interesting to note (to me at least) when I started blogging what information I added to my gravatar. ‘Mum’, ‘wife’, ‘sister’ and other titles were provided. But who am I?

Over the past two years I have seen myself on a course of discovery, trying to locate me and my passion. I won’t bore you with the long list of endeavours and ideas that floated through my mind.

Since the middle of last year I had thought about starting a blog but knew very little about what it entailed. On January 1 this year I decided that there was only one way to find out and that was to just do it (to borrow the famous Nike slogan). I could blog from home and it wouldn’t take me away from my young family. Yes! It was the perfect solution and it would be great. By choosing the theme and focus of my blog I would also be able to remind myself that there is love in the everyday moments of life with littlies.

Aiming high, which is always what I seem to do, I set out to write a post a day. Mum would probably say, ‘biting off more than you can chew.’ Yes, Mum, you’re right-as always (tongue in cheek).

Starting Free Little Words was the best thing I have done just for myself for a very long time. It is also the most time-consuming undertaking I have attempted in a very long time.

I don’t know about anyone else reading this but blogging, over the course of a week, has me sitting at my laptop or catching up on the reader on my phone for approximately 16 hours. That’s an ENTIRE DAY! Now, I don’t mean to shout at anyone but that’s a shedload of time.

Any new ‘thing’ that we choose to do generally takes time to learn and grow accustomed to. While I’m all for learning, there is a limit to the amount of ‘me’ I’m able to invest.

The one thing I am truly grateful for and would have given my left arm to rediscover was that I love writing. As the people closest to me would testify, I can talk underwater with a mouth full of marbles. I have a tendency to be a jabber jaws though and my mouth moves faster than my brain can handle. I trip over my words and get tongue tied, particularly when I’m nervous or anxious.

So writing is the ticket for me. Being able to think then write and order my words and erase when needed, is just plain awesome. Add to that, my experience with children and the love of rhyme and rhythm and I feel a natural affinity towards picture books.

So blogging has led to more writing but there just isn’t enough hours in the day to do everything. My manuscripts and ideas lay languishing on the bench at the end of every day, crying out for more words to join the fray.

So it has come down to this – my last post here on Free Little Words. I didn’t want it to sound so final even though it does.

There’s two young boys, who won’t be little forever, wishing that their mum would be slightly more present when she’s present. I owe them that much. Then when the lights are out and those eyelashes flutter as they dream sweet dreams, the words can spring forth to the begging blank page.

I leave you now with just one promise.

My journey on WP is not complete. I will be back; I’m just not sure when that might be. When I do, I hope you’ll welcome me back.

This mum/wife/sister loves to write.

♥ Kelly

 

Image from: here.

Love in Hindsight II

In the first post of this series, I reflected on my teaching career.

Teaching has been a big part of my life, spanning nearly two decades. What I didn’t know back then was how much I was learning about myself as a person and a future parent as I learnt to teach.

Over the years I have met as many different kinds of parents as I have students. Parent teacher interviews always afforded an insight into the children’s personalities, home life and behaviour. It also led to a deeper understanding, at times, leaving me with the saying, ‘the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree,’ swirling inside my brain.

These parents came from all walks of life. There were those that had little but provided an abundance of love and support. The type of parents who expected the best from, and for, their child were in abundance. The couldn’t-care-less approach was adopted by the minority.

I saw parents arrive holding their little one’s hand and helping them prepare for the day. They fostered their independence but assisted them if need be. I vowed to be that type of parent.

I saw parents arrive early and stand chatting until the bell went-always there to greet their child with a warm hug and a kiss at the end of their day. I vowed to be that type of parent.

I saw parents only to willing to help out at school. They were never too busy to lend a hand, listen to reading or applaud their child when they received an award at assembly or sports day. I vowed to be that type of parent.

I saw parents rush their kids to the car, in a hurry to get to that appointment or sports practice. ‘Get in the car, now,’ they’d say through gritted teeth. I vowed not to be that type of parent.

I saw grandparents bring their children’s children to school every day of the week. Some of their circumstances necessitated this, of that I was sure. I vowed not to be that type of parent as long as I could help it.

I saw parents ‘drag their kids up’ rather than raise them, some showing their children that they were a burden rather than a privilege. I vowed not to be that type of parent.

I knew what kind of parent I wanted to be.

Like most non-parents I stood in judgment of all other parents, keeping my thoughts to myself. Somehow I was of the conclusion that my teaching degree gave me an understanding of children that non-teaching parents didn’t have.

So here I sit, with two gorgeous boys who are now 6 and 3.

All I can say now is….

as they continue to grow, the more I need to know.

And I still have visions of the type of parent I want to become.

To be continued.

Image from: here.

Love in Hindsight

Imagine if you could, just for a moment, the kind of parent you imagined you’d be, merging perfectly with the parent you’ve become. Do I hear guffaws of laughter from those of you who think that’s hilarious?

Through my 20’s, which was also the beginning of my teaching career, I thought I had a good handle on the concept of parenting.

On my very first day, I had a class of 5 year olds who came in with saucer-like eyes. They stole glances at me; this newbie who hadn’t a clue what was about to occur. Just as a predator can smell fear, I am certain that they could sense mine.

As the bell rang, most of the children made their way to the floor as a mother entered with her son. She seemed flustered as the boy eyed me from his latched position on her leg. She said she was going to be late for an appointment and needed to leave. Being fresh as a spring daisy, I tried to utilise my limited arsenal to encourage him to join his classmates on the mat.

Holding out my hand, he clung even tighter while his mum detached him and thrust his arm out to me. With his tiny wrist surrounded by my hand, he kicked at my shins and screamed blasphemous words that would put a drunken sailor to shame. The mum had turned on her heel already and I wasn’t far behind. I closed that door behind me with trembling hands and tears of failure streamed down my face as I made my way down the corridor to the principal’s office.

Thousands of children, all with different personalities, quirks and backgrounds have since crossed the threshold into the classrooms in various schools where I have practised my craft. Now, I also have children of my own.

All of these children came through doorways paid for by the government. Some of these entrances were in need of a new coat of paint, some doors were bearers of scars from fists, chair legs and other implements randomly thrown. Others displayed pride, colourfully decorated with art work, welcoming anyone who would step through. Perhaps the posters and drawings just covered up any harm that had been done to the surface.

I, too, bear the scars. There are physical ones you can see. Scratches on my hands, my skin dug at so deeply that as I age they become whiter; a constant reminder of my journey. There are emotional ones etched on my heart that only I can feel. True stories of children who awoke each school morning top-to-toe with their brother in the back seat of the family car. Tummies rumbling at a quarter to nine was as common as the unwashed uniforms and tousled hair. Children who had lost a parent through accident, illness or an horrendous tragedy. The communities that grieved for a student lost, much too young to be with us no more.

Ten years of teaching, before my first son was conceived, and these children helped me to learn more than I probably taught them.

To be continued.

Image from: here.

Blogtrotter July Tour

There are more people blogging on WP than there are countries in the world to visit. Where do you choose to go first? Do you rely on pot luck, the ‘stumbled upon’ approach or a fool proof system that ensures you only see what interests you?

Armed only with a keen desire to find some great bloggers, I’ve set out to bring together some of my all-time favourites with new and inspiring content.

I’d like you all to meet Stuart Perkins. Unfortunately he was unable to be here but luckily I’ve spent some time over at his blog recently and can give you a bit of a rundown.

You’ve heard of the Dog Whisperer and here in Australia we have a Horse Whisperer too.

Stuart is the Bus Whisperer. He’s from Arlington and writes about the everyday moments and turns them into humorous stories (true). If you choose to drop by, some recent posts include Carol’s rendezvous with a black snake and George’s attempt at bringing a new girl into the fray.

Story Shucker is where you’ll find Stuart and I reckon he’s got a good thing going. Starting only last month, he has seen 257 people follow his blog already and over 4000 hits (if you’re a stats lover).

Now, Brian, the Jogging Dad, would probably rather jog the 4 miles Stuart travels than catch a bus. He’d be all sweaty by the time he got to work and would probably be crossing his legs as he’s not fond of relieving himself on the run. I suggest you don’t ask him what fartlek means and if he is not running away from his parenting duties he performs epic fails by his own admission.

Brian thinks when he runs whereas I’d rather just think about running and hope it has the same effect. He’s funny as and even has a t-shirt with joggingdad.com printed on it. He thinks it’s tasteful but you can make up your own mind. Keep your eyes peeled around Sydney Harbour in case you run into him. Jogging Dad’s been around the blog block for a while and I’ve been running with him in spirit for quite some time now. He’d probably die of shock if he knew I planned to do the City to Bay 12k run in September.

Only today, I found Kahn’s Wise Words. Sharon and Bud Kahn offer a daily quote, saying or inspirational thought. I’d love to have a desk to put one of the those desk calendars on. Being a relief (temp/substitute) teacher means I don’t have a desk to call my own. I can now have it on my laptop screen though, and may use it to inspire me for future posts if my muse goes missing.

When it’s peace I seek and a moment to pause, I drop in to see Laurie at Laurie’s Notes. Since the beginning of this year Laurie has enabled me to seek refuge at her blog and remember to breathe. She employs beautiful images and gentle words to offer comfort, affirmation and healing to her visitors. After reading one of her posts I always feel a sense of calm and that the inner hustle of my thoughts have quietened. It only takes a few moments as Laurie’s notes are always short but profound in their message.

I created the Blogtrotter logo to represent the journey that writers take as they venture around WordPress, knowing that there are no far corners, just endless opportunities and limitless creativity to be found. If you’d like to use the logo on your blog, feel free.

Love your work.

Kelly ♥

For All The Girls My Sons Have Not Yet Loved

Under the branches of a gum tree bending in the wind, Peta and Connor’s eyes were fixed on their shoes.

Neither was concerned with the wintry weather nor that some of their closest friends were not in attendance. They were to be married today in front of over 400 people. 

In keeping with tradition, the pair were united with a kiss.

As the bride ran over to join the girls, the groom was overheard to say, ‘I thought we were just going to hug. Before I knew it she just came at me and kissed me.’

Beaming with a mixture of pride and shock, the mother of the bride said that any thoughts of a honeymoon have been postponed until these two 6 year olds turn 21.

Having two boys, 6 and 3, I thought time was on my side.

In anticipation of what is to come, a rethink began.

While neither of them have had a girlfriend yet, preparations will need to be made.

I have high expectations for them, and of them.

It is with this in mind that I, as their mum, do solemnly promise that:

• my boys will be surrounded with positive role models from which to learn
• my boys will show respect and learn how to treat girls and women as ladies
• they will never arrive empty handed on a doorstep
• they will learn how to say sorry from the bottom of their heart because they will make mistakes
• flowers and chocolates are thoughtful but are not the way into a ladies heart, good books or bed
• behaving like you’re with ‘the boys’ should be reserved for when you’re actually with the boys
• they will learn what it takes to be considered a true gentleman
• ‘I love you’ should only be said if you truly feel it
• while my heart is still beating, they will never use social media to announce the demise of your relationship
• I will dry the tears and hug him if you break his heart, then remind him, once again, of all of the above.

As my 6 year old ventures onto the oval at school during his lunch break, he need not think of love. It will find him in due course and I’ll do my darnedest to help him be ready.

Image from: here.

Squatter or Blogtrotter?

Get out of your own blog much?

Does that stifled feeling leave you dreaming of taking off in search of sensational content from exotic locations, poems from the most gifted souls, meaningful musings from passionate writers and some of the funniest bloggers you’ll find on this planet?

They’re all right here waiting for you to come over.

Please accept this invitation to become a blogtrotter and the opportunity for unique expeditions will surround you.

6 months have passed since Free little Words began it’s journey here on WordPress. In the beginning, I planned to post every single day. At times, this was difficult and I definitely lost sleep over what I wanted to write. After the 5 month mark, came a wall. The realisation that publishing a post just to honour the commitment I made to myself became glaringly obvious. Quality was not the main focus anymore and it became increasingly difficult to keep up with the reader, comments and housekeeping.

Daily prompts passed by without a glimpse, serial ‘liking’ happened more often than not and time constraints stopped me from responding in kind to awards. The most difficult part was making time to discover new blogs, particularly the blogs of those people who had found mine. Some are following Free Little Words, others have commented but return visits haven’t eventuated. Added to this was the determination to have my first manuscript out the door which was accomplished.

So, now a change of scenery is being demanded. There are awesome blogs just waiting to be delved into. Becoming a blogtrotter and uncovering some awesome new blogs is a priority. I feel the need to be inspired: to find the funny, unique, positive, thoughtful and thought provoking blogs that will stretch an atrophied mind, allow it to be drenched in sunlight and be open to accepting new challenges.

There are other reading challenges on WordPress but most come with a set of rules and while conforming to a certain way of doing things is normally right up my alley, I want to fly by the seat of my pants this time round and do exactly as I please. No rules. Oh boy!

As a result there won’t be much going on within these walls for the next few weeks. Unearthing at least one new blog a day is going to be the main focus. When a blog is worth a shout out you’ll be the first to know. Featuring some old bloggerellies with the new is part of the overall plan. By highlighting your blog, the aim is to connect you with new followers.

The WordPress Blogtrotter badge is yours to do with as you wish. No strings. No fine print.

Continue to write as you always have. There may be many ‘someones’ about to discover you through your next post.

Love your work!

Kelly.

Love Got Off on the Right Foot

….or was that the left?

Ever have one of those days when everything just feels out of whack? Maybe your hair just wouldn’t cooperate this morning or you tried to put the wrong key in the lock? Milk in the pantry maybe or trying to put your pants on before your underwear? Something’s not right but you can’t put your finger on it.

My brain must have been replaced with the contents of a balloon this particular peculiar day.

The three of us had left home to have lunch with my mum. I asked Now 6 to help Just 3 with his shoes to save me 30 seconds and hopefully get us out the door on time.

We met Mum, enjoyed a light lunch and then went into a department store to find a gift for a child’s birthday party. The store was having its annual toy sale which normally means aisles full of boxes and no room to manoeuvre. Going into the depths of the toy section with two in tow without a trolley means anxiety meets hysteria. The unanimous decision, made by me, was to get a trolley.

Just 3’s legs dangled from his prominent position as I promised a stop off at a playground nearby if the two of them could manage to contain themselves long enough for us to get a gift and checkout. Unfortunately Just 3 had consumed half a milkshake at lunch and decided he needed the toilet just as we got to the toy section at the back of the store.

There are no toilets in this store.

Drive trolley like a mad woman to store entrance.

Offload precious cargo.

Forehead beaded with sweat, I made a dash with two attachments to the toilets.

Everybody pee consecutively.

Back to store.

Back in trolley.

Back to toy section.

Right-y-o.

Arriving at the playground after having unsuccessfully completed our mission, Just 3 steps out of the car and prepares to take off for the equipment.

It is then, and only then, that I look down at his feet for the first time today.

‘Sweetheart? Do your feet feel funny today?’

‘Um, no.’

‘Your shoes are on the wrong feet. Don’t they feel funny?’

‘…..No.’

‘Come here and sit down. We need to put them on the right feet otherwise you’ll probably fall over.’

My son doesn’t need any more excuses to trip over. He does well enough all on his own.

He may well have two left feet so his feet didn’t feel funny at all.

Only one foot did.

Image from: here.

I Love You More Today

I love you more today than yesterday.

Just when I think it is not possible to love you anymore than I already do, you manage to make my heart feel fuller than it has ever been.

It might be the look of concentration on your face as you build a block tower higher than yesterday’s. Or your confidence doing backwards rolls off the lounge that you weren’t able to do the day before. Or the new words that spill forth from your mouth that you didn’t know a short time ago.

My love grows as you do. Tomorrow you’ll show me more reasons to love you. You might tree-hug my leg when I’m least expecting it or tell me you love me just because.

No matter how much mess you make, how loud you are or how disagreeable you may be, as long as I don’t let tomorrow come without having told you I love you at least once, I’m happy.

I’ll love you for all of my tomorrows.

Image from: here.

Foot note: I re-read this today more as a reminder to myself than anything else. Tomorrow sees the school holidays start here in South Australia and I’m looking forward to the arrival of 2.15pm. Following that is 17 days where my primary responsibility will be entertainment coordinator to my two nuggets and writing will take a back seat. There’ll be no forgetting to say, ‘I love you’, but I might need to take many more cleansing deep breaths than normal.

Love is in the Hands of Fate

Did that song on the radio play just for me, right at that moment, for a reason? If I turn around three times on the spot while patting my head and rubbing my stomach will that make one iota of difference?

Fate revealed itself in the few short minutes it took to drive the post box last night. Or did it? You be the judge.

By nature, I’m not superstitious. Being born on the 13th I embrace black cats, limbo under ladders, scoff at broken mirrors, 13, is naturally, my favourite number and I leave umbrellas open inside to dry. Actually I’m not sure on the last one – I think it’s just considered unlucky.

Luck is not something I rely upon or base my life around. That may have to change though.

For the moment I’m sticking with fate and I hope it is kind to me. I’ve done everything in my power and now the lap of the gods is where my little manuscript sits. Yes, editors are god-like figures to me right now. Soon enough though, they may be compared to the devil.

My family and I started a new little ‘tradition’ that will precede every letter that leaves our house to make its way to a publishing house. Each of us sealed that letter with a kiss (I did wipe the boys’ faces first to make sure none of their dinner was evident on the envelope). I dressed for the occasion and grabbed my keys. The song on the radio in the car was turned up loud. One last check of the address as I stood at the post box had me hesitating. Post the damn letter. Someone you know might see you in your track pants and ugg boots. What were you thinking, leaving the house wearing them?

Deed done. Return home and think.

Stop thinking otherwise it’s going to be a long three months.

I threw in a bit of love for good luck. A new tradition/superstition has begun. Fate will play her hand in due course.

I’d love it if you could join in the lunacy. If it’s lucky undies or other nonsensical doings that are crucial to your fate, please share your superstitions with all 13 of us.

Post script-this song had me singing all the way to the drop zone. Sheppard are Australian and they’ll be sure to let me down easy.

 

Image from: here.

Love on a Deadline

When faced with a deadline in life, love or work what is your natural response?

Do you face up to it ready for a fight or do you shy away and go into flight mode?

After self-imposing a deadline on myself recently it has helped me to learn what kind of writer I am.

July 1 has arrived and for all in the southern hemisphere will be over in a couple of short hours. This was my deadline. The manuscript I wrote was supposed to have been placed safely into a depository we, in Australia, call a post box. It hasn’t left the building.

I struck a couple of hurdles today. Procrastination and Dissatisfaction.

While I believe I can deal with dissatisfaction to an extent, I cannot deal with procrastination.

There was a part of my story that I had been unhappy with from its conception. Until today I had no ideas that were even adequate.

My deadline it seems had worked its magic and forced me to think. Think hard and solve the issue.

So dissatisfaction has been taken care of but I have that lingering sense that procrastination had me putting off what could have been achieved last week and enabled me to post it TODAY.

My little four page picture book manuscript will leave my hands tomorrow but I am left with that feeling that procrastination will visit again and I need to be more prepared to deal with it. Putting kids and the family, the paid variety of work, blogging and feeding the goldfish first may need to change.

And just as an aside who decided that procrastinate should have the prefix pro? Who supports or is in favour of crastination? I love words and language but really? I am tempted to submit to Oxford that procrastination be changed to anticrastination.

Am I being too hard on myself missing my deadline by one day? Please share any tips you have for power-punching deadlines and assisting with anticrastination.

I need all the help I can get.

 

 

And can someone please make sure the goldfish are fed.

Image from: here.

Love is in the Wind

Love is not a virgin on the Guest Blogger scene anymore. I did the deed over at Merbear’s this week.

Love in this Day and Age

‘You’re only as young as the woman you feel, or in my case – man.

I am younger then by the same amount of time it takes a foetus to reach term, if that stands to reason. There is a gestation period of difference between my husband and I. His parents wouldn’t have even known that they were going to give birth to their first child, a son, the day I was born. So while I was taking my first breaths of air he was still sucking on amniotic fluid. He was growing downy hair all over his body when I moved onto solid foods. By the time he was born, I was on the move; wearing out the knees of my romper suits and collecting lint and hair off the floor.

When we’re young it’s all about the milestones and birthdays. Cheers ring out and hands are clapped in delight as a baby or toddler manages to learn a new concept, skill or ability.

As we get older those milestones are more about the number attached to us. We carry that sucker around like an extra appendage. Some lie while others are creative with subtraction. For many it’s a matter of remaining young at heart-it’s the inside that counts, after all.

At a visit to the doctor with Now 6 when he was a 3 year old, an elderly gentlemen sat down beside us. He must have been close to his octogenarian decade but seemed to have retained most of his faculties. He took an interest in the scribble drawing my son was doing and then said to me, ‘that’s a fine looking grandson you have there.’ I do remember mumbling a reply about him being my son as my heart only just managed to regain a regular rhythm. It was fortunate we were at the doctors as I was certain a heart attack was imminent. Perhaps he was there to see the doctor about finally getting a prescription for glasses.

Several weeks ago, I had an informal meeting with the principal at Now 6’s school. I was being scrutinised to see whether I would be an appropriate replacement for the German teacher when she takes leave in the Spring. My experience was asked about and when I answered the question I included the year that I first began teaching. I was met with raised eyebrows and an audible ‘wow’. Maybe it’s the fact that I’ve hung around 5 year olds for nearly half my life that has kept me young. Hmmmm.

When I met with the teacher whose role I will be filling she kindly concurred about the difference between my chronological age and my perceived age.  (Note to readers: I have known this teacher since 1999 when I taught her son who is now 26 and we have kept in contact since then). Apparently I am thinner now even though I’ve been the same weight since high school, except during pregnancies, and have given birth twice since then. I don’t have a forehead full of Botox and on a good day I feel every one of my near-40 years. This ‘holding my age well’ card might come in handy if I ever have the need to chat up some young gents at the R.S.L. I could fill the role of a 60 year old cougar to get a free shandy or two.

If I had to categorise myself, I am one of those people who find it to be a difficult and dicey situation when someone asks me how old I think they are. Think of a number and subtract 15? That should cover all bases. When I’m asked how old I am, particularly by cheeky students who haven’t learned the unwritten code of conduct for someone who wants an ‘A’ this semester, my generic responses include:

‘How old are you?’ -answering a question with a question sometimes deflects the inquirer.

‘How old do you think I am?’ -see above.

or

‘Old enough to be your mother.’ – which normally puts them back in their box.

The time will come soon enough where my final response will have to change to Grandmother.

So herein lies the question. Does it matter what’s written on your birth certificate or what others think? How do you tackle the age old questions, ‘how old are you’ or ‘how old do you think I am?’ Have you ever done creative number crunching, turned 21 for fifteen years in a row or had someone overestimate your age by a whole generation?

Image from: here.

Love in Overdrive

Love’s driving me crazy.

There’s nothing like a confined space and two small people with loud voices both competing to be heard.

My favourite driving experiences are:

The School Run: Short and sweet. Hmm, short yes, sweet no. Those few short minutes can feel like sheer torture. Is the bickering and banter their way of saying, ‘I’ll miss you or I’ve missed you?’ Whatever the case may be it’s enough to drive anyone batty.

The Trip to the Grandparents: similar to the School Run just longer in length. There’s also the added anticipation of arriving. The excitement builds to a crescendo just as we pull in the driveway. My eardrums feel as if they might explode and the grandparents think that a tornado is about to hit the house. It is obvious to all concerned that I have little/no control over my terrors.

The Big Day Out Drive: setting out at shortly after the sparrow’s have sung their morning tune and arriving home close to dinner time denotes a Big Day Out. Wherever we may be headed we have a packed lunch, picnic rug, esky and bag (filled to the brim with spare clothes, hats, sunscreen, etc). The expected, ‘Are we there yet’s?’ start when we’re approximately half way there. It’s been smooth sailing the whole way if we don’t have to stop for petrol or the toilet en route.

The Great Escape: we’ve prepared for this for weeks but nothing can prepare us for the journey ahead. The car is crammed with half the contents of our house. The tailgate on the wagon will only just close. There’s pillows between the kids on the seat. It’s like we’ve tried to build the Great Wall between them so they can’t touch or see each other. The kids have got numerous things to keep them occupied. A game of ‘Eye Spy’ starts before we hit the freeway. If we’re lucky they’ll nod off (syncronised is heaven) for a while shortly after, ‘Are we there yet-i-tis?’ has commenced.

The Solo Cruise: doesn’t happen too often but when it does, Oh Boy! A chance to listen to adult tunes at any volume you please. Window up or down, whatever takes you fancy. And that annoying noise coming from the back of the car? It’s completely gone!

Mum’s taxi will be off again in the morning with the boys I love on board.

How do you cope with the calamity of children in cars for the quick trip or the long haul?

Footnote: After originally publishing this post in February, I decided to revisit it today as it was one of the first ‘pieces’ I wrote that exceeded several lines in length and had some substance. It is also the basis for the idea of my first picture book manuscript. My self-imposed deadline of June 30 is looming. I think my set of wheels needs a car detailer.

Image from: here.

A Pot of Love at Rainbow’s End

A Rainbow of Love

Mother Nature produced a spectacular display in this neck of the woods recently.

Not being one who particularly likes rain, I shifted my focus towards the blue sky in the east.

Unfortunately we were headed west which looked grey, dark and miserable except for the majestic rainbow that had materialised in front of us.

As I drove Just 3 to our first stop, Now 6 and I talked of the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.

We neared our destination and I said, ‘Look! The rainbow ends right on top of the roof at childcare. Maybe the teachers know where the pot of gold is.’

Now 6 chimed in with a positive comment concurring with my suggestion.

The talk of rainbows and the illusive treasure ended as I hustled Just 3 through the drizzle, without the aid of an umbrella, in through the front door.

The formality of hugs and kisses over, I made the dash to the car and Now 6 and I continued to our second stop.

School drop off completed, I headed for my final destination-work.

Reverse the above scenario of stopping and starting until finally arriving home in the afternoon.

At the dinner table that night we all talked about our respective days as is customary when we all spend it in different places. After hearing recounts of everyone’s activities, highlights and plans for the following day, Just 3 had one more thing to add.

‘I asked the teacher today about the pot of gold.’ With eyebrows raised, palms up and a shake of the head, he said, ‘She didn’t even know where it was.’

Love those golden moments.

Image from: here.

Seeking Love

Love found me today.

On the walk through the school yard you caressed my hair.

In the car you stroked my fingers.

I lost you for a moment when I arrived home. I sat by the window waiting for you to reappear. I closed my eyes and could soon feel your presence.

You were right behind me when I hung clothes outside; ever present, watching over my shoulder.

We played hide and seek in the yard. You hid behind trees but I never tired of finding you, time and time again. Every time I did, you embraced me. You would leave me with a smile and flushed cheeks.

These bones of mine kept moving trying to keep up with your constant motion.

Near the end of the day we stopped at the park to enjoy the last hour we would have together today. We both knew I’d see you again soon enough. Even still, I wished you could stay that little bit longer. I didn’t want you to go. Not right now. Not just yet. The last thing you did was kiss my forehead. I sat on the bench and watched you go until I could no longer see you.

My soul is thankful for the day we shared. You have left me with a warm and full heart.

If I concentrate enough I can still feel the warmth of your touch. Until you return I will suffer a sadness so profound.

I love you, son. I love you, sun.

Image from: here.

A Passion for Love

Love your passion

What’s your passion? What’s life without it?

Whether your passion is for your job, a hobby, helping others or personal growth, our passion for fulfilment should be the driving force behind what we do.

I recently found my passion. I don’t know why it took me so long to find it when it was right under my nose for some 20 years. I think I originally located it almost 10 years ago but for whatever reason it fell by the wayside. Now, apparently, I’m not the same person I was a decade ago. Every cell in my body has since been replaced but the embers of that same fire have been reignited.

Perhaps it wasn’t the ‘right time’ then. Every fibre of my being tells me it is the right time now and nothing nor no one will tell me it’s not. If there are naysayers in my path, I will listen to their words and move on without a backwards glance. My dreams will become possible with passion.

That passion in my heart will allow me to accomplish great things.

Image from: here.

I Love You When I’m Hanging Out The Washing

It seems like washing day rolls around all too quickly but hanging out your clean clothes reminds me of how much I love you. They are also a reminder of how much you’ve grown and what you’ve been up to (and in to). Even though you’ll make them dirty again soon, I love you.

 

Footnote: This was my second post on my blog. I think the whole thing fitted in the reader without having to click on it. I created this photo when my intention was to have ‘I Love You’ in every post. These early posts were written as if I was speaking to my kids. Somewhere along the line my voice started speaking to my fellow bloggers about my boys instead. I think I also got a little bored of the ‘dear diary’ style of writing I was doing. The photo for this took longer than the post, from memory.

I Would Do Anything For Love….

……but I won’t do that.

How do you go about asking for a favour from someone?

I find it extremely difficult and I don’t know if that’s because I don’t do it often so have had very little experience in doing so or because I would rather be the ‘doer’ of the favour. I enjoy doing things for others. It’s probably selfish if you think about it. I get a kick out of the feeling from having helped that person. I don’t know. Maybe it’s just the teacher in me or that part of me that makes a good teacher. Giving is receiving.

So in honour of I promise I made recently I’m going to attempt to make this as brief as possible.

Clear and concise.

Short and succinct.

Alright, enough with the babble!

I need to ask a favour *gulp.

Some of the Freequent flyers here know that I’ve been working on a top secret page-turner.

I have completed the manuscript for my picture book. Being a picture book it has less than 500 words and, as yet, has no pictures. It is being sent to the publisher on Monday who will take care of all the big details such as finding the illustrator, publication timeline, marketing, etc.

So what would I like you to do for this so-called favour, I hear you ask?

I would love for you to read it and comment as you see fit. The only other thing I ask is that you are completely and ruthlessly honest with me.

Whether you are a parent, teacher, writer or lover of reading. Even if you are none of those. You’ve read children’s books or had them read to you. You all bring valuable experience to the table.

In return I will owe you one because, for me, a favour should always be returned in some form or another. What form that takes is completely up to you.

Please remember, though, I won’t do that.

I’d love your help. If you’re willing, please email me and I will forward a copy to you then I’ll chew my nails to the quick.

♥ Kelly

Standing Fate on its Head

I gained a lot from reading this and wanted it here so I could revisit it again whenever I need to. I studied some of this at Uni and it still rings true 20 years later. I thought others may benefit from seeing Tony’s post.

Posts of Hypnotic Suggestion

So there I was, complimenting a work colleague as you do, (or perhaps don’t depending on where you work I suppose), as part of the feedback I was giving and encouraging him to think about where he could use similar verbal communication techniques to maximum effect.

Obviously, in an effort to ensure that all relevant future-scuppering spirits were appropriately warded off by my apparent blasphemy at actually telling him he was good at something, (which he really was by the way), he spake unto me thusly: ‘Oh now you’re tempting fate! It’ll never go like that again’. He paused for a moment. ‘Mind you, if I pretend you never said it, maybe I’ll get away with it. Touch wood.’

Now I could ramble on here about the origins of wood touching and fate tempting but that’s not really the point. Habits are habits and depend an insanely large amount on…

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