The gift of time

"Mum, can we bake cookies when you get up?"

I peel open one sleepy eye and gaze grumpily at Miss 10, who is standing in the doorway. All I really want is another hour of sleep. It's only days before Christmas, and there is so much to do. I really don't have time to add 'cookie baking' to an already overwhelming 'to do' list.

She hops from foot to foot, smiling hopefully. "Please, mummy. I really feel like some cookies."

"What kind of cookies?" I ask.

"Chocolate chip. Without any nuts in them though. I don't like the ones with nuts."

I sigh. She pouts. She wins. "Okay .... " I say.

"Yay!!" Her face splits into a huge grin.

I don't feel like sleeping any more.

I feel like cookies. I'll need coffee to go with them, though.

Three and a half Christmas angels

The tree is up, stockings ready for their installation on bedroom doorknobs on Christmas Eve. Christmas lunch has been planned (sort of), and the Christmas shopping list has been checked twice and is now out of the way (thank goodness for Google and lay-by!).

I've spent many years collecting some lovely Christmas tree decorations, and each year, they never fail to prompt a trip down Memory Lane. There are the ones covered in glitter, lovingly handmade by my children at school and proudly presented on Christmas morning many, many years ago. There are the hand-painted ceramic ones created during my crazy hobby days - these are family favourites, as two were made with my eldest children's names lovingly painted on them. There are the pretty jeweled ones bought during my 'coordinating' stage, where the Christmas tree had to match the living room decor. And then, crowning this spectacle of fairy lights and tinsel is the Christmas Angel smiling down upon us.


But this story isn't about the Christmas Angel gracing the top of the tree, it's about the three and a half angels gathered beneath it. My Christmas Angels.

Number One is now in her mid-twenties, but she still gets just as excited as the youngest on Christmas morning. I have walked a rocky path with this Christmas Angel, with some devastatingly hard lessons about love, trust and betrayal. But together we have worked at polishing the Christmas Star she holds in her heart, bringing back the sheen and repairing the dents it collected along the way. Some of the chips and dents will always remain, but her star shines brighter despite this.She is the most courageous person I know, living life to its fullest and not letting past ghosts shadow her bright future, accepting that the challenging times are what have shaped her and built her unwavering spirit. This Christmas Angel is my hero. I hope when I grow up, I'm as wise and brave as she is.

Number Two is My Boy. Always a deep thinker, he has had his own demons to battle, but his wise insights and caring nature makes my heart swell with pride. Being a boy, he tends to hide his star, but I can always peer through that wall to see how brightly his light shines, as only mothers can. An early talker as an infant, he now speaks 'teen-shorthand' - that language teenagers share where whole sentences are reduced to single syllables and gestures, like the jerk of a chin accompanied by 'S'up?' as a greeting. However when he does talk, we have the most amazing conversations where I never cease to be amazed by his wisdom and ability to see multiple perspectives. His sense of humour has us crying with laughter or smiling secretly at a shared 'in-joke'. I have the deepest affection for this Christmas Angel, sharing that special heart-connection mothers and sons are blessed with. I hope one day he can see his light just as clearly as I can.

Number Three is our little monkey, full of mischief and exhausting energy. Like the EverReady bunny, she just never seems to tire, packing more in a day than I can manage in a week. She bounces out of bed each morning full of joy, looking forward with anticipation toward a Brand New Day and what it will bring. Her mind and body are so busy, she can't fit everything into her day, so she Plans. Not content with settling on one career, she has decided she'll be a vet on Mondays, a chef on Tuesdays, a child care worker on Wednesdays, and a marine biologist on Thursdays. She'll take Fridays off and have a long weekend. Just as well, I think. She has already begun researching and listing all the places she wants to visit in this magical world we live in, excited about the people she'll meet and the adventures she'll have. She'll do it too - I can already picture her with her backpack stocked with traveller's journals, notepads, food portions and favourite toys. She'll get by with the clothes on her back - no room for a change of clothes! Only 10, she too is wise beyond her years, surprising me with the clarity with which she views the world. This Christmas Angel has a big heart, an active mind, and an unlimited imagination. I hope her spirited nature stays with her forever and survives the bumps and scratches of Life.

There are my three Angels. I hear you puzzling over my 'half' Angel. She's here too - we can't see her, but I know she is here, especially at Christmas. Sadly, we were denied the opportunity to meet her, losing her through miscarriage at 13 weeks between Number Two and Number Three. We never speak of her, and at the time, great pains were taken by friends and doctors to 'normalise' the tragedy by quoting statistics and the frequency of miscarriage, reducing my baby to a foetus in an effort to minimise the very real pain of loosing a child. Apparently, a foetus isn't a 'real baby'. But as any mother will tell you, whether it is a 'real baby' or a Dream Baby, the loss is very real. As with all losses, time really does help the healing process. Instead of thinking about my half Christmas Angel every minute of every day, eventually she crosses my mind a few times a day, then a few times a week. Soon, months pass. A blessing was sent when Number Three arrived, unspoken words of gratitude whispered silently to my Angel for ensuring her safe arrival. Life hums with the busy-ness of a growing family, and thoughts of my Angel change from shadows of despair to the bright light of fresh hope. She is gone, but never forgotten. Especially at Christmas.

Merry Christmas, my beautiful Angels.

Much love,
Da Mumma

Reflections on 2011

As another year prepares to close, I have more reason than usual to reflect on the past 12 months. December 2011 is a new beginning for me - and my family - as I have finally completed my teaching degree. I am no longer a part-time employee/full-time mature-age student, but a fully qualified teacher. An unemployed fully qualified teacher, but let's not dwell on that - the future looks bright.

This year has been particularly difficult, as I cut back my working hours in order to complete the heavy Practicum requirements this year. This has meant a serious dent to the family finances, and several times, we've dodged the proverbial bullet when it came to drowning in debt, only managing to lift our heads momentarily to gasp a quick lungful of air before being pulled into the muddy depths of poverty.

Yes, there were times of total despair, like the week the electricity was disconnected, our phone services were 'suspended pending payment of account', and the horror of opening the door to the Sheriff, who had arrived not to share afternoon tea, but to serve us with papers for non-payment of Council rates. I guess you could say that was a low point. Having less income to buy 'things' has certainly been a challenge, but it has also provided us with quite a few blessings, the most important one being the discovery of simple joys, the moments money simply can't buy.

Take the trip to Coochiemudlo Island a few months back. We scraped together the ferry fare and $8 for a bottle of 'Cleanskin' red wine, packed a couple of wedges of cheese and a packet of crackers, and headed off on our journey. Sitting on a secluded beach, enjoying our 'povo picnic', sharing family time uninterrupted by computer games or TV shows was pure bliss. Previously, we would have been more likely to book a table at the local restaurant and enjoyed the 'serenity' of the island amongst the symphony of clattering dishes, noisy patrons, and the smell of fried food rather than the scent of the ocean on the breeze. We found a new way of connecting with each other, rather than just 'being together', and are far richer for it.

Mealtimes have also benefited from our reduced finances - not to mention the environment. Leftovers are reincarnated into another meal, rather than being scraped into the bin. We weeded the abandoned vegie garden and have enjoyed an abundance of salad vegies, asian greens, and delicious herbs, all picked only moments before eating them. We only buy what we need, so the 'science experiments' of fruits and vegetables fermenting in the bottom of the crisper are far less frequent - something my nose and delicate stomach are eternally grateful for! Meat is a luxury we still enjoy, but in far smaller portions, our plates now enjoying a much healthier balance of vegetables, salads and grains to compensate for the massive steaks that used to grace them. There is still a box of convenience snack-foods for school lunch boxes, but they have to last all month rather than just a week, so homemade biscuits, cakes, and muffins have replaced prepackaged 'junk food'. Small steps, big differences.

Throughout the 4 years of study my family has endured alongside me, I have often dreamed of the celebratory dinner we would have when I received my first teaching pay packet. Having much less these past 12 months has taught me that whilst luxury items are certainly desirable and enjoyable, they tend to create a superficial way of life. I look around at my wealthier friends and see them filling the emptiness of their lives with 'things' - they strive and save for that coveted large-screen plasma TV, only to have it superceded a couple of months later, so they need to strive and save to upgrade. They plan their holiday destinations around places that have 'Kid's Clubs' so their children are looked after by strangers, so they can lie beside the pool and read, uninterrupted by the little Gribbles. Wardrobes are full of last season's discarded clothes while hundreds of dollars are spent on the latest fashion items.

It shames me to admit this was a lifestyle my family and I shared pre-'povo' times. Yes, it was nice to be able to purchase lovely things without thinking twice about what else I could do with the money. But penny-pinching has taught me that wasting money on frivolous crap just creates a greater hunger for more frivolous crap to fill the emptiness of an unfulfilled life. It's lovely to have, but it simply has no real substance - it's only 'new' for a day or two, then something 'shinier' catches your eye. It's like chasing butterflies - they're beautiful to look at, but wouldn't you rather experience life as a butterfly, rather than simply envying it's beauty and freedom?

I certainly enjoy the freedom money provides - having enough to pay the bills without giving them a second thought, or juggling them to keep debtors happy while trying to scrape together enough to pay the balance before the next one is due. But I hope I retain the healthy respect the past 12 months have taught me - money doesn't buy happiness, but it can provide the foil for experiences that create memories that last a lifetime.

So, what about that celebratory dinner with my first pay-cheque? Instead of spending $100's on an extravagant meal, I think we'll spend the money on a beach shack on Coochie, take a bottle of $8 Cleanskin wine & a picnic basket of goodies, and create some beautiful family memories. Stay tuned for the photos!