18/52: Instagram killed the blog

Between a broken lens, a photo program slower than I have the patience for, and instagram, this poor space has been very neglected.

So, after a long hiatus, here is 18/52.

Roc: bracing against the breeze after an impromptu dip in the river

Hame: there's nothing better than a bubble bath

Joining in with Jodi

10/52

"A portrait of my boys, once a week, every week, in 2014"

Hame. Way too late at night for this shizz, buster.

Roc. Obsessed with a phonetics app.

Today was a tough one. We all needed a little break.

Joining in with Jodi at Practising Simplicity

7/52

A portrait of my boys once a week, every week, in 2014"

The past couple of weeks have been a bit confronting, and I haven't been as present as I'd like. Too much time worrying about unknowns, and not enough time paying attention to the solid, concrete beauty beneath my feet and in front of my eyes.

So, from a very small pool of photos, these prove there were some moments of sunshine and silliness.

Hame. The family comedian. Always.

Roc. His giggle is infectious.

Entertaining themselves quietly in the morning sunshine while I watch unseen, from my bed. They knew I was unwell and kept themselves busy.

4/52

"A portrait of my boys, once a week, every week, in 2014"

Roc: "Mama! Watch meeeeeee!"

Hame: Windows to his soul.

My heart smiles.

Joining with Jodi from Practicing Simplicity

3/52

"A portrait of my boys once a week, every week, in 2014"

These two, despite spending their whole lives within a metre of each other, could not be more different.

This week's much needed quiet time - away from the heat (and away from each other). The humidity and relentless heat sees tempers frayed and tears spilling over. I've been sure to provide them the opportunity to do something alone, and of their own choosing.

Hame. Straight to the playroom to play with his "snugs" (and his trains).

Roc. Outside to "nature", magnifying glass and tweezers in hand, exploring.

And this happened this week, too.

Playing along with Jodi from Practicing Simplicity and her wonderful 52 project

2/52

"A photo of my boys each week, every week, in 2014"

Roc

Hame 

Their first fishing adventure.

Linking up with Jodi's 52 project.

1/52

"A portrait of my boys once a week, every week, in 2014"

Roc

Hame

Early summer evening's golden light. The beach to ourselves.

Linking up with Jodi's 52 project.

50/52

"A portrait of my boys, once a week, every week, in 2013"

Summer. 

And utter devastation when there's none left.

As ever, joining with Jodi

47/52

"A portrait of my boys once a week, every week, in 2013"

Roc. Eyeballing the kindy concert stage. Or yawning. Could be either.

Hame. He likes to make 'nests' and then plonk down in the middle. "Take a photo of me sleeping in my nest, mama!"

Two little blonde heads. Always touching. Always together. A bit lost without each other, really.

Playing along with Jodi

46/52

"A portrait of my boys, once a week, every week, in 2013"

We went on an afternoon trip to the Science Centre. It was great fun, but I think the journey there was the highlight for them. They had a certain swagger. I think they felt very grown up walking down to the arts precinct. And they look it too. My babies are real little boys now.

Hame. Balancing on a retaining wall. My heart was in my mouth.

Roc. It looks like a quiet moment of contemplation, but actually, it was just a lucky shot. This kid never stops. Every photo I have of him lately is a blur.

I've missed a couple of weeks. The photos are there, but I've been having trouble downloading them. I'll catch up soon.

42/52

WEEK 42?? Really? I have adored this project, despite a week missed here and there.

Roc. 

Hame.

Love them.

Joining with Jodi.

41/52

"A portrait of my boys once a week, every week, in 2013"

Nothing beats a bit of old fashioned slip n slide fun.

Joining with Jodi.

39/52

"A portrait of my boys, once a week, every week, in 2013"

Hame. His trains come everywhere with him. This week, they joined us for breakfast.

Roc. Jumping to reach the top of the wall. This kid never sits still.

Joining with Jodi.

A bench, some wallpaper and a space to create

Now that my house is almost free from visual clutter, creating a space for the boys to draw, craft, create, read, sit, play and enjoy - something that's been on my 'to do' list for a while - is at the top of the agenda.

Don't get me wrong; they're hardly hard done by - the whole house feels given over to them at times. But, as they get older, more able to self-direct activities and eventually have homework, I want them to have a space that's theirs. Where they can be responsible for its contents, where their creations can be displayed, and where we can cohabit that same space, while doing our own things.

We live in an old Queenslander with a modern downstairs extension, as so many have. It has two extra bedrooms, a study nook, a laundry, a bathroom, a double lock-up garage and the quintessential 'rumpus room'.

It's here that I want to create their space.

This is my inspiration:

I love the timber. I love the salute to old-school school via the chairs. I love the use of wallpaper. I love that it's compact. I love that the wall can become a gallery space for Hame and Roc's creations, for special photos, for memories.

Most of all, I love that when you break it down, it's actually a very simple space. A wall. A bench. A couple of chairs. Some memories. That's it. Fullness in simplicity. It's one of those images I can't stop looking at. I have had it pinned for ages, and I look at it every day. Recently, many times a day.

So, we're doing it (or, rather, I am. T probably doesn't mind one way or the other). I'm going to buy timber for the desk and stain it walnut. That bit is easy. The wallpaper decision, on the other hand, has been a bit, well, sticky. Fraught, even. I've found one that I love - adore - but the price is makes me wince. The wall is large, and the rolls are on the pricey side. The problem is that I just can't find anything else I like better for a better price.

This is it: Anna Spiro for Porter's Paints Rosey Posey Trellis in Ginger Jar Blue:

I just can't go past that blue. Part Delft, part ginger jar, all gorgeous.

Ah, decisions.

38/52

"A portrait of my boys, once a week, every week, in 2013"

Roc. See? Capable. Has to do everything himself. This home-made raw strawberry jam recipe that has been doing the rounds recently is delicious, I'm happy to confirm. 

Hame. A family portrait. I'm on the left with the 'top knot' and the big eyes. Daddy is next with big ears because he has to listen very hard at work. Hame is next, arms wrapped around himself giving himself a squishy cuddle. And Roc is on the right, being noisy, apparently.

Joining in with Jodi.

A letter to my boys: Four

Darling boys, you are four years old. Four. FOUR. In some ways, it feels like the blink of an eye. In others, motherhood feels like all I've ever known.

You have grown - of course you have. It's inevitable. In many ways you have changed so much. But, yet, you remain the same. Your essence, your you-ness, is resolute and unwavering. You are as you always have been - since the moment of your birth - and as you always will be, too, I suspect.

Since having you two, there is no doubt in my mind that we are all born with our personalities imprinted firmly, deeply in our souls. Our job as your parents is to shape your values, your beliefs, and to teach you how to respond, react and moderate. But we have realised there is no shaping of your personalities in our job description. They are far stronger and deeper than our influence.

Roc, you have started to show some remarkable self-control. Of course, you're still a four-year-old, who freaks out at random stuff like dropping your water bottle in the car, but in other ways, you are mature beyond your years. You take deep breaths to calm down. You can snap yourself out of moods. You make decisions about how you will react to a situation. You sing gentle songs to calm Hamish down if he needs it (and me, too, if truth be told!).

You love your family deeply and intensely. You aren't afraid to tell us how much you love us, and you are an incredibly affectionate little boy. You need kisses and cuddles - they right your world. 

You're a bit of a kooky little thing. Things have to be 'just so'. Everything has to be buttoned all the way up, socks perfectly straight, trousers pulled up, laces evenly laced. You have uniforms, or 'outfits' as you call them, for everything, and your clothes have rules. Your blue waffle long sleeve shirt is only worn with your red vest. Your green stripy shirt with the red elbow patches is only for parties. Your skinny jeans are for 'good', and your 'work' shirts are for weekend breakfasts. Underpants and socks must match. Precision in all things. Even your dancing.

You are razor sharp, and super smart. Which isn't surprising; your daddy is the smartest person I have ever met. You do everything yourself, and I'm guilty of treating you as a child much older than four. You are just so independent. I can't remember the last time I had to help you get dressed, or put the toothpaste on your brush, or wash you in the bath. You set the table. Pack the dishwasher. Make your bed, even. You've even started doing up your own carseat seatbelt (which of course I check once you've had your go). 

I sometimes wonder how on earth I'm going to keep up with you, and I certainly wonder how we're going to keep you entertained and stimulated for another 18 months before you start Prep. 

You are capable beyond your years, and I think I forget that actually, you're still a toddler. Still a baby, really. My baby.

I love you darling one. Adore you, in fact. I'm so intensely proud of you. And I am in awe of you, too. I'm so lucky to be your mama. Thank you for making me a mum. It's the biggest privilege of my life.

And my darling Hamey-bear. I am SO proud of you. You have taken this year in your stride. You've been dragged from physio, to paediatrician, to neurologist, to speech pathologist. You charm all of them the second you meet them. I was reading the letter from your neurologist just tonight, and in it he said "Hamish is a delightful 3.5 year old boy". And you are. You are so delightful. And delighted. And enamoured of life.

But aside from all the hypotonia stuff (which, thankfully, will be just a minor consideration in your daily life), you are hilarious. And beautiful. You see the world for its beauty.

We sometimes play 'doctors'. Whenever you stick the pretend thermometer in my ear, you withdraw it, shake it, have a look and announce cheerfully, "You're healthy mama!" You're an optimist. You're not melodramatic. I love that about you.

You're our funny one. The joker. Our little comedian. You're always pulling crazy faces, hiding, pretend-falling, making up silly words to songs, making up crazy dances, putting things in odd places to await our reaction, and generally making us burst into laughter. 

You are so gentle, too, and full of love. You kiss me constantly and call me "pwetty mama, breutiful mama." Sometimes, you are just so overwhelmed with love and happiness that you squeak! We call them your love squeaks, and they are the cutest things in the world.

Despite being the less-talkative twin (make no mistake, you still talk a LOT, but Roc is a force to be reckoned with), you are quietly confident. You aren't shy in front of strangers, and you thrust your arm out to 'shake hands' when you meet new people. I love that you seem to take each new interaction as an opportunity to make a new friend. 

Everyone who meets you loves you. You are the sweetest little boy, with the softest little cheeks. Your eyes are gentle, kind and deep. They reflect love. And people are drawn to you. They always have been. You are one of this world's treasures.

I love you, darling boy. So so much my heart swells up and my chest gets tight, and my throat starts to hurt and my eyes well. It's physical, this parenting thing. I didn't know it would be this beautiful.

As always, my darling ones, all the love in the universe,
Your mama

This guy

T is one amazing man. Adored by me and the twinadoes. Works himself to the bone, but always has enough left for one last game of tackle, and one last random musing about life.

They can't get enough of each other, these three men of my heart.

Happy Father's Day T.

We are blessed.

Cutie pies can write their own names in HUGE loping letters. They scripted the card. One Billion is the biggest number they can fathom.

Stacks on. A familiar weekend sight. 

35/52

We have had weeks of birthdays and Father's Day celebrations, sickness and fevers.

Despite all the festivities, and all the photos taken, there are so few of the boys on their own. When families come together to celebrate, everyone jumps right in. As it should be.

Hame. Gently waving goodbye to Daddy as he leaves for work in the early morning light. A daily ritual I hope he will always remember.

Roc. Give him a bubbler, and this kid is as happy as can be. He's fascinated by them.

Joining Jodi's 52 project. 

34/52

"A portrait of my boys once a week, every week, in 2013"

Roc. Those lips!

H. Those eyelashes!

I practiced close-ups this week. I still haven't switched my camera back to automatic or semi-manual, and I think I'm slowly getting there.

Joining Jodi, as usual.

Out of the mouths of babes

May you NEVER stop exploring, wondering, questioning, learning. May you always look forward. 

Darling boys,

You are HILARIOUS. Hilarious in the most wonderful of ways. A few days ago, on the drive to kindy, I was privileged to overhear this conversation between the two of you. 

I had to concentrate so intensely on not laughing out loud because I didn't want you to stop talking. 

You clever, beautiful, insightful darlings. I am so proud of you.

[You have to imagine this complete with lisps, 'w's instead of 'r's, and mispronunciations]

H, gasping in shock: "I just saw a picture of the new Pwime Mininster Kevin Rwudd"
R: " Oh. [pause] What happened to Julia Gizzard?"
H: "She gotted out. They did not want to play with her anymore so she was out." 
R: "Oh, that's not nice."
H: "No, and Kevin Rwudd is a meanie. He doesn't let the mummies and daddies and chrildren come here when they are not safe."
R, gasping: "That's NOT nice!"
H: "No. That's not nice at all."
R: "What about ummm, Mama what's the other one's name? Tony Rabbit? Does he let the chrildren in?"
H: "I don't know. Probably not. Maybe when I grow up I will be the Pwime Mininster."
R: "Gweat idea Hamey!"
H: "Hmmmm.... atchally no. I sink I will be SuperMan."

Huh. How about that? Out of the mouths of babes.

You both then launched into a very colourful conversation about superheroes, superhero suits, super powers, and other important topics of the day.

You make my heart sing. 

And for the record, I'd totally vote for SuperMan.

All the love in the universe,

Your  mama