Age and aesthetic

Our home has beautiful bones. It's a 1920-something Queenslander with decorative ceilings, plate rails, and leadlights. The original parts of the house have been left well enough alone, so we are lucky enough to have separate formal living and dining rooms.

One of the most unusual spaces in our house is the old tiny entry way, where the front door used to be before what is now the sunroom was built in. It's a cute little space that has a beautiful ornate mirror on one wall, and a hall table opposite. 

We haven't ever particularly given much thought to the hall table. It's glass, so it's unobtrusive and perfectly fine. But it's very generic, and I have become obsessed with finding a mid-century sideboard to replace it. Something with drawers, of course; because you can never have too much storage.

In years gone by, before I kind of grew into my own skin, I probably would have sought out something made in the same decade as the house - because I would have thought that would have been the correct way to decorate. Even if I didn't particularly like the piece. But now, I'm older, I've found my groove, and I am more confident in mixing styles and eras. I think as long as you carefully choose beautiful pieces, you can never really go wrong. 

I love the warmth of timber, and I'm hoping to nab something teak or rosewood. I've been stalking gumtree and ebay like a madwoman, as I don't get much of a chance to go second hand furniture shopping. 

I'm sure just the right thing will pop up soon, and I'm rather hoping it looks something like this. Or at least, will, with a bit of elbow grease.

Or this.

Eye-achingly beautiful. At least I think so. And that's all that matters really isn't it..?

8/52

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

Hamish, eagerly awaiting Daddy's return. 

Roc, all super-heroed out. And exhausted from the heat and humidity.

Playing along with Jodi here

Getting to know my camera

I've been out and about a bit lately, practicing with our camera and trying to learn how to take good shots. At this point in my photographic career, any good shots are purely accidental, and there are countless hundreds of awful ones to make up for anything decent.

The boys are at a beautiful age. They talk a lot, about all sorts of things. They know stuff, and I don't know where they learned it. Like the names of all the different types of dinosaurs. It's quite remarkable.

Rocky is VERY into dressups, and Iron Man is his current favourite. Although apparently at kindy he is first in line for the white fairy dress.

Last weekend, we decided to take the boys out for a morning on the river. We're so lucky here in Brisbane to have a free ferry service for the inner-city. We jumped on at Kangaroo Point and spent a happy half an hour meandering along the river to New Farm, where we hit the playground.  They adored it.

And ohmygoodness how good is homemade bread?! 

It's my birthday next week. I'm going to be 36. I don't feel it. I remember my mum turning 36 when I was in high school and thinking it was SO old. By the time my boys are in finishing highschool, I'm going to be staring down the barrel of 50. Times have changed.

7/52

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

Hamish. A water baby. He loves swimming and is already doing full laps of the pool. He amazes me. He looks so much older than three here, don't you think? I love catching a fleeting glimpse of what my babies might look like when they're older.

Roc. An adventurer. Our intrepid explorer. This boy tackles the world head-on and isn't afraid of anything. Check out T's nervous finger biting in the background. 

Playing along with the lovely Jodi.

6/52

Hamish. Wet eyelashes and very first freckles.

Roc. Cloud watching.

A bit late, but done. I really love this project. Thanks Jodi. x

And time stood still

Everyone has those moments in life - you know, when time stands still and reality crashes into view.

Time has stood still for me a few times in my life, but this? I think this takes the cake.

Hamish, our beautiful boy, has been diagnosed with hypotonia.

T and I feel a little bit like our hearts have been broken. No parent ever wants their child to have to deal with anything that might make their days more difficult.

Perhaps, on the surface, hypotonia - low muscle tone - doesn't sound particularly serious.  Our world is littered with references to tone, toning up, getting toned, building tone. It sounds easy to fix. Just hit the gym, right?

It's rather more complicated than that, and we're still reeling I think.

The truth is that the amount of tone your muscles have is the amount they will always have. It can't be fixed. It's got nothing to do with strength. People with low muscle tone don't have as much natural tension in their muscles, so they're harder to engage and harder to control. Low muscle tone also comes with extra-long connective tissue between the body's joints, so limbs and joints are generally a bit floppier, a bit softer and more prone to injury.

Hame tires easily. He gets sore legs. He is prone to chest infections. When he was a baby he had trouble with tummy time and holding his head up for periods of time. His body starts to slump as the hours go by. He falls, and he's not able to fully support his body weight. He doesn't complain. Each individual symptom is barely discernible, but we, of course, have noticed.

We've done everything for this beautiful baby of ours for his whole life so far. There's nothing we wouldn't do. But we can't do anything to change the cellular construction of his muscles. We can't change the length of his connective tissue. We can't accelerate the time it takes for messages from his brain to reach his muscles, and we can't change the fact that it takes him 22 times the effort to engage his muscles, or stop them wavering when it all gets too much.

And as heartwrenching as it was to hear that his condition wasn't something that could just be 'fixed' and 'he'd be right', it was like someone switched on a light bulb. Everything fell into place; it all made sense. In our heart of hearts, we knew there was something.

In Hame's case, it is most likely to be prematurity that caused his hypotonia. While born at 33weeks and 5 days gestation, my babies suffered from intrauterine growth restriction and were born at the size of a typical 28-29 weeker. The brutal truth is that he missed all those vital extra months of growing - time when his tiny little body would have developed fully, and made all the connections it needed to.

But strangely, amongst the sadness, I feel incredibly grateful. We are so lucky. Hamish is so lucky. We have access to so much medical knowledge, expertise, and early intervention therapies. We are resourceful, and dedicated. We will do whatever he needs and whatever it takes.

Above all, we have love. That little boy is so so loved. So cherished. And he is so happy. This brilliant, joyous, delighted little boy shows us each day how lucky we are.

He says that when he grows up he is going to be a superhero. I think, just maybe, he already is. He is remarkable.

We are blessed.

When all is quiet

The crazy weather here has had us all cooped up. So we've been enjoying some gentle and quiet things at home.

Thomas and his friends have made an appearance.

There has been building and drawing.

Learning, too.

Plenty of baking (and eating).

A bit of puddle jumping

And a LOT of cheekiness

We're still trying to sort out our house after we sustained some damage in the storms that battered our coastline. Carpets are ripped up. Walls will be torn down. Furniture will be replaced. It's a slow moving beast, this insurance process. But I'm so thankful we have it.

5/52

A portrait of my babies each week, every week, during 2013

Hamish. Joyful jumping on a glorious Sunday.

Roc. A quiet moment of escape from playground excesses.

Playing along with Jodi here