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

Giving up gluten

We have been gluten-free for two months. It's been a long time coming, for me personally. But it was some reading I stumbled across that linked a gluten-free diet with improvements in childhood hypotonia that made me sit up and listen once and for all.

It's well known that for some people, gluten inflames their digestive system. There's now a school of thought that believes gluten may inflame more than just the gut, affecting muscles, joints, and the brain. Hamish's hypotonia affects his muscles and is neurological in origin (we believe). Avoiding inflammation of his muscles, joints and neural pathways can only be a good thing, so, we decided to cut gluten out and see if it makes any difference.

And there is most definitely a difference.

Of course, it's impossible to attribute it solely to a gluten-free diet, because he may very well be going through a developmental growth spurt too, but both T and I have seen a discernible change in him.

He seems to have more energy. He is talking a lot more confidently. He is moving with better balance and riding his balance bike with gusto. He has started working out how to take his own t-shirts on and off. And he is climbing more and with less fear.

His kindy teachers have noticed an increased attention span, and an ability to stay upright and maintain posture for longer.

A coincidence? Possibly. But I too have noticed a dramatic change in my body. 

Abdominal bloating has almost disappeared along with headaches.My sinuses are clear. I'm sleeping better, and I feel more energised during the day. Before, I was lethargic in the mornings and exhausted by evening (although admittedly that could be parenting!) but, excruciatingly, unable to sleep enough to recover. The dermatitis I have had on my hands my whole life has disappeared and my fingers have stopped swelling, which means I can sleep with my wedding rings on. A little re-introduction test saw me swell like a balloon within minutes after a gluten-free fortnight.

It was a light-bulb moment for me, as someone who, on occasion, felt the need to undo a button after eating just to feel like I could breathe. Mostly, I feel simply lighter - like I don't have a brick sitting in my stomach.

The transition hasn't been as difficult as I thought it might be. This year, we have consciously shifted our diet to include more whole ingredients and exclude preservatives, colours and flavours. Gluten-free recipes are all over the internet and I was already milling grains, lentils and pulses into flour at home. I am still baking, just using a combination of brown rice flour and corn flour instead. 

Kindy lunches have probably been the biggest change, but I've been making batches of gluten-free zucchini slice and savoury muffins, which have gone down a treat. I'll need to come up with a few more options though, or I'll put them off those foods for life.

Weekend eating is a little more challenging, but we're getting there.

And for now, we'll keep it up. 

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.

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

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 

33/52

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

These last weeks of winter are remarkable. Glorious and sun-drenched. The beach beckons.

Roc. He loves the water.

Hame found me a heart-shaped rock. This boy has a divine soul.

Playing along with Jodi.

32/52

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

The weather has turned and the scent of spring is in the air. You can see it in trees that have blossomed, premature with enthusiasm. Our neighbourhood is humming to the sound of lawn mowers, and the squeals of children have started to be heard from their gardens. The parks are filling up, and picnics are back on the agenda.

Roc. He was soaked through after this.

Hame. Giggling with delight as he splashed about.

Playing along with Jodi

29/52

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

I ventured outside to discover Roc had set up a 'beach control' station from the back verandah. He was on a deck chair, binoculars at the ready, beach hat and shirt on, surveying the back garden 'beach'. He had his watch on so he would know when it was time for lunch, apparently.

Hame. Making me pipe-cleaner rainbows in the early morning to "have a breutiful day, mama"

As always, joining in with Jodi.

Kids live here

A few weeks ago one of my regular blog reads - Tahnee from Milk Please Mum - posted something that made my heart sing. She is part of a project called Kids Were Here, a group of photographers who capture the detail and evidence that children were indeed enjoying their spaces.

I think it's brilliant. Not just because their photography is obviously breathtaking, and meaningful, and loaded and emotional. But because it celebrates the joy, cheekiness, delight, fun and simplicity that comes with childhood. 

And then the beautiful Gaby, from This Little Port, showed her real house and her real spaces this week - yet another sign!

Children create chaos and mess; of that there is no doubt. But the images took my breath away. I saw childhood through a child's eyes, instead of through my own house-cleaning weary ones. 

In the spirit of ceasing being a cranky cow about the state of this house, I decided to take some inspiration from this project in the hope it might help me loosen up about mess, to stop cleaning, and to start playing. So for the past week, I've been snapping away, capturing memories of what my home is like when it's filled with two boisterous boys doing what they do best.

I LOVED IT! I highly recommend it. A slight shift in perspective was just what I needed.

So, here it is, in all its glory, evidence that kids live here - in my home, in my heart - in all its messy, misplaced, imperfect chaos. Beautiful, isn't it.