{Sounds on Sundays…}

I really wanted to blog this past week, but alas it was a complete clusterfuck round this joint. A relentless week of pre school holidays, activities, appointments and general post birthday mania. Rather than meditate to try and catch some mindfulness, each day I took note of some of the absolutely random shit that came out of my mouth and well, yeah. I dunno guys, it’s just living life I guess. Enjoy.


“Yes Mummy is doing a wee. No, you cannot watch.”

“Yes, it’s too soon to start planning for Christmas.”

“Put your shoes on.”

“Please stop trying to catch your penis with the fishing rod toy.”

“No, I do not know Barbie personally, therefore I cannot call her for you.”

“Yes that’s right, we have to go home because you can’t live at the park.”


“Put your shoes on now please.”

“Next time, try not to wee on the floor before you get in the bath.”

“Unfortunately no, Sea World is not our home and we cannot live there.”

“No you cannot have a credit card of your own and no you can’t use mine to buy the watermelon custard that you saw on YouTube.”


“Please stop strangling the baby; he doesn’t like it.”

“Yes I know glue doesn’t taste good. That’s why I told you not to eat it.”

“No, baby Hendrix doesn’t actually have to have a shower at the baby shower. It’s a party for a soon to be Mummy.”

“Mummy didn’t mean to say the f word. It came out accidentally because that lady can’t drive.”


“Fine, just wear your slippers.”

Have a great week guys!

{Five Years of You….}


And just like that, you are 5!  Our first born, our eldest, our daughter. I still remember the day I ran down the steps of our apartment building in Los Angeles to tell your daddy I was pregnant. It had all happened so quickly! I spent most of your pregnancy vomiting and though I tried for over 60 hours, you just wouldn’t come out the chute and so, on that Sunday night in July, they brought you into the world via the sun roof. You were huge, nearly 4.5kg and 56cm long. It seems both so long ago and also just like yesterday.

For two and a half years you had us to yourself and I am so grateful for that time with you. You won’t remember those times but I always will. How you loved Disneyland and your weekly music class but hated pureed food. How you couldn’t get enough of the pool at swimming and how determined you were to do everything by yourself, even if it meant you scared us half to death.

Addison, I am sorry that you sometimes had me at my worst. New to mothering, I flailed around trying to navigate this brave new world I’d entered. I was so inexperienced despite so much experience with kids. Like everyone, I thought I knew and I truly had no idea of the impact of a brand new life on me and my old life. I’m sorry I fumbled through different tactics and routines and that sometimes I just wanted you to step back so I could breathe. I wasn’t prepared for the massive need that a baby possesses and I know it took me some time to adjust.  I’m sorry that I spent so much time stressed out over your sleep; to the point where we both sat crying as I couldn’t understand why you wouldn’t do what the book said and you couldn’t understand why I wouldn’t just pick you up and feed you off to sleep. The truth is, like you learning to live, we had to learn how to parent. Daddy and I, Addison, we are still learning. I know we sometimes don’t get things right and I know we sometimes expect too much of you. This is our problem to resolve and I’m trying little girl; I’m trying so hard to help you navigate this world without stepping on your toes or dimming your glow.

I’m sorry that I put you through 2 extremely difficult pregnancies. That I spent so much time away from you in the hospital and in my head. I’m sorry that when your world shifted with the arrival of Phoenix, I was too tired to provide as much support as I should have. I’m sorry it took me time to maneuver myself into the role of a mother of 3 and that sometimes I yelled at you and expected you to do more than you were capable of doing. Addison, thank you for loving your brothers so fiercely like you do. They are so lucky to have you as their big sister.

Addison, I know you have some challenges ahead of you. I know your sometimes unpredictable focus and constant chatter will cause concern for you as you enter big school next year. I promise I will do everything I can to assist you in this next step. I wish I could just lay down a smooth path for you as you navigate this crazy world. That I could shield you from the not so nice aspects of being alive. Instead I promise to advocate for you and support you as much as I can.

Addison, you are a smart, caring and sensitive soul. You have so much potential and so much goodness to give this world. You are funny and irreverent and assertive to the point of insanity. Today and every day, we wish you nothing but joy, laughter and love. Thank you for choosing us and for making us parents.

Addison, thank you for making me a Mother. It may be your birthday, but it was me who was given the bestest gift of all; you.

Happy Birthday Smushy, we love you.


{12 Seconds..}


I’m in the pantry.

1,2,3…breathe, breathe, breathe.

The toddler has dumped an entire tub of yoghurt on the baby. It’s everywhere. Everywhere. They are dragging themselves through it. Joyfully spreading their fingers out, further pushing the white gunk around. Addison is standing at the door begging for the iPad. But each channel gleefully splashed the story last night of how bad screen time is for kids. How badly Australian parents are handling their children’s usage. Shame, parents, shame. But maybe just now, to stop the screaming. Just for a moment.

4,5,6….stop, stop, stop.

The boys are screaming now. All morning, screaming. At each other, at me, at nothing; and everything. We went out. I missed my Gym class and Phoenix broke free of my grip; hurtling towards a BMW in the car park. Stopped only by a nice lady who took pity on my toddler son and decided he should live another day. I apologise profusely, thanking her. “It gets easier.” she tells me. I nod. My smile is tight. Today is not the day it gets easier. We are home. The house is trashed; the washing lays waiting, staring at me, demanding I keep up. Why can’t you keep up? The washing, the house…appearances? I have a list of things to do, errands to run. Nothing gets done. The kids need me. “What do you do all day?” That’s what they ask. Lazy Mums who stay at home.

7,8,9….Knock, knock, knock.

I’m just so tired. The baby woke every couple of hours. I wish I could sleep. Maybe in here, just for a second. You have to come out of here eventually. They need you. They all need you. And they’re yours. You should be out there managing this. This is your job. Why aren’t you doing your job? Why aren’t you thankful for this moment? For every moment. Live in the moment. Not this one, I can’t. I just need another second to breathe. To realise we need groceries. And I haven’t finished planning Smushy’s party. And you haven’t been to the shops for presents yet Merrill. And at some point you have to get out of this space and back into theirs. Addison is knocking louder now; the sound reverberates in my head, pushing the thoughts aside. She is jostling for space in my mind, in my moment.

10, 11, 12….breathe, breathe, breathe.

They are all at the door now, waiting. Quiet. They have fallen silent as they realise I am not there. You are their world and they need you. You can do this. You are not alone, you are fallible, it’s OK and so are you. One more second. Open the door. I am here, here I am. I love you. I love you. I love you. I am sorry. You need me. I am here.

“I missed you Mummy.”

12 seconds.

“I missed you too baby.”

Close the door. I am ok. We are ok.

Tomorrow is a new day. And this is a new moment.