Rip

She can swim. She knows she can, she's done it before. But she knows her limitations too. She's not a strong swimmer, not by any stretch of the imagination. Enough to get by, if she must.

Normally she avoids going out too deep, too far from the sides or the shoreline. Tries to stay nice and close, so she can escape if she needs to, take herself elsewhere.

She's out a bit deeper today. Has been slowly floating that way for a while now and has only just realised how far out she's gotten.  She can still see the shoreline, but only just.  She can't see anyone recognisable.  There's noone out there with her.  It is silent.

It is silent, just her and the huge ocean of her past. So quiet, but it feels different now. She felt it a few days ago, the change. She floated into it, without even seeing it coming, knowing it was there.  Like a tug, a knot being pulled, unravelled. Pulling her further away, without her doing a thing.

And she's out there all alone now. Floating, her head just above water. She never even saw the rip coming, but once she was in it, she was powerless not to follow. Not strong enough. Not smart enough. Not detatched enough. Not anchored enough.

So out she floats. Back out to where she spent so long. Where the water laps at her face and sometimes she just thinks about letting herself go back under.

CurlyPops: The Transplant Waiting List

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This blog is brand new to me, I'm not even entirely sure how I found her. But could there be many more important conversations to have with our loved ones?

Don't you just love her header?

Do you know what your husband/wife/significant other wants done if they die in such a way that their organs are viable? Do you know what you want done with yours? Does your partner know what your wishes are? Have you had the (admittedly difficult) discussion about what you would do if the decision had to be made about one of your children?

And if you haven't, have you considered how you would feel about organ donation if it was your life hanging on the line? Meet Cam, a woman (amazingly crafty, btw - I love her stuff), who has been placed on the waiting list for a double-lung transplant. She has known for more than a decade that this day was coming, but it is here, now. And all she can do is wait.

Did you know that while 98% of Australians believe organ donation is important and can save lives, we have one of the lowest donation rates in the developed world? That only around half of Australians know what the wishes are of their loved ones? That moment when your loved one is on life support is not when you want to be making this decision. When your world is falling apart and your heart is splitting open is not when you want to try to figure out what they would have wanted.

Talk about it today. Tonight. And if you are interested in registering as an organ donor, go here. In Australia, family consent is always sought before organ donation goes ahead, even if you have already stated your wishes. So make sure that the people in your life know your wishes. Don't leave them guessing.

And head on over to Cam's blog and wish her the best.



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Edited: I just went and registered online. It took less than 2 minutes. A letter will be sent to me for my signature. It's a conversation Joel and I have had a hundred times (he is not as adamant as I about organ donation, he doesn't know where he stands, but he knows where I stand). It feel soooo good to finally be on that list.

CurlyPops: The Transplant Waiting List: So today is the official day. 31st August 2011 - the day that I join the active waiting list for a double lung transplant . I was diagn...

From the Vault - One of the most important pieces I ever wrote.

You'll have seen around the blogosphere (hopefully) that RUOK day is coming up, on September 15th.

From their website (for they can say it better than I):

Thursday 15 September, 2011 is R U OK?Day. It’s a national day of action which aims to prevent suicide by encouraging Australians to connect with someone they care about and help stop little problems turning into big ones.



On that day we want everyone across the country, from all backgrounds and walks of life, to ask family, friends and colleagues: "Are you OK?".

Staying connected with others is crucial to our general health and wellbeing. Feeling isolated or hopeless can contribute to depression and other mental illnesses, which can ultimately result in suicide. Regular, meaningful conversations can protect those we know and love.


It's so simple. In the time it takes to have a coffee, you can start a conversation that could change a life.

For many in the Australian blogosphere (particularly Australian mothers), this topic has become very close to home, following the heartbreaking death of Lori's beloved Tony in January.

For some of us though, this topic has been close to our hearts for longer. For we are the sufferers, or the children, partners or parents of sufferers of mental illness. We are people who have contemplated, or know people who have committed suicide. I am both. I have been on both sides of this ugly battle.

I have helped care for my mother through a major depressive episode which saw her desperate to end her life. I have had to stay a step or more ahead of her as she outsmarted trained professionals in her hospital (one of Brisbane's best private psychiactric hospitals).

And of course, as some of you know, I have this battle with the black dog myself. Almost a decade of severe depression (on and off, but more on than off, admittedly), anxiety disorders and a diagnosis of Bipolar 2 about 2 years ago. Suicide has been on my mind so often, I barely know how to tell you.

So I plan, of course, to do a post leading up to September 15th, to talk more about this subject. In all honesty, I've been in a pretty bad place, and am having some difficulty talking about it. Because to be honest with you. I'm not ok. I'm not nearly ok at the moment. I'm drifting out to as not-ok as I have been in quite some time.

But I want you to read this post in the mean time.  I wrote it a couple of years ago.  It is one of the most important (in my opinion) posts I have ever written on this blog. It is one of the closest to my heart.  I ask that you read it, think about it, and if you are so compelled, to share it.

I will be back with a newer post on the subject soon.

Around the Year in 52 books with Averil.

I'm inside my head a bit today, a conversation last night reopened old wounds. Scars I knew were there, but tried hard not to scratch at. Last night they were opened, more than they've ever been opened, in my entire life, and that was hard for both me, and for the person I was talking to.

So. I need to escape. And where else, but into my imaginary worlds, the books I have been reading.  As I've mentioned before, I set a goal to read 52 books this year, with a beautiful friend of mine. I was well on my way until I lost so much of my vision in May, so I have well and truly dropped behind her. 

I still hope to finish the year with my 52 books, but I confess it's harder.  With the exception of a couple of (disastrous) books borrowed from the library, almost everything has to be read on my computer now. Found, downloaded and not terribly portable.  I recently tried desperately to find a large print copy of a book by Kerri Sackville that all of my blogging friends are just loving right now.  She contacted the editor for me, to find out where I could get it in large print. They found it.  At Booktopia. To get it in the print size I need, the book goes from the usual $25ish to $65!

So I have my trusty laptop. And Joel went out and (overcompensated for how upset he is about my vision and my sadness about the reading thing) bought me a 100cm LCD TV that now serves as my computer monitor. It is set up in the bedroom. He got a new large keyboard and my laptop is hooked up to them and I can read and continue writing on a screen I can see. I'll have to get a photo for you (on my new overcompensating phone!). It's ridiculous, but incredibly sweet.

I won't lie. It's not the same. I miss the smell of books. I miss the feeling of the crack of a spine and even being naughty and folding a paperback backwards. And most of all, I miss being that girl who never leaves the house without a book. Ever. Drs appts, any car ride, everywhere. Even if I knew I probably would't get to take the book out, it had to come with me.

But it's thanks to my husband, and internet friend (thank you Simone; you know why) and the wonders of technology, I am still able to read as much as my headaches and eyes will allow. I'm very lucky to still have that.
(Remind me to write that ranting, venting post about how only 5% of printed material in this country is available in large print. Not even the Dept Human Services, dealing with my disability application, will send me my documents in large print!  I know. I asked. I showed them the report from the Retinal Surgeon. Still getting the same print, which I literally can't read and the forms I now need Joel go fill out).

Anyway. Enough of that. Back to my book update.  I'm going to be quick, not go too much into reviews this time (I might try to come back and edit this over the next few days though, when I have more time/energy). I just need to write these down, because I've lost track. I was silly enough to delete a couple of books from my computer after I've read them, and for the life of me can't remember their titles or who wrote them.

Ok.  After the boring letdown of The Paris Wife, I decided to go fluffy. I downloaded this book mostly as a joke, but still it was my dirty little secret (as are the next four), and I just HAD to read it.  I'd heard so much about this one.

27. Sweet Valley Confidential - Ten Years Later Ok, so I know this book was pretty eagerly anticipated by a lot of girls who grew up at the same time as me (I wouldn't have known about it were it not for the FugGirls who raved about it in the build up). I'm not sure I want to spoil it for you. So I have 3 words.

Jumped.The.Shark.

 Seriously. Could she possibly have thrown more into one book, pulled the rug out and simply changed so many people so as to make them unrecognisable and ruined the entire series any more? I think not? Unless she plans to turn it into another series, and fix some of it, I was pretty ticked off at this book.

Next -  My dirty little secret. You already know about it. But I can't help it. This happened.

And then what's a girl to do, but make books 28-32 these? Shut up. Don't pretend some of you aren't dying to go. And I'm a firm believer in re-reading the book(s) before you see the movie, so you can sit there and be annoyed at the bits they ruined.

I was in bittersweet-ville. Because when Eclipse came out last year, I was the happiest I'd ever been in my life and saw the movie with the two best friends I've ever had. This year, I'll be seeing it alone.



33. So after the 5 trashiest books in a row, I felt it was time for a change of pace.  I'd gotten a hold of Northanger Abbey, the BBC version, which I'd never seen before.  So of course, a re-reading of the book was in order first.

Honestly? It's my least favourite Austen. Which still doesn't make it a bad book, but it wouldn't make my top 50 books. It's the only Austen novel I'd say that about. Is it wierd that I feel guilty admitting that?

34. Same rule applied here. I was desperate for some Kenneth Branagh and Emma Thompson (oh why did they have to break up. I loved them together, so much!). 

 So a re-reading of my favourite Shakespearean play was in order. Much ado about nothing.  Beatrice and Benedick are one of my favourite literary couples. This may come as a surprise to you, but I'm kind of into snark. :-)  All kinds of awesome. Doesn't matter how many times I read this (and I'll readily confess to watching the Kenneth Branagh/Emma Thompson version of the play even more often), I'm in love every time.

35. Time for a change of pace (having gotten some of the trailer trash out of my system with some Austen and Shakespeare), I decided non fiction and tried this book about Fibromyalgia. "Figuring out Fibromyaglia" (a condition I've had for 14 years, since I was 22) was written by a woman who was diagnosed with FM when she was in med-school, and she started actively researching the syndrome.

I don't really know how this book is accepted in medical circles (with FMS still being so contraversial within the medical establishment) but I was intrigued at seeing this from the point of view of a Doctor with the illness!

Written with the scientific credibility of a doctor and the compassion of someone “on the inside” who has spent many years using herself as a guinea-pig in a search for effective treatments, “Figuring Out Fibromyalgia” sheds light on new evidence on the causes of fibromyalgia, and which alternative therapies are supported by research.

This paragraph, stood out to me and almost made me cry at sheer relief of hearing someone describe how I feel every single day:

“Previous studies that found no abnormalities in fibromyalgia muscles were only looking at the muscle cells themselves and not at the connective tissue wrapping around the muscles,” Dr. Liptan writes. Some intriguing muscle biopsy studies have found evidence of inflammation in the fascia in people with fibromyalgia that are “similar to muscles that have run a marathon—but without the marathon,” says Dr. Liptan.

Honestly, that sounds about right. I've (coincidentally, my remedial massage therapist I've just started seeing did this treatment without me asking, and before I'd read the book, saying he felt it was the best option for FM patients) been recieving myofascial release treatments. It's early days yet, but he's the first alternative therapy practicioner (I've tried massage, physio, osteopaths, chiropracters, accupuncture, chinese medicine, some wierd crap by a freaky hippy woman in the Witsundays, Bowen therapy..you name it, we've poured money into it in the past 15 years) that hasn't made things worse.

36. The Bought Wife

After the (interesting for me, but still a little dry) non fiction, I was ready to try something light. Wow, did I overshoot.

I downloaded this knowing next to nothing about it (actually, it came in a pack of books, all 'romance' but really poorly disguised (well, had I had book covers, they wouldn't have been disguised at all!) Harlequin crap again. See here, in the cover, it says "Harliequin Historical romance".  Well in the e-pub I downloaded it left the 'harlequin out' and so many of my friends love Historical Romances, I thought I ought to give it a go. This one sounded interesting, and it was better than the other 4 smutty ones that were so horrible I refuse to mention them on here, so they're not even getting counted. They were just trash, and not even good, guilty pleasure trash. Just bad writing.

37. Fortune's Rocks I'm a fan of Anita Shreve, I love the imagery she uses in her books, she transports you like few others can do. I've mixed feelings about this book.  I struggle with the adultery factor - it's not giving it away, the book is about a young girl of 15 who falls deeply in love (requited) with a 42 year old doctor, and the fallout that follows. I'm rather fond of my husband and my children having their father, and I find it difficult to seperate that and just see a love story.
It covers some interesting themes, some things are glossed over, others dealt with beautifully. But I was left a little...meh...at the ending. It felt a bit sudden and rushed, and simply too much left out. 

Having said that, I'll be going back for more.
38. I'm out of order here, I read this a month or so back.  The Last Time I saw You.

The premise was good - a 40th high school reunion, perhaps the last time many will get to catch up with their classmates. It tells the story of several characters, all interweaving and their feelings about high school and each other. The glory days, and the places they've ended up, so different to the way they'd imagined. It's what you'd expect - wistful imaginings of roads not taken, opportunities missed, decisions they wish they could make over.  I think it's received more generous reviews than I would give it though. It wasn't a bad read, but I expected more from Elizabeth Burg and from this book.



39. My current book. The Great Gatsby.  I started reading this years ago, and for some reason couldnt get into it.  I'm not sure. I started a few days ago and I'm really enjoying it this time. Again, something I was determined to read before Baz Luhrmann gets his dirty paws on it and ruins something else.

So that's where I am for now.  I had hoped to be closer to the 50 mark by now, but I've still got a couple of months to go. It is certainly takign me a LOT longer to read on the computer than it did on paper. I'm not sure why, as I love being on the computer, but it's the way it's turning out.  Next will be an autobiography or two, probably Rob Lowe's "Things I only tell my friends" and Tina Fey's "Bossypants" along with some harder fiction works, more emotional. If I'm in a better place. Otherwise, be prepared for more chic lit.

How are you going? What are you reading at the moment? Do you have any recommendations for me? I'd LOVE to hear them.

Cats, dogs and Asperger's Syndrome.

Cats, dogs and Asperger's Syndrome.

I don't know how I missed this article earlier in the week on Mamamia. It is wonderful, and oh, so true. I read this and I see my beautiful sons, and imagine the writer's beautiful daughter.

Whether you have a child on the Autism Spectrum, know someone who does, or just want to learn, be understanding and compassionate to families that live like this every day, please, please give this a read. It is honestly so real and true.

I always did say I was a cat person. :D

I'm not sure I'm cut out for this boy thing..

Another hallmark moment with Samuel, just 10 minutes ago. He was getting ready for bed, and came into mine for a snuggle. "You can rub my back if you want" he likes to say, lifting up the shirt and deigning to let me soothe him,lol.

We stayed that way, just silent, smiling at each other, looking into each other's eyes. Incredibly sweet and bonding, a silent few moments for just the two of us, moments I honestly cherish.

He reaches up and strokes my face, tracing my eyes and my lips, running his hand over my cheeks, the way I always have his.  "Oh Mama", the sweet little voice pipes up.

"What is it darling?", I'm so relaxed, I'm almost drifting off with him. He keeps rubbing my face and I melt into it.

"Mama. I'm gonna fart".  I hadn't even registered the words before he blew me away. I swear, he left a hole in the ozone layer! And my arm.  

Then his customary chuckle as he shakes his head.  "My butt!", like he has THE funniest butt in the world.  And suddenly he's completely relaxed and ready for bed. Out like a light already. Dork. ;-)

Alexander was not like this.  He still apologises prefusely when he passes wind.

Where did I go wrong? And why was it so freaking funny?

I love you. I love you, Sam I am.

Part two of Cherish Your Cherubs-Record your child's life - Samuel Thomas.

Hello, my littlest love.  I've been trying to get a chance to write this post all week, after writing one for Alexander on Monday.  I'm sorry it's taken me so long, we've had a bit of a week, haven't we, Sammy Jam?

Can you believe (I can't) that you will be 4 years old in less than a month!?  I can't.  I swear, baby boy, I honestly still have trouble remembering that you are 3 and not 2. How will Mama ever wrap her head around 4?

How was this 4 years ago?

What to say about you? Except that you are my delicious, cheeky, funny, dorky, sunshiney boy? My little shadow who needs a trillion hugs and kisses a day, and puts such love into every one of them. Who loves to stroke my face and try to make my back better.  Who loves to snuggle on the bed next to me and have my rub your back (you could just ask, you know.  You don't have to just lie down, life your shirt, turn back and raise an eyebrow at me as though I ought to have guessed. I'd say yes, every time. Promise). 

(Sorry, a lot of these will be blurry.  I have literally hundreds of terrible Sam and I pics that he insists on taking on my old phone. They're out of focus, there's usually at least one of our heads cut out, but it's a ritual we have. I have a new phone, so the quality should get better now).

So, I want to talk about my littlest, my last baby (Will I ever be able to stop calling you that? I doubt it, I still find myself saying to your brother), and where you are now, August 2011.

Where you are is rather lovely, Sammy. You are the sunshiniest boy - full of extremes. But the happy extreme - the laughing, squealing, giggling, hugging, tickling. It's exquisite. You are exquisite. It doesn't matter how much it hurts my back, I cannot help but just scoop you up in my arms and hear you giggle as I tickle your tummy. You are soooo ticklish, and you just love wrestling and being tickled. You love being swung around (don't tell Daddy, mkay? He'll tell mama off) and I love to indulge you while I can.



Would you just look at his smile? It is positively gleeful!



You have so much joy, so much love. You're so easily excited and watching you kind of makes my head spin. You're my bipolar boy though (I hope I'm kidding, baby boy and that isn't something you've inherited from me. It is one of my greatest fears), and the other side of you is so deeply emotional, sad, angry, so easily hurt.

 But; first things first. It's kind of a biggie. You still have your car fixation.  And it's becoming more and more a fixation than an interest.  We're noticing some things, Little Man, and we are more and more convinced that you're going to find yourself on the Spectrum like Alexander.  And that's cool.  If anyone can do ASD boys, it's Daddy and I. We're all set.  We just need to get you assessed, sweetie. There are more and more things starting to show up, and I don't want you getting left behind.

You've stopped looking people in the eye, my love. It makes me cry. You have the most amazing, beautiful blue eyes. Huge and blue, I loved looking into them. And now Daddy and I hardly ever can get you to look us in the eye when we talk to you.  In fact, it's getting harder and harder to get your attention away from whatever you're doing.  Whether it's lining up things, reorganising things in the supermarket (you can't stand if they're out of order) or trying to pick at your skin, it's like you physically can't stop and pay attention until it's all finished.  And I know that that frustrates us, and we might seem impatient. But mostly, we're just worried, and we're sad, baby boy. We are worried it's getting worse, and we're not sure why. 

You can watch the same YouTube video or Fireman Sam video literally dozens and dozens of times in a row. And I know lots of kids do that, but this is intense.  The meltdowns when we try to distract you and do something else - heartbreaking. Getting you to listen to what we say, when you're focused on that or something else can be literally impossible. And just like Alexander, you will repeat phrases or sentences over and over again. Some you don't even understand, you've just seen them on a movie. Or others that you do, but you could say 100 times until you get the answer you want.  It took you a long, long time to talk, Sammy, though you had a burst of speech a couple of months after you turned 3, after nothing at all!  And it's lovely, I love, love LOVE talking to you. But it's not quite like talking to other 4 year old boys. It's maybe like talking to a 2-3 year old.

I used to think you were just stubborn like your Mama, but now it seems much worse, and I think it's time to start the assessments. I worry. You're more stubborn than Alexander was, so I'm not sure they're going to go as smoothly. And it might also be hard simply to get you a referral.  Like Alexader, you're so damned friendly (oh, but I love it). You LOVE to talk to strangers, you have no concept AT ALL of strangers and you LOVE the Doctors. You spend so much time in them with me, that you're so used to them. I think they might look at me like I'm crazy, just like they did last time. It's ok though. Ive done this before for your brother and I'll do it for you. I'll be even better at it this time around.

But enough of that. Did I mention that you are soooo delicious? Cuddly? Dorky? Clutsy (such a family trait. Most of the photos we have of you, you're covered in scrapes and bruises. I'm afraid you inherited your Mama's grace). Funny! You're a little entertainer, and you're snarky like me. Is it silly that I LOVE that about you? That I can see so clearly something that is ALL ME in one of my children, and it makes me feel even more bonded.  Remind me of this when you're 14 and snarky. I don't know if it'll be so cute then. ;-)

You love Alexander, like he hung the moon. There is NOTHING you wouldn't do for "Brubba" to spend time playing with you (I had to write "Brubba", before it stops altogether. It's what you've always called him, no matter how hard we tried to get you to call him Alexander or Xander. But you're starting to use "Ayexaner" more and more. It's cute, but I must write Brubba so I don't forget it). You don't have the 'l' sound mastered yet, so everything with an 'l' gets a 'y'. So I get "I weally yove you Mama".  Or "I hurt my yeg". We Mamas and Daddys get a bit sentimental about things like that.  They don't last all that long, and we want to always remember the cute things you say.

Like how at the moment, you're being carried along by Alexander's moviemaking fixation.  You're always a lead actor (it helps being the only one available). But it's gotten so every time you want to show me something (something you've done, or a 'trick' or a 'joke', you start with the words "Cut! Action" before you do whatever hair-greying stunt you want to show!  And then, oh so nonchalantly "Oh, I got that from Garfield 2". (Usually it involves you colliding, on purpose {you dork} with a wall. Which I'm assured by you and Alexander, is in fact, extremely funny! Go figure....).

You're the worst eater in the history of the world, Sam. First, you can not grasp the concept of sitting at the table. Nothing we bribe, cajole, threaten or beg works. Ignoring you entirely doesn't bring you back to the table. Making it fun doesn't bring you back to the table. And you won't sit and eat an actual meal. I don't remember the last time you finished even half of what was put in front of you, even when it was something you begged for (Unless it was a biscuit. Typical, sweet tooth like your Daddy and brother).   These biscuits, in fact, are your latest obsession.

They're a cheap, generic brand of biscuits that I bought one day to try. They are ridiculously delicious, and so morish. And for some reason, you call them "funny biscuits".  And I feel like my entire life is spent negotiating with you over these things. You'll do ANYthing for '5 funny biscuits' (they're small). But it's the first thing you ask for when you wake up (and I will not give you biscuits for breakfast, I don't care how much you 'weally Yike them") and the last thing you want before you go to bed.  And in between all you want is yoghurt, funny biscuits or crackers. If I've gotten a banana in (most days, with the promise of a funny biscuit afterwards) it's a successful day! 

And now you've got Uncle Josh and Aunty Tammy hooked too.  And not just that, the entire family calls them 'funny biscuits' (I wonder how many blog friends will end up calling them Sammy's funny biscuits?).

You love Fireman Sam and Cars (and Cars 2). You have just discovered The Spy Next Door which you call "Sparnadoor" but somehow I know what you mean, just as I know that "Naked butterflies (I swear, that's what it sounds like) actually means "Ned's Declassified", one of Alexander's favourite shows.  I think they're both a little old for you, but Alexander loves them, so of course you do. (The theme song is Secret Agent Man, except in my head, for some reason it is "Secret Asian Man" and I cannot.make.it.stop - a fact Joel loves to use against me buy bringing it up when I finally replace it. And then I have wierd conversations in my head about how Jackie Chan could possibly hide that he is asian...see what you do to me?).

And did I mention, you are all boy. I mean, I'm talking the absolute stereotypical burping, farting, dirty, stinky boy? So unlike Alexander. You think anything related to butts is hysterically funny. In fact, you can just, out of the blue start laughing, shake your head and say "My butt" like it just told you a joke! It is bizarre and hysterical at the same time. You're a butt man, but mostly, it's your own. ;- )  It's so odd to me, having such a boyish boy, when I am such a girlish girl.  You genuinely worry and feel sorry for me that I don't have a penis.  You're convinced (somehow? I honestly take no responsibility for this one. I brainwash my children on a regular basis, but not this time) that your Daddy took mine and left me with a "Shiner" instead. And you tell me how sad you are for me. No matter how many times I tell you I love being a girl, and it's great to have a vagina, you just sadly shake your head, rub my back and say "but you got no penis" as though I'm some poor sap who doesn't even know how bad things really are.

I love the golden curls (that have been cut off at the moment, but are making their way back) and we are stopped in the street constantly while people admire them. I love the softness of your cheeks. I don't know if anything in the world is quite so soft, Samuel Thomas. I love when you sneak into my bed at night and curl your body in to fit mine, wrapping my arm around you and literally hugging my hand beneath your neck as you immediately drift back off, a sleepy "I yove you Mama" breathed into my pillow. I lay with you, just feeling you breathe for a while, revelling in these last moments that I will have a 'baby' in my bed. I know eventually Daddy will stir and take you back to your bed (it hurts my neck and back so much to lie like that with you my love, no matter how much I love it) but for that little while (sometimes I get a couple of hours), it's just me with my baby boy in my arms again.

I wish I could keep you there.  You're so anxious to grow up with your brother, experience what he is experiencing, be friends with his friends. Ride your bike with him, watch the same movies as him, watch him on the Wii..I just want it all to slow down and keep my two little men little for as long as I can. Safe in our home, in our arms.

Your closest other friend is Madeline of course, though you and she can clash a bit (I'm not sure you know what to do with a dominant woman, Sammy. Better watch out for that one day. ;-D  ) and you adore each other.  I don't have words for how much I love sitting with Aunty Tammy, watching our children play. It was a day we dreamed about, and it's here, and just as wonderful as I'd imagined.

When we had Alexander, we were pretty sure were were just going to have one baby, Sammy. We knew my health was an issue, and we thought we could just devote everything we had into Alexander.  And by the time he was a year and a half old, were were pretty sure he had autism, so we thought it best. But by the time he was 2, we realised he was lonely. And just because my experience with siblings is so horrible, didn't mean Alexander's would have to be.  It took us exactly 2 years of trying before we got you.  And darling, we lost a couple of precious babies along the way, and there were so many times we nearly lost you.

Having you was the hardest thing I've ever done in my life. But oh, I wish you knew how glad I am that I did. You, my little love, are worth every second of it.  Every time you tilt your head, scrunch up your eyes and do your 'con' smile, you are worth it for the chuckle you give me.  Every time you greet your brother in the garage when he comes home and you fall to the ground together, hugging, you are worth it.  Every time you are on your Daddy's shoulders and letting him play super Sam with you, you are worth it.  Every time you snuggle into bed with me and hug my arm, you are worth every single struggle we had to get you.

You, Samuel Thomas, are a gift. A final, longed for, beautiful gift. You complete our family, and fill it with more laughing and silliness and hugs and kisses (and funny biscuits) than any family can have. Our hearts, all of them , are full of our love for you. Sleep sweet, my little love. Maybe I'll see you in an hour or so, curled up in my bed with me. I love you.  I love you to the moon and back. 

There's still another day or so to join in with the link up before the next week's challenge is set up - Remember.  I already know what I'm doing with this one, Yay! I never know in advance.

Giving

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We are spring cleaning at the moment. A job I despise. It's even worse, because we are re-arranging 3 of our bedrooms and the office space.  We're turning Alexander's bedroom into a playroom, the playroom into Alexander and Sam's bedroom (they've finally got the bunks they've wanted for a year and a half) and we're turning Sam's bedroom into Joel's man cave office.  Actually, I'm not sure why I crossed out man cave.  I jokingly referred to it as that yesterday, and the boys took it seriously. It's what they call it. :-)

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Anyway. Not the point, really.  I have been going a little stir crazy over the mess in the boys' bedrooms and the playroom. It isn't at hoarder/bad reality show proportions, but it's enough to make Joel and I agitated. It takes so little time to get it into an appalling state.  And then an hour to clean the playroom up, with much complaint from Boy 1, and little help from Boy 2. And by little help, I mean he literally just tips the boxes back out and starts playing in the middle of the cleaning spree. Infuriating to Alexander, which then sparks meltdown, which then sparks meltdown from Sam, which then sparks mini-meltdown (grumpy mood) from Joel which has me rocking in the corner of our bedroom pretending like I can't hear any of it.  And breathe.

So.  I spoke to Joel and Alexander (Sam doesn't get a vote. He's too freaking cute and I'd just end up voting with him by default. He has magical powers, that one. Don't say I didn't warn you). I said that I felt (strongly) that we have too many toys. We still have a lot of our baby/toddler toys (despite getting rid of most of our baby toys when Madeline was a baby, sending them her way, there were a lot left over) and a whole host of other toys that they don't really play with.

And tell me we're not the only household that still somehow has all of that crap at the bottom of (more than one) toybox, that's broken/missing pieces/haven't seen for a year.  And..erm....bits of stale bread crust! That was a surprise, I'll grant you (Samuel Thomas!).

And still...not the point. I'm getting there, honest. You should know me by now, and should probably have made yourself a cuppa. Gotten supplies.

So I asked Alexander how he felt about donating some of the toys (I was thinking to Vinnies/Salvos, whatever Second Hand shop is nearby, I confess, I've yet to step into one {Averil, you HAVE to take me} and never even notice who owns which one).  I explained that it could be good for other children who don't have many toys.

And he piped up (ooh! Look! The point. Told you I'd get there!) "Like those children in Africa? With no food and no toys at all? Can we take them there? That's who I want to give my toys to". Silence for a moment from me, as I'm touched that he has paid attention to our recent, lite-version discussions with some (censored by Mama) pictures and video footage of the devestating famine and drought in the Horn of Africa.

All four of these photos were taking by Brendan Bannon and appear on the MSF website.

"Well, darling. We can't really take them there.  Africa is a very, very long way away, and we certainly can't get on a plane and take toys. But it's a lovely thought.  So why don't we just take them to one of the shops near us, and some of the children from around here can have some toys and clothes?". Convince this will satisfy him, I start plotting what I can get rid of.

"No. The children around here have food and water. And they probably have some toys, even if it's not many. But those children over in Africa don't have any. I saw it. They have nowhere to play and nothing to play with. I want them to have it. Why can't we give them to them?". Big brown eyes look up at me as he wants me to fix this. To help him do something to fix this.

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"Well, darling. There are special groups that go over to Africa, and they help the people there.  They decide who needs food, medicine, clothes, toys, houses. They get money from people like us, and they make sure that they get them where they need to go".

"Ok. So lets go to Africa and give them our toys. They can have all of our toys except Penelope". (Penelope is one of the most treasured items in our home. She has been Alexander's best friend since he was 20 weeks old, and we will never, ever be able to part with her).

"Darling. We can't go there. Honestly, we just can't go to Africa and give toys to anyone".

"Well where can we go to give the Africa people our toys and clothes? And some food too".

"I think you need to understand that toys aren't really what they need the most. These people, they really are starving, dying. They need food and water and medicine.  And the only way we can help them with that is to give money to these special groups, so that they can buy the food and medicine and they can keep doing their hard work".

"So can we give them some money? I know we don't have lots, but can we give them some? How do we give them a little bit of money?"  And my heart swells as I look at that earnest face and see he's deadly serious about this. And I could not be prouder, because this is something so incredibly important to me. Raising children with empathy and a social conscience. And here, my autistic 8 year old is just desperate to find a way to help people he will never meet, can never meet, in the only way he can.

So today, small donations(for sadly they will have to be small) will be made in the name of Alexander Mitchell to Médecins Sans Frontières to help them continue their work in Sudan, Somalia, Ethiopia and Kenya. It is important to me that any donation go to an organisation independant of any church or government, so I feel really comfortable with choosing MSF. And I so admire their dedication, and the fact that while most organisations fled (though I'm not saying I don't understand why), MSF has been determined to stay and do what it could.

So, my little man, sat down with his Daddy last night and explained to him what he was feeling, and what he wanted to do. Daddy left the room for a moment, so touched he had tears. Returned and hugged the hell out of his boy.

We are both proud. It is not a large donation, but it comes from the heart of a well meaning little boy, and for that, we could not be more thrilled to give it.