green monster juice

About six months ago my vegie-loving four-year-old refused to eat his greens. And while he's happy to eat raw carrot, tomatoes and the occasional cob of corn, anything leafy has not passed his lips.

I'm all for encouraging children to eat a variety of foods but I don't like the idea of the dinner table becoming a battlefield. 

So...I've been sneaking spinach into bolognaise and trips to the local fruit shop have been a brilliant excuse for fresh juice. But while the joy of watching him sip orange/pineapple/celery/ginger juice is wonderful, the cost is not.

My naturopath has been encouraging me to buy a juicer for about a year now. And I've been umming and ahhing about buying a juicer for around the same time. It just seemed to be another expense and it got pushed further and further down the list.

But when autumn hit and with it came sniffles and lethargy I decided to find a really good juicer. One that kept the enzymes and nutrients in the juice and created minimal waste from the produce. Hello juicepresso!

Every morning for the past three weeks we've been enjoying fresh juice and we love it. The best bit? Che has been having a daily dose of fresh kale and baby spinach in his green monster juice (I also add orange, kiwifruit and apple) and I am one happy muma. 

at the workshop

Popa's workshop is much like his potting shed; overflowing with collected bits and bobs. The industrial theme is a little more prevalent though - spanners instead of shovels, oil instead of dirt. But just like Popa grows things in his garden, he gives new life to things at work. He restores old cars; beautiful vintage rides. He can take the shell of a Jaguar and turn it into a prize-wining piece of art. He sources the oddest of engine parts from all over the world and if he can't find what he's looking for he just makes it himself.

My dad doesn't buy a lot of new. Instead, he scours and collects and often, he makes-do. It was a lesson instilled in him during childhood - the second-youngest of five in an English working-class family. 

I love that he's encouraging my children to think the same way. 

25/52

"A portrait of my children, once a week, every week, in 2012."

Che: He declared it a wonderful day because (in order of wonderfullness):

1. We got to visit Popa
2. He got to go on an extra long bike ride

3. He got to eat a cinnamon donut

Poet:....is hatching a plan. A mischievous one by the looks of it. 

52

glorious winter

And with the winter solstice our days begin to grow longer. Although, I really do love having dinner on the stove at 4pm, making that five o'clock chaos a little more bearable.

Right now my working days are punctuated by cups of tea (I'm loving natures cuppa organic ceylon and clipper teas herbal infusions - peppermint, chamomile and nettle) and the occasional square or two of chocolate. Inspiring projects are bubbling away around me, projects that are dream-come-true. I'm collaborating with talented creatives and I feel, for the first time in my career, that this is most definitely right and overwhelmingly good.

When I need to step away from the words I wander on slow walks and photograph true winter. When you start to take a lot of photos you begin to judge scenes by light. And winter has the clearest, whitest light of all the seasons. It's fresh and clean and pure. Innocent, even. 

My days are full right now, brimming. In between work commitments there's a first birthday to organise (!) and the never-ending muma tasks that, at times, are too many to contemplate. Every day, I bellow: "Put your socks on!" 

Far too often there are bare toes tapping the floorboards. 

birth culture

My beautiful friend Natalia gave birth to her daughter, at home, in the water, last September. Natalia recently told me the story of her rich Aboriginal culture and the rituals surrounding her birth and she's given me permission to share it here, with you. 

In her inspiring words:

"...When I went to the Coorong, Murray River, for my first visit I knew I wanted to sit in the dirt with the Aunties and weave. Weaving is a girl's right of passage into womanhood - once you learn to weave you are ready to fall pregnant. I got to weave only a few stitches but within less than a month I was pregnant with Estelle. 

The first time she touched the earth was on this mat. Made by one of the master weavers from our tribe - Ngarrindjeri - down south. Her feet were dusted with earth from where our dream story began. The flower on her back was made by my mother from Pelican feathers. The women originally made them to sell to the "tourists" (treasures made by the exotic other) - it was the only item they had to trade which ensured they could stay "in country" and not be removed in the assimilation policy. 

After making placenta prints (tree of life) my placenta was encapsulated. The umbilical cord we dried in a spiral (the spiral is the symbol for women) and wrapped it in a placenta print with a copy of my story "Returning to Country". I then bound it with paperbark and twine and buried it in country. The women from my culture have buried their babies' placentas and umbilical cords for years.

I felt a strong connection to the land when I visited my ancestral country for the first time. I also felt deeply saddened by the fact that I had grown up detached from my heritage. In a way I felt lost from my soul's song. I wanted Estelle to be born into that connection and know what it is to be connected to her people and the land. I want her to know belonging and not to have to spend a good part of her life, like I did, in search of it. 

I felt privileged that my Aunties and cousins embraced my choice to do this for Estelle. It was a powerful move to realign my life with my culture." - Natalia

Photo by Jane

at home with...

The beautiful Charlotte Rivers from Lottie Loves has posted a little feature on my home today. Enjoy a sneak peek into my abode...

Daniel slammed down the brakes of the car a few weeks ago when I squealed at the sight of a dolls house sitting out the front of a garage sale. It was $20 and a dream come true. 

24/52

"A portrait of my children, once a week, every week, in 2012."

Che: Tree-climbing elf.

Poet: She rumbles and tumbles but rarely does she cry. 

I'm a little overwhelmed by your enthusiasm for this project. Thank you! And of course I'll keep posting. For those that asked...yes, these photos and captions will become a book at the end of the year. Tamara and Lou have jumped on-board too. So should you!

52

sakura bloom sling diaries - communication

It was grey, wet and windy so we rugged up for a quick dash to the fruit and veg barn. I always wear Poet in the sling when we shop, so I can chat to her as we walk the aisles, sneak her grapes to taste-test and show her the world from up high. 

That's the beauty of babywearing - the opportunity for her to observe and learn from the rituals of the every day.

I wear the simple silk sling in amber.

exploration
style
love

*note the overt sibling rivalry with the bubble blower turned lightsaber?! Hmmmmmm

Luisa dodged shopping trolleys and rain-drenched shoppers to get these shots. Thank you!

we gather here

The 95-year-old cottage across the road is up for auction. I wandered over there a few weeks ago to inspect the junk pile out front and I accidentally (luckily) got invited inside. Upon entering the kitchen I found my new table, patiently waiting for me. It has the patina of cutlery scratches and teapot burns. It came with a story, a good one, I think. 

I lit a beeswax candle for our first meal together. It didn't take long for Daniel and I to notice the two empty chairs. A bigger table requires a bigger family. There's two more spaces to fill (but not just yet).

Photos by the ever-lovely luisa who couldn't quite believe that we drink juice from jam jars.

him and i

Around this time last year I was full-bellied and waddling and my almost-four-year-old was holding my hand as we explored. We used to talk, the two of us, about the baby. He always knew it would be a girl.

I remember feeling elated about the imminent birth and yet underlying the excitement and anticipation was a true sadness. In late pregnancy I already missed the time that I would spend with my boy, my first-born, just the two of us. It hurt to think of just how much his life was about to change and just how much I would change, as his muma.

Of course, with change comes growth, and there was very little sadness in those first few months of Poet's life. But since his half-birthday, as he journeys closer and closer to five (!), I have noticed an enormous shift in his little being. 

Because there's one foot in four and one foot teetering at the big school gates. And me oh my it's overwhelming.

My gentle, intriguing chatterbox has discovered determination and assertion. Good traits for school life. Now, more than ever, he needs that time with me, to amble around the garden and pick lemons and climb trees. 

My truth? I need that time with him. To nurture his little self, to chat about why the tree fell down, to plan the baking of jam drops. To be there, with him, and only him. 

School next year - I can't talk about it. Not yet. 

23/52

"A portrait of my children, once a week, every week, in 2012."

Che: Hiding from the camera, discovering the scariest of shadows

Poet: Her first cold -  snotty-nosed and red-cheeked yet still giggling with glee

52

I'm unsure whether I'm going to continue posting these portraits every week. Are you bored yet? Perhaps you're a little tired of looking at photographs of my children. Please, do tell...

Q & A - preparing for a VBAC

Last week in my pre-natal classes I discussed two words - determination and doubt. And I posed the question: "do you doubt that you can birth your baby naturally?"

The three students who admitted out loud, without any hesitation, that they were doubtful, are all preparing for a Vaginal Birth After Caesarean (VBAC).

oh hello winter

For the past week I have chased my children around the house with a tissue. And so, it came as no surprise, that Daniel and I woke today with sore throats and heavy heads. 

Winter is here.

The past few days have been grey and windy and we've been cuddled up inside, cringing at the coughs and splutters of little beings. Mind you, they don't seem to mind that much. They're snacking on vegemite toast and mandarins and watching a little too much tv. 

Thankfully our neighbour has a lemon tree bearing an abundance of fruit so I've been making lemon and honey tea to soothe the razor blade throat. I've taken a liking to black tea with ginger and honey too. Vegie soup with garlic and black pepper is on the stove for a late lunch - a bit of spice to clear the chest.

In between writing what may be completely incoherent stories I have been watching new life unfold. Roo was born last week, the end of a wonderful pregnancy, the beginning of a blessed life. Tim wrote Roo's birth story today and gosh, it's a powerful one. Their birth journey, as a family, encompasses the unknown path of first-time parents - the raw, primal, exhausting, confronting, wonderful, joyous experience that changes you, forever. 

Tim and Kesh, I'm so proud to know you, so inspired by your story. Little Roo, you have chosen well. Welcome, precious one, to this big world. It's all the more beautiful because of you. x

22/52

"A portrait of my children, once a week, every week, in 2012."

Che: He's been sick most of the week with a cold. His new friend came as a surprise in the mail, a welcome gift.

Poet: Miss Expressive. Always enthusiastic. So excitable. 

52

behind the scenes: tamara erbacher

Whilst we wandered around inner-city Melbourne, Tamara took photos and Daniel subtly filmed. I love this very French-inspired perspective of the photographer at work.

PS. Can you find this heart in the film? It's there, I promise.

behind the scenes: tim coulson

on working from home

When I say I work from home most people assume I stay in my pyjamas all day. Which is true, occasionally. 

Working from home is both wonderful and challenging. I've never had to refuse Poet a breastfeed but sometimes her consistent moans for Muma cease work a little early. Hence I don't work a 9-5 day. Sometimes I get up an hour or so before the sun and I write in the peace that is the early morning. This, for me, is a really productive time. Lately, I've finished work at 1pm and recommenced at 7.30pm when the house is once again quiet. In between magazine articles, research and emails I sip tea made by Daniel and have lunch with the family. I have learnt to never, ever attempt coherent sentences between the hours of 4-6pm (gosh, such a challenging time).

Like all creatives I find that sometimes the words flow and at other times I can spend an hour reading blogs gazing at a blank screen. I've learnt to leave it, put some washing on, get outside for a few minutes. Sometimes my self-discipline is seriously lacking and I have to force myself onto the desk chair and at other times I have to turn the screen off in order to step away. 

When you work from home work is always there. 

I write three-six months in advance for a variety of publications - bridal, health, kids, travel and only occasionally do I grab the magazines and read my stories in print. That's why I love blogging so much, it's instant publication that often prompts immediate feedback. 

For about a year now I have considered adding some sponsorship to my sidebar. I'm an absolute procrastinator so I have seriously gone back and forth, mulling over whether I should or shouldn't. But then I realised that I have the opportunity to support fellow creatives and promote their good work. In turn, they support my art and my family. 

And so you will see, on the sidebar, a few gorgeous ads. And you will only ever see ads that are promoting people who share very similar values to me - who believe wholeheartedly in the beauty and goodness of creativity, sustainability and, often, handmade. If you are interested in sponsorship, of course, I'd be happy to chat with you over email. 

While I would like to stay here all day, writing without the pressure of promised editorial or looming deadline, there is a long list of stories awaiting their first sentence.

Happy Friday!

The big white trestle table is where I work. Photo by the new dad!