Hike to Westmorland Falls

This past weekend was a very busy one for us. It was labor day weekend in Tassie, which meant three day weekend! Three days Phillip had off work to spend with Simon and me.

But since an old friend/my sister-in-law's now-fiancée-but-over-the-weekend-was-her-boyfriend was visiting, there were extended family outings planned. Which turned in to just the two of them, us three, and my mother-in-law, for a hike to Westmorland Falls. Then an "only our little family" outing to   Steam Fest, but that's fodder for another post.

Playing with a new texture: moss

Hiking with a toddler is... interesting. This was a fairly easy hike. Not flat, but not a whole lot of steep inclines that can be typical of hiking paths around here. But it was not stroller or pram friendly at all. Thankfully, Simon seems to have even more energy than your average 1.5 year old, and wanted, and was able to, walk most of the 2+ hour hike. The only parts he didn't walk were the parts we deemed to steep and slippery for him, or when we walked very close to water or over bridges. And he fought us the whole time to get down and walk himself.

A little over an hour of walking and we reached the main falls. It was beautiful. While us adults find such things calming and want to relax for a bit by them enjoying the beauty, our little toddler wanted to keep waking and exploring (no tired feet or little legs on this one, let's keep moving!). Phillip was kind enough to take him tramping through some mud and bushes so I could take photos.

Throwing leaves off the bridge on the way to the falls

The walk back was slightly more relaxed. Simon walked nearly the whole way back, complaining, again, at any assistance given so he didn't tumble head over heels down steep embankments. I ended up with an excruciatingly sore knee (no idea why) and a bad blister because I stepped in water while taking photos.

It was a lovely walk though, and we'd love to do it again!

The end result of over two hours of walking

Simon was pooped at the end of the walk, but somehow not utterly exhausted. He napped for a solid 40 minutes in the car, woke up, and ran some more.

I don't wonder why I'm so tired at the end of every day, any more. This child needs this level of activity every day to keep him happy and sane!

Bitten. Again.

As if snakes weren't bad enough, I have to also worry about venomous ants. 

I got bit for the first time, by Jack Jumpers, last week. 

I've been bitten by Inchmen before. It wasn't nice. Hurt a LOT, and was swollen and itchy for over a week.

When Phillip and I were in Hobart for Ben we visited a free museum (doctors encouraged us to get out of the hospital in between tests as much as possible). There was a Jack Jumper nest on display. And some facts about them being the deadliest animal... creature... in Tasmania. 

Which was surprising. I mean, it's an ant. And not even a large ant. 

But they have a pretty venomous sting that, unfortunately, can commonly cause anaphylaxis. 

They can also jump. 

And have quite a temper. 

And there are at least 3 nests on the small bit of property we own, and the immediate surrounding area that our landlord lets us use (though we don't technically rent that land). I knew they give pretty painful bites (second-hand knowledge till now), and that Phillip is so allergic to the sting, the surrounding area gets ridiculously swollen. Yet another thing I've had to avoid like crazy during outdoor play so Simon and myself don't get stung. They are EVERYWHERE around our house. 

But when we took a walk one evening with Simon, and I saw some blackberries that looked ripe, I was thinking more along the lines of "there's no snakes around, yay! Simon loves blackberries, I can give him a small treat!" than looking out for yet another Jack Jumper nest. So as I reached to check the blackberries, I started to feel a sudden BURNING sting on my ankle. 

Looking down, there were Jack Jumpers swarming everywhere around my foot. I have no real idea what happened next except I apparently, in a panicked tone, asked my husband for help while flicking the ants out of my sock and backing away from the nest, then grabbed Simon and we walked away, me swearing in my head and trying not to panic. 

The ants didn't stay on me, and I only ended up with three bits on my ankle. Somehow I didn't get stung on the hand while pulling the ants out of my sock. Based on my reaction from the Inchman bite, I was thinking something along the same lines would happen or worse, and began frantically (calmly) Googleing what to do for the bites.

I was worried for nothing, as it turns out. All night, the most that happened was the bite marks stung badly now and then, and a week and a day later, they are just VERY itchy. But no worse than a mosquito bite. 

And I have, yet again with my reaction to something, scared Simon sufficiently enough that he really doesn't want anything to do with these bugs. He kept saying "Ma, ow. Ow. Ba bu." (Translated: Mommy, ow. Ow. Bad bugs.) I'm taking that as a very good thing to come out of this.

Also good? Learning the ant stings don't do much more to me than hurt like hell. 

A Mere Meter Away

I'm paranoid about snakes in Australia.

My first year living here, I had several encounters with them. (You can refresh your memory about them here, here, and here.)

So I look out for them when I take Simon out. And we go outside every day, weather permitting. Being that its summer, we're outside quite a bit taking walks under the gum trees, sometimes down to the (dried up) stream.

But I look. Closely. And really, snakes don't like people. They don't WANT to be around people. They're probably there, watching us walk, I'm sure, all the time. But they want to stay out of the way, and that is good for both parties.

Except yesterday.

Yesterday, even though I was watching for them, immediately after set Simon down to walk on his own, I saw it.

A meter away from me. Camouflaged perfectly in the gum bark strewn across the grass.

A meter-long, jet black tiger snake.

And my child only just out of reach, apparently having just walked past it!

I called him to me (and have never been more grateful for the training Phillip put in to teaching him to come when he's called while we're outside!), grabbed him by his arms, yanked him up, and started to gently run backwards.

Sounds weird, yes. But I'm trying to get my child and myself away from this snake in as non-threatening yet quick a way as possible.

The snake flattened out it's neck almost cobra-style (yes, they do that), glanced at me, and quickly slithered in the opposite direction into some brambles surrounding a nearby tree.

I ran into the house, sat down, shaking, hugging and kissing Simon, crying.

Oye...

The Berry Patch

It wasn't too long ago, really, that we decided to try and do monthly family outings.

Nothing special, just a few hours where we could get out of the house and not worry about work, cleaning, schedules (other than nap time!), and just BE. Just our little family.

That kind of went on hold when Ben died. Partly because I was still recovering from my c-section. Partly because we let ourselves get wrapped up in "what needs to be done around the house" again, because that was easier. Combine that with Phillip having the busiest work schedule in nearly four years and then being so tired on the weekend he wasn't in much of an attitude to go out and do something. We just haven't gotten out for much more than grocery shopping in the past almost 4 months now.

But our friends (who also happen to be Phillip's employers... I have probably mentioned that at some point...) invited us to go berry picking with them last weekend.Somehow, the men ended up with a Monday off work (after having to work Saturday). So off to The Berry Patch we went.

It was the nicest day we have had in so so long.

The children's play area.
Large straw bales to climb on!

Relaxed, anxiety free (my first in months!), FUN.

And Phillip and I have no clue what the recipe for it was. Because we left late. Got a little lost finding the entrance. Didn't even get to spend all that much time with our friends and their kids (because we were late).

But it was wonderful.

Simon enjoyed tearing up and down the rows of berries, running full tilt and yelling. And QUICKLY discovered what a ripe blackberry looked like and (according to Phillip who was watching him at the time) grabbed several quicker than could be seen and stuffed them in his little mouth, running away quickly so he could do it again. He was pretty well covered in juice, and we had a fun time trying to teach him to NOT pick and eat.


We ended up with close to 3 kilos of strawberries that we have slowly been eating our way through, and about 1 of blackberries. HUGE blackberries.

Those blackberries? Half got turned into some fantastic blackberry pie bars (halving the recipe and cutting out 1/4c of sugar in the filling). If we don't eat the rest of the berries very soon, I might be making an apricot and blackberry cobbler again.








The day was finished with a short trip to the beach for some wading and digging in sand, heading home, and getting there JUST in time for a LOOOOONG nap for Simon, and some relaxed lounging for Phillip and me.

We also forgot Simon's swimming gear...

Simon remembered a spoon though.
He rarely goes anywhere without a measuring spoon...

Finding Some Beauty Through The Pain

Just before Simon was born, I asked for, and was given, a spot and date to exhibit my paintings.

I naively thought that newborns slept a lot. I was also unaware of how much pregnancy really exhausts me beyond any other kind of exhaustion I've ever experienced, including sleepless nights with a newborn.

A few months before I was meant to bring in my paintings, I admitted to myself it just wasn't going to happen, told the shop owner, and left the dream for another day, when I had a firmer grasp on this motherhood thing or more help at home, giving me time to paint.

And then I was pregnant again. And really really sick. And exhausted again. All. The. Time. With a toddler on top of it.

And then Ben was born. And I had no newborn keeping me up, or busy with feedings and holdings all day. And I have a fairly independent toddler who naps regularly and sleeps very well at night.

Now, I still don't really have a firm grasp on motherhood (but I've gotten good at faking it, and I think I'm a pretty terrific mom), and have the same amount of help around the house as before. But I have time, energy, and grief to work with now. And I needed... SOMETHING... to work towards. Some little way of moving forward instead of just stagnating.

So I asked again if I could show my paintings.

And they said yes. In March if I was up to it.

So I have been working my butt off the last few weeks painting every night and at Simon's nap time.

It doesn't mean I'm OK. It doesn't mean I'm "over it" and have worked through the grief of losing my son. But it does mean I can still be involved in something I enjoy. And that I can still find beauty through the pain (I may or may not have partially been inspired to take the big step of actually committing to do this by an episode of Dr. Who...*). And having that goal has helped me see past the pain and work with it.

It took a lot of thinking and praying to commit to this, honestly. Not only am I so overwhelmed by feelings sometimes that just getting out of bed and making sure Simon is fed, clean, and not in danger of jumping head-first off things is a massive effort, but this would be/is real work. That I am committed to someone else to have finished.

Then there is all this guilt. Stupid, stupid guilt over having free time. Because I SHOULDN'T. I shouldn't have the time or energy to be painting at night or in the afternoons. So while every painting I finish is a triumph, a little "yay me! I'm doing things!", it is followed quickly by the thought "this is just wrong". And working with that takes effort, too, because at first I couldn't do anything because of it. Now the wrongness is changing to, "well, life is just wrong and not how it should be, without my second son, but I can work with it, and through it, and try to accept the wrongness as just a part of a "normal" life".

*I do NOT compare myself to Van Gough. I am a ridiculous amateur who is half decent with a brush, not a master of putting color and light and emotion on canvas. 

Christmas:2014

Yes I'm posting this a bit late. I have reasons. Which will come in the next post. Also in this one. 

Christmas was an interesting combination of fun, relaxed, and heart-wrenchingly painful.

It was Simon's second Christmas and, at 19 months, he still doesn't GET it, but was old enough to actually enjoy opening gifts and playing with them. 

Reading Miki by Stephen Mackey

For 10 minutes. Then he discovered wrapping paper and boxes and the same stuff he takes out of the kitchen cupboards every day.

And while seeing him SUPER excited to open up his new cars and trucks was quite fun, when he put those off to the side because he opened up the books we'd gotten him while we were in Hobart, and sat on his daddy's lap for 15 minutes asking to be read to, my heart swelled with pride and melted a little bit. Because my child loves books! And I don't know that there is anything he can do at this age that would make me prouder.

It was so nice to have a quiet Christmas morning, just the three of us. To enjoy Simon's happiness and at the same time remember that we should have had little Ben with us, too, to share toys with, and kisses, and have pictures of his first Christmas. And we needed that quiet time together, the three of us, to remember, to cry, to laugh, and to prepare for the big family Christmas day with everyone from my husband's side of the family. 

HAM!
We love ham.

The night before I'd made a really nice Christmas Eve dinner of ham and veggies. And home-made cooked egg nog. Oh. My. YUM. We ate leftover cold ham for breakfast with, what is becoming kind of a tradition for us, fresh, flaky biscuits and eggs. We try to keep it small because Christmas lunch with my husband's family tends to be HUGE. And then they eat the leftovers cold for dinner. It's quite delicious.

No gingerbread house or TARDIS this year. Just plain cookies.

I tried adding to it, at least for immediate family members and some choice friends, anyway, by baking gifts this year. A combination of gingerbread, almond roca, and some chocolate chip cookie dough truffles (I can't choose a favorite. They were all fantastic to, um, taste-test...). I let Simon "help" me this year. Since gingerbread dough has no egg in it, I thought he could play with some of the dough while I made the cookies. Turns out, Simon LOVES gingerbread (he now ASKS for it yelling "Dindinbeh!") and immediately stuffed the bits of dough in his mouth and yelled for more. So, not wanting a toddler hyped up on sugar, I put a stop to his "helping" and gave him rice puffs instead. Later, he learned the art of stealing cookies while I am distracted frosting them. Was he helpful? No. Was it annoying? No. I decided when I started that I was going to enjoy the time with him no matter what. We spent time together doing things. Well worth loosing some gingerbread and time baking to make the memories I now have of him!

Bites of heaven.
I mean eggless chocolate chip cookie dough truffles.

This year was honestly probably the most relaxed and nice Christmas we've been to. 

Except that by the end, I had had more than enough socializing and pretending that I was ok. Because I wasn't. The one and only time I mentioned Ben's name and being in the hospital was during a legitimate story I was asked about (why Simon was running around singing, "Die Die Die!". It's from the song Dumb Ways to Die, which I had on my tablet the first time we were in the hospital waiting for scan results and ran out of ways to entertain Simon. So we let him watch it and he is kind of obsessed with it now). The people listening actually turned away from me. I mean legitimately turned their backs and stopped looking at me. To say it was hurtful would be downplaying what that felt like. It was one of those moments where I was tempted to yell "I DON'T HAVE A DISEASE!". I get that I am the face of pain to them right now, and they don't know what to do, but really, it was probably one of the worst things they could have done. Well, that, and ignore me. Which they did too. It was super fun, let me tell you...

You can use tractors and trucks to make cookies.
Right?

But Simon had fun. And that made most of it worth it. And by the end of the night, at home with Simon in bed, sitting with Phillip, a glass of wine, and watching Elf (after shedding copious amounts of tears, because you can't cry while watching Elf. It's too funny), I could say it was a nice Christmas with my little family. 

Silent No More

A fair warning to anyone who reads this blog: I will talk about my dead son.

Apparently, the fact that I HAVE a dead son and mourn his loss makes people uncomfortable.

The fact that I am slowly gaining the strength and courage to actually talk about him, and the trauma of loosing him, makes people more uncomfortable.

And so I warn you, I will not be silent about it. It is a fact and a pain that permeates every facet of our lives now. And I will not ignore it. 

And if that bothers you, stop reading. Stop following. 

I tell you this not to spare your feelings, not to make you less comfortable. Because I don't care about your feelings right now.

I care about mine. 

I care about my husband's.

And we have, in a short time, already been very very hurt by people who feel uncomfortable around our grief that, even if we tried to hide it, pours from us. 

And we no longer have time for that. We no longer have time for people who want us to stay silent because it might upset them more and because THEY feel uncomfortable.

We lost a child. If YOU feel uncomfortable, think about how we feel. WE now get to deal with this loss, with our feelings,  in what way we choose. YOU get to choose a new way.

And if you are among those that have rallied around us in prayer, thoughts, and kind words...

Thank you. You have given comfort in ways that you can not imagine.