"Life is a pile of good things and bad things"

Last weekend I got a new brother-in-law.

(I'm doing these blogs a week late because of reasons.)

My sister-in-law married someone I've been friends with for... years.

It's all a rather beautiful story of God taking two broken people and very slowly opening their eyes to each other and the plans He had for them to be together. It really is just lovely.

But that's their story to tell, not mine. And they do it SO much better than I could.

The wedding was small and simple. The couple lovely. My anxiety through the roof. I am finding it extremely difficult to be around groups of people without feeling... smothered. Uncomfortable. Judged.

7 months in, and the grief of loosing Bennet is no less than it was the day we found out there was something wrong with him. We've only gotten better at carrying it. On top of that, I lost my grandmother the same day my little boy turned 2. So a lot of grief, a lot of pain, a lot of weight to carry around.

But the thing about pain and grief is, they don't make the happy things any less happy. I am THRILLED that my sister-in-law and friend are happily married. I really truly am.

But all that weight from all that loss makes the actual celebrating WITH people... hard. Especially when you're told "be happy, today is a happy day. Cry about sad things later." Then you just feel like an awful person because the sadness, even if you're trying to hide it, is just oozing out of you, and you feel judged for it.

I am happy. More than happy. But at the same time, I am also sad. Horribly horribly sad. And that doesn't go away just because something GOOD is happening.

Big occasions like holidays, birthdays, weddings, make me miss my baby more keenly than every day. Because he should be part of the celebration. He should have been crawling after his big brother, complaining about missing his nap, begging for milk, snuggling up on my lap, meeting all the long-distance family members. His dark head of beautiful hair a contrast to his big brother's curly blond locks.

The thing that, well, thrilled isn't the right word, but felt extremely special to me, was that my father-in-law mentioned Bennet in his "welcome to the family" speech. To hear my child's name mentioned, in such a public forum, and in such a meaningful way in that he is STILL part of the family this new person was entering, was so so special to me.

Hearing your dead child's name spoken aloud, having them counted, is priceless.

I did not make this.
But thank you to whatever Whovian did. 

Two Years Old!

My little boy turned TWO! I no longer have a baby on my hands, and honestly, haven't for quite a while. He is a full-blown high-energy INSANE and wonderful toddler! I have survived nearly 2 full weeks of super-real toddlerhood! And, tantrums aside, this is one of my favorite ages.

Learning lessons from last year (where I went all-out for the family party we had while pregnant and very very sick), I supremely toned it down this year. Mostly because last year, for Simon's 1st birthday, we announced that he was going to be a big brother. So we weren't sure if we could emotionally handle having people over because it is, this year, anyway, one of "those" days, that might trigger extreme sadness (read: more than the every-day sadness) that Ben isn't here. I don't care about showing my sadness in front of most people, but people are EXHAUSTING. Parties more so.

But Phillip and I decided that, since we'd skipped the family Mother's Day celebration (it being another one of "those" days that just... hurt), we'd invite the family over to kind of say "yeah, we can't handle some things, but we still want to be around you when we can because we still care about you all."

Apparently several of my text invites never went through though, so two of four families never knew we even had a party (I apologised profusely and they're all happy), along with some other... upsets... about us missing Mother's Day... it turned out to be a very very small family party.

We had fun, though, celebrating our crazy kiddo. The weekend before (the day before Mother's Day), we took Simon to Ag Fest, as part of his birthday treat, to look at all the tractors, trucks, and other farm equipment that makes his little boy heart so happy.

Excavators are his FAVORITE

Something I learned from one of my cousins, who throws quite beautiful themed parties from time to time, is that it is best to simplify things. Pick the top few things you really really want to do, and do those. Otherwise, there are so many cool ideas out there to try, it gets VERY overwhelming and you end up only half doing any of the things and have a party that looks half as well put-together.

Thus, my focus for this little party was the table. (And what Simon loves, of course). Simon is, like a lot of children his age, absolutely in LOVE with trucks and tractors. So we made a "Farmer's Market" table for his food, and John Deere colors because, well, it was easy and we had leftover yellow stuff to decorate with. Phillip designed a quick a cool-looking sign to bring it all together. I cleaned out his dump truck VERY thoroughly, and we served sausages in it, and put a small tray in his wooden tractor and had "farm fresh" hard boiled eggs in it, and had plenty of fresh veggies and potato salad on the side. With the John Deere colored cake with it's little tractor on top, I think it all came together nicely. And the two-year-old looked about as impressed as a two-year-old can be with food.

I would probably do just about anything to get that smile to stay on his face.

He got a LOT of books from Grandma, Popop, and Mama
and Daddy.
And insisted on reading each one before going on to
the next gift

Our big gift to him this year was a ride-on tractor my sister convinced us to buy him because he tries to ride everything from soccer balls, to his toy trucks, to the cats (the last one is problematic). And of course he got books. He LOVES books. WE love books. Like my dad said, it's never to early to start your own library. He likes his tractor quite a lot, and didn't want to wait for it to come out of the box and get assembled before he rode it. 

So many ways I can see that my little man has grown so much in one year. He walks, he talks, he launches himself off of every possible surface that is more than one inch above the ground (the higher the better). He has a head full of curly blond hair! And, he cuts up his own food. Quite a big difference from his decapitation of the dragon cake last year. 

Six months in...

The 6 month-iversary of Bennet's birth and death was last week.

For some reason, half a year felt like a really big deal. Somehow, we have managed to survive half a year without a piece of our hearts. Without a piece of our family. 

I had been hoping to be able to write down his story by then, do something sort of big for a date that seems, to me, anyway, big. But I still can't get more than a few snippets down. It's just too much to handle still, putting it all out there in black and white. 

Instead, I visited Ben's grave for the first time. Alone. 

There have been people who have silently and sometimes audibly questioned why I haven't done it until now. It made me feel like I am somehow failing him as a mother by not visiting his grave regularly. A week after he was buried, someone told me "it's so lonely up there." 

I know. He's dead. It's a cemetery. Not a nursery, not a home, of course it's lonely. 

I couldn't bear the thought of visiting the last place I left him though. It hurt. It wasn't just my child I put into the ground, he was literally a piece of me. He had my nose and mouth and chin, his daddy's eyes and hair. He grew and lived inside me for 34 weeks before he died, he was a part of me and I knew him. He didn't care too much about music, but loved when I read out loud. He didn't like when his big brother would yell into my belly. He liked ice cream and potato chips (or at least made me like them). He was always quiet, never moved overly much like his big brother did. And I had to put him in the ground instead of taking him home. 

Visiting his grave was something I had to do on my own and in my own time. Not because others thought it was the right thing to do. 

And I sat in the car, shaking, sobbing, for ten minutes. Waiting for the old couple, who was walking up the hill to glance around the graves, to leave. Waiting for my legs to work so I could walk again. 

When I got to the grave, the smallest in this small country cemetery, I fell on my knees, clutching at the dirt that covered him, sobbing so hard I made no noise. I don't know how long I was there, but by the time I was able to tear myself away, because I didn't want to leave him again, it was very cold and getting dark. 

I know I'll see him some day again, I know he only ever knew love inside me, and went straight from me to an even greater love than I could ever give, but that doesn't make the hurt any less. It doesn't make the pain of having to leave him, instead of holding him, any less. I have hope, so so much hope, because I WILL see him again, but it doesn't negate the pain I feel of not having my baby boy with me. 

For You

My painting exhibit opened on the first of April. At Gallery Tasmania.

Three months of painting during every one of Simon's nap times, bed times, painting painting painting. I got 12 of my 20 pieces done in that short time.

There some important things learned from (finally) doing this.

Like that I am very very afraid that people will think I have "moved on" or am fully functioning, just because I can tackle a project like this. Truth is, my head is STILL rarely on straight. Grief does crazy things to you, physically and emotionally, and I find it remarkably hard to get to the end of a day and, regardless of how good it may have been, not break down and wonder how in the world I am going to muster the energy to get up the next day and do it all over again.

This started out as just "something to do" so I would have a goal to work towards and not let myself get completely sucked into my grief over loosing Ben. Because, to quote Finnick in Mockingjay:

"It takes ten times longer to put yourself together as it does to fall apart." 

It's taking all my energy just to keep moving on day to day as it is. I can't afford to fall apart because I don't have the energy to put myself back together again. This project, painting with a deadline, has kept me together. It has been frustrating at times, since during my free-time sometimes the last thing I've wanted to do is more work. But, while I've forgotten all the science-y reasons behind it, art, even just coloring with crayons in a coloring book, makes you feel good. It relaxes, and just... helps.

Slowly, I realized that the painting was more than just something to keep me together. It was something I was doing FOR Bennet. Using his memory, the pain caused by losing him, and his far-too-short life, for something good, something beautiful. Because each day that passes feels like I leave him further and further behind. Each day that passes is another day since I last felt him move inside my belly. Another day since I last held his small body in my arms. Another day further away from the day I left him in his small coffin on the side of a hill, alone. Painting, for him, brought him closer to me. Helped remind me that I carry him with me, in memory, always. That while the days bring me further from events, they don't bring me further from him.

And so, my paltry offering to his memory, for now, anyway, are these:

(To view the photos larger, just click on them)
(Due to differences in monitor settings, colors may appear different than in real life. Also, pictures rarely, if ever, do justice to paintings)
(Somehow, with both of us taking photos of everything, one piece STILL managed not to get photographed. I swear I did 20)

Poppies

Poppies Ready For Harvest

Saying Goodbye

Wrong Turn Down a Goat Trail

Another Wrong Turn

To the Water

Behind the Clouds

Storm's Coming

Black Cockatoo

Fairy Wren

Digger's Paradise

Rainy Day in Paradise

Mist and Sunrise

First Date

Open Road

Mathinna Falls

Hide and Seek

His Sheep

Westmorland Falls

(If you are reading this and are in Tasmania, or ever plan on visiting Tasmania, drop in to Fudge 'n' Good Coffee, that houses Gallery Tasmania, to look at other great local artwork, as well as try some, well, GREAT fudge and good coffee. No, I'm not sponsored or anything like that and that's why I say this. I just really like their fudge and coffee.)

A Visit from Aunt Jojo

My sister just (well, a week ago) left us from a glorious ten day visit.

I didn't realize how lonely I get until I had her with me for a whole ten days.

It's not just the loneliness that comes with being a stay-at-home mom. It's just living here, isolated, away from family, away from friends I've had since... forever. With a time difference that makes talking to people sometimes difficult to line up, and everyone (myself included) having fairly busy lives, so contact is limited even more.

So it's lonely here. But I don't notice HOW lonely until I have someone with me. Especially a WOMAN someone. Especially my SISTER.

It was a great visit. And I miss her terribly.

Mmmm. Wallaby.

We did a lot of the typical stuff with her that we do with all our visitors who stay long enough to do things with. Local wildlife at Wings Wildlife Park, ice cream, multitudes of honey and bees at Melita Honey Farm aka The Honey Place, fudge and coffee at Fudge n' Good Coffee, fish n chips, the beach (not together this time... because of naps and rain and mostly naps), being inside an I-spy picture at Reliquaire, and sampling local or national foods and drinks at random places very close to us. Including a wallaby my brother-in-law shot for us that I brined for a few days and roasted (best tasting wallaby I have EVER made).

Joanna had a benefit none of our other guests have had, though. I have my Australian drivers licence (because my permanent resident visa was approved, Yay! It's a long long story, that one), and finally feel (sort of) comfortable driving around myself. On the wrong side of very narrow roads.

Playing with Aunt Jojo in his "hole".
It is not a slide, it is a hole.

Of course, since she's family, Joanna spent a TON of time with her nephew. And Simon soaked it up. He adores his "Aaa Joooo" (Aunt Jo). His thought process probably went something like this: "Someone to play with me, make noises, color, is completely at my beck and call? And is closer to my height than Mama and Daddy? I LOVE YOU!" He loves her so much, in fact, that when she left, he kept asking where she was, and has, for 5 days now, thrown MASSIVE tantrums at dinner time (his time to process why his new favorite person is no longer with him). How do I know it's over Joanna leaving? I don't 100%. But after about 15 minutes of screaming, crying, and flailing he scarfs down his food quite happily (including broccoli and kale), so it's not a food issue.

Wings Wildlife: Where you can pat and feed
kangaroos.
It. Is. AWESOME.

Joanna (and all of us) got to pat the baby Devil!

Who needs to pat a baby Tasmanian Devil?
Simon has LEAVES.
Because those are rare...

Simon being cheeky with the wonderful woman who was
giving talks and letting us pat the animals.

We all got to pat Doug,
the most adorable baby wombat EVER.

I thought a bird this large would be SCARY.
Nope, like me, he LOVES the emu!
He tried to share his water with it.

We miss you Joanna! We were so glad to have you visit us!

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.