Letter to Tricky - eleven years old

Hey Bigs,

Happy birthday, my gorgeous kiddo.

What a year, hey? I wasn't sure if I was going to write this letter or if I was closing it off after ten years, but here I am. I think this might be it though? Rounding out your last year of primary school with your last letter? Who knows? It will be a hard tradition to give up because I love reading the old ones before writing the new one; adding another chapter to the book of you.

You've been a very independent kid for a few years now; roaming the streets on your bike, getting to and from school yourself a few days a week, and so forth, but the last six months in particular, you've increased this and taken on responsibility of taking Bobbin to and from school a few days a week, while I'm studying. It's been mostly good because, well, you're siblings, and sometimes you ride too fast for her!

I love the little messages you send me from your watch or Messenger Kids. Sometimes we'll talk in just silly emojis, but most of the time you're saying how you love me and think I'm an awesome mum. It makes me feel so good that you think so highly of me. I think the absolute world of you and your poo emojis.

Your black belt grading was rather contentious. You were runner up gradee of the day for your brown, and we knew you could kick butt for your black. You were super nervous though and didn't have that same energy from the last time. But you still did OK, or at least we thought so, until they sat you down. We were all so confused. We couldn't understand why you were being sat down when you were doing OK, and doing better than some others who were still going. I had heaps of video footage and even showing your instructors they did not understand why you'd been sat down. 

It was really hard for you, and the half dozen or so other kids that were also sat down. Your sister graded to brown that day and you did a bloody marvellous job of still celebrating her even though the wind had been knocked out of your sails. There was celebratory dinners booked, and I was so impressed with how you were able to balance your feelings.

All the kids that were sat down were from our dojo, and being graded by another dojo... that seem to be not on the greatest of terms. A bit sus. Even the organisers thought it was an unfair decision and instead of making you wait three months to try again as is the norm, you all were allowed to try again during that week. That's unheard of.

You felt really sick on the day; I thought it was just nerves and sent you along, even though I'd been a bit sick and wasn't well enough to come watch, I still thought it was nerves for you! You did a massive spew during your grading and that's not unheard of so we STILL didn't think it was sickness. But when you were sick as a dog for the next two days we realised you'd just done your black belt grading with gastro. Unbelievable! My ten year old black belt.

You've also started doing the leadership class at the dojo. You were asked to join years ago when they didn't know how old you were, because you would be focused and follow the class really well and they hoped you'd be able to guide others... but you were too young! We forgot about it a bit and then a few months ago we realised that hey, you're old enough now, and finally you stepped in. It's still new for you but you're getting the hang of being an assistant instructor. You like to help the orange and blue belts with their katas the most, and you're getting better at projecting your voice to award badges.

Grade six is an interesting year. You like your teacher, though you miss your teacher from last year terribly. You've got a nice group of friends and when you all get together it's fabulous, fun, and loud. Things are progressing and we're sending off high school applications! You were encouraged to apply for the GATE music school but decided you wanted to go where your friends were going, and since change is really hard for you, I think you made a great decision.

You're still loving trumpet, and we all swelled with pride hearing you sound The Last Post at dawn on Anzac Day on the driveway (those Covid hiccoughs have mostly gone away for our state, but there are a few here and there, and we were all in lockdown over that long weekend). You are still teaching yourself more and more songs on the piano, and have started creating music electronically, too. You have such a gift for hearing something and then playing it! Getting you to practice is not always easy though, mister.

In the last school holidays we got a new furry family member, Alfie. I surprised you with him and though you loved him instantly, it did take a while for you to adjust to having a puppy in the house. You are very protective of Sprocket's memory, and within about 20 minutes of having him home, you and Bobbin introduced him to Sprocky's portrait and ashes, telling tales of his "big brother". You are very cautious to say "best dog right now" not "best dog ever" because you worry about hurting Sprocket's feelings. When Alfie laid in the same spot in the garden that Sprocket loved, you asked me if maybe Sprocket's spirit was there? That maybe Alfie could feel it and was drawn to that spot because of it. I love how your brain is working and you're figuring out your own spiritual path.

You've dropped Muay Thai and taken up skateboarding instead. You spent your own money on a cool board and have been going to a nearby club to learn a few tricks. You were very timid and wouldn't drop in at the skate park; you would stand near the edge for ages, contemplating, weighing up the pros and cons, and then you'd step down, really annoyed with yourself. But after your second lesson you shouted "Hey, mum, watch me drop in" and suddenly you can drop in and do all sorts of things. You don't like some of the tricks though because you watched one kid break their board attempting it and you're convinced the same would happen to yours, so you just flat out refuse to give it a go. Not chancing a broken board that you worked so hard to save for.

You are still obsessed with games and aren't very happy with me that you're only allowed to play them twice a week. What can I say? I'm anti-screen. But you get online and play and chat with your friends; I love that you can use it to connect with the boys from your old school, and the bond you have with them is so strong.

We are still discovering how amazing your brain is and I can't wait to see what's next. You have some challenges ahead of you in the next six to twelve months, my gorgeous boy, but I promise I will be right here, helping you, advocating for you, pushing you along when you need it, and being your soft place to land when you fall.

I love you with every fibre of my being. You're my favourite Tricky ever ;)

Mum x

A Vuly Good Backyard Makeover

Hasn’t it been the absolute weirdest year? Like so many people we have been spending more time at home, and even now with restrictions almost completely gone in WA, we are still little homebodies. It’s my socially anxious idea of heaven. Ahhh.

Staying home so much and looking at my tiny little boring, dust bowl of a backyard was a bit depressing though. It was brown and sandy with a few pot plants about the place. A little makeover was necessary.

MG ripped up all the old, very dead grass, injuring his wrist in the process. He plays a full contact sport and injured himself gardening. Top effort, mate. He had to rest it for a few weeks and then compacted the ground and laid some pavers while still in a splint - shh, don’t tell his doctor.

I chipped away old mortar from our back fence with a chisel and hammer, and spent eight hours scrubbing with acid and a wire brush before I re-pointed the fence. I’m extremely thankful for podcasts and YouTube instructional videos! Saving money and sanity one DIY tutorial at a time.

Annoying delays by the company laying the grass were sending me batty (seriously people, measure, don’t eyeball things!) but were all but forgotten though when it was finally time to set up the best trampoline for a small yard. 

She's a beauty!

We were extraordinarily lucky to be gifted a Vuly Ultra trampoline. We chose a small to fit perfectly in our little space. Even though it’s the smallest in the range it’s still big enough for two kids under 10 to play on. I fit on easily, too, able to bounce away with the shade in place since it’s 40cm taller than the nearest competitor. Yes, I jumped on it, why are you laughing? MG being over 6 foot tall hits his head on the shade if he bounces too high, so he’ll have to be a reserved jumper or take off the shade and bounce in the sunshine.

I love that the net has an envelope opening instead of a zipper that could accidentally be left open for someone to tumble through. There’s no calling out “close the flap!” and worrying someone is going to fall off. It’s also a very tight weave, meaning the kids can’t poke their fingers through. Because we all know that the second they put a finger through it becomes a larger hole and within a few days they’ll be seeing if they can fit two fingers and then a tennis ball. No chance of that happening here at all.

The kids haven’t gotten off it since it arrived. When she was absolutely exhausted from bouncing, Bobbin ran inside and reappeared with an armful of toys and a picnic set. Trampoline tea parties are the absolute best. It was a really hot day and the trampoline made the perfect setting with the shade cover over top and the breeze coming through underneath.

Physical fitness is really important for my two. They are both eyeing off new belts in martial arts soon so some extra cardio work is needed to get them through a gruelling 1.5-2 hour grading- bouncing on the trampoline provides a solid workout without the pounding of joints that running can bring. Plus it’s MUCH more fun!

Hearing that a friend has had a Vuly in their yard for eight years that looks almost new makes me think I have many, many years of sending the kids out to play ahead of me. Thank you Vuly!

Vuly Play is a leading designer of outdoor play equipment. From swing sets for kids, to monkey bars and trampolines, trust Vuly when it comes to quality and safety.

For a list of our TOP 5 Games on a Trampoline visit us at Perth School Holidays

Letter to Tricky - nine years old

Hey Bigs,

Your mama doesn't blog anymore, but the idea of not writing you a birthday letter just did not sit well with me. So here goes.

You are nine. You are so big, and wise, and worldly, and yet, at the same time, you're small, meek, and naive. It has been fascinating watching you navigate this inbetween stage. Giving you more and more independence and watching you navigate the world by yourself. You're not a little kid anymore, but, well, you are, actually.

Martial arts continues to be your passion. You have dedicated so many hours to it, training eight times per week right now, getting each tip on your green belt at the first possible opportunity, and you've now progressed to Grading Prep Group to get you ready for your brown belt grading in September. It's gonna be big, and you're very nervous, but you have the support of us, your instructors and your dojo family. You have started Muay Thai to improve your sparring confidence, and each class you get in there and try so hard, despite being absolutely terrified. We haven't managed a class without tears yet, and I am amazed at how much resolve you have, to keep getting back in there. I think this time next year I'll be writing about how you've started preparing for your black belt.

You entered the ISKA tournament again, participating in three events; extreme weapons, traditional katas, and traditional weapons, taking home a first, first and fourth respectively. You've qualified again for the national championships - we didn't go last year but we'll see what we can do about getting over to Sydney this year since you placed first.

Our house continues to be the place to meet for the kids in the street and each time the doorbell rings I don't even bother getting up because it's almost always for you, and when it's not, it's for your sister. It's a ragtag bunch of kids with different age groups from different schools, but you all seem to get along pretty well; whether you're riding the streets, doing tricks on the ramp in the front yard, or playing computer games.

You are a voracious reader and are zooming through anything Paul Jennings at the moment. You love going to the library with your Dad, but most of the time he ends up picking the books while you play with the retro gaming machines and smart board. You love to play all the Retro Rewind games, Minecraft, Lego City Undercover (against Bobbin), and whatever else the games are called. You even play Race Day against me and you manage to hide your frustration at how bad I am pretty well. The one time I beat you, you were so happy for me. If Bobbin beats you, that's another story. We'll work more on losing this year, bud.

You are doing well at school, being awarded Aussie of the Month by your peers for being a kind and approachable friend, nailing NAPLAN to get in the pointy triangle for most of the sections and band 6 for the other one. You've taken to music with much enthusiasm and have played countless pieces on a tiny electronic keyboard that you got ages ago as part of a science wiring kit. Oh, and let's not forget that fucking recorder. Hot Cross Buns at any time after 8am. I don't want to stifle your musicality or creativity, but sweet jesus I will if you play a loud instrument when I'm barely conscious. Today you were given a big electronic keyboard and your face just lit up. You want piano lessons but you're not willing to give up a martial arts day just yet, so we'll see how we go later in the year after you've graded.

There just isn't enough hours in the day to do all the things you want to do! Skateboarding, scooting, bike riding, martial arts, gaming, drawing, music, LEGO, reading... and let's not forget annoying your sister. That takes dedication, too.

Anxiety can kick your butt sometimes. You are your mother's son, after all. So we have worked hard on growth mindset talk, and I bring in cognitive behavioural therapy tricks at every opportunity - I figure you learning these now can only be a bonus. We sought professional help as I was very worried you'd end up just like me, but they were pretty good at allaying my fears, letting me know that yes, you are a bit or a worrier and a huuuge perfectionist, but that doesn't mean you will go down the same path as me, mental health wise. You have a strong sense of self and a strong connection and trust with me, so you have a much better starting off place than me.

I am trying my hardest to model making mistakes and pushing through the tough times, and I really hope the message gets through that you are enough no matter what you do. We are celebrating your failures more than your successes right now to emphasise the message. "You went to martial arts and cried and got back on the mats even though it was tough? YEAH! WELL DONE!". Of course I'm proud of the times you do great, but I know just how hard it is for you to push through those self doubts, so that is what I'm focusing on. The strength and bravery you show to keep pushing through your doubts and anxieties is truly inspiring.

You are responsible, caring, goofy, resilient, silly, smart, creative, strong, dedicated and amazing. I can't believe how lucky we are to have you in this family. You bring so much joy to my life, and whilst I roll my eyes that I still sit with you for you to go to sleep, I know one day I'll miss you asking for "mum cuddles" every night. I hope I continue to be your safe space and soft place to land.

Love you, bud.

Mum x

Tattoo Roulette

So I got a new tattoo. No big secret, I showed y'all two weeks ago when it happened.

But what you don't know is the slightly strange story behind it.

Tricks and I headed to the West Coast Lowdown, Perth's Kustom Kulture Festival where everything s spelled with a K, much like that Kooky Kardashian Klan.

We're talking hot rods, low rider hop kings (the cars that jump up and down), Miss West Coast Lowdown and a stack of gorgeous pinups, a half pipe for anyone who decided to BYO skateboard, custom builds, and a stack of tattoo artists all under one roof. It was fabulous.

Tricks spent most of the time staring, slack jawed at the highly polished hot rods, no doubt imagining himself behind the wheel.

"Mum, you love tattoos, you should get one." he said.

"You're an enabler" I replied.

We went through Tattoo Alley countless times, the buzz of the machines kept drawing me over.

Bzzzzzz get a tattoo bzzzzz.

Bzzzzz you know bzzzzz you want to bzzzzzzz.

One place, Ink Remedy, was doing a chocolate wheel for their tattoos. There was 31 pieces of numbered flash, and for $100 you could spin the wheel and get whatever it landed on, tattooed on your skin.

Forever.

I thought it was a cool gimmick, but not something I'd be up for.

The flash was beautiful, it was all Sailor Jerry style, which I adore on other people but don't see on myself. The colour scheme just isn't me.

Chatting with the woman in charge, she said she couldn't spin up a tattoo either. I mentioned there was only one design on there that I could have on me, a swallow, because I had always wanted one. I'd even put a fake tattoo swallow on my foot years ago.

"I love the meaning, I love the look. But I dodn't like the colours."

"You could pick your own colours, it doesn't have to be like that" she said.

BZZZZZZ GET A TATTOO BZZZZZZZ!

"You know, if you spin up one you don't like you don't lose your money. You just have to pay full price for the tattoo you want." she said, no doubt sensing how much I was aching to have the needles on my skin again.

BZZZZZ GET A TATTOO BZZZZZZ!

"Ha! Well, I only want number 14. Tricks, spin me up a 14."

He gave the chocolate wheel a heave and I'm silently thinking WTF am I doing playing tattoo roulette?

Tricks, the lady in charge, some others who were standing near by and myself watched the wheel spin.

Ticker, ticker, ticket, tick, tick, tick... tick... tick... ... tick... ... ...tick... .... ... ... ...tick.

14.

There were hoots of laughter and another lady who also wanted to spin stared in amazement.

"I guess I'm getting a tattoo!"

So that's the story of how my 7yo spun up my tattoo design for me.

I'm sure there is a heap of people who will think that is weird, and you know what, I'm one of them.

I had the tattoo done there and then by Darcie, with people walking past to stop and look, and Tricky by my side playing games and taking photos.

It was a new tattoo kind of day! ✊ Had a great time with Tricky at the @westcoastlowdown checking out hotrods, pinups, and of course, tattoos! This is @darciekaportattoo in action on my foot. Check out my stories for lots of pix 😘 #wcld2017

A post shared by G L O W (aka Trae) (@glowless) on Oct 14, 2017 at 12:30am PDT

Everyone has asked how much it hurt because it was on my foot, and to be honest, it didn't hurt as much as I thought it would. I had heard so many horror stories about foot tattoos so I had built it up in my head to be the most insane pain I'd ever felt, and compared to the terror in my head it was nothing. I did flinch once during the outline... and have a nice little wiggly line to show for it.

I am in love with it.

The colour is very me, and I'm so glad to have my favourite colour on me finally.

And yes, it does match my current hair colour!

In love with this beauty 💙💖 Done by @darciekaportattoo at the @westcoastlowdown today! Was a new experience to be tattooed in Tattoo Alley, having people walking by and stopping to watch. A new experience for Tricks, too, who spun up the design on the chocolate wheel (great job, buddy!), then sat next to me playing games on my phone while I had it done 📱

A post shared by G L O W (aka Trae) (@glowless) on Oct 14, 2017 at 5:57am PDT

Goodnight, sleep tight, stay in your fucking bed tonight

A few months ago I was wondering to myself how long it's been since I've slept through the night...

So I exaggerate slightly. Sue me.

Tricky was never much of a sleeper. He only ever took 40 minute day naps as a baby and toddler, even when he was being worn, in the car, or being pushed in the pram. Over night was better, he would wake to feed every hour or two.

But he was such a chilled out baby and toddler that I could handle the sleep deprivation. He would happily play at my feet if I sat on the couch. He'd drive his cars over me, and I could lay down and play blocks with not much effort if we'd had a particularly wakeful night. There was no school run I had to be up and somewhat dressed for. It was a cruisy existence, even with bags under my eyes.

I was very staunch in my attitude that parenting does not stop at night. If he needed me, he needed me. End of story.

And I still believe this, I do, but throw in another child to be cared for, particularly one who is feisty and has higher demands for attention, a school run to do at 8am, and the days of getting away with four hours of sleep were gone.

Seven years I lasted, and I use the term 'lasted' in it's loosest sense. Seven years of him taking hours to fall asleep and then waking multiple times and being awake for hours every night. He seemed to be fine with little sleep; it hasn't affected his school work or behaviour much at all, but I'm over here with my eyeballs hanging out, desperate for a nap.

We tried reward charts, bribery, punishment, co-sleeping, strict no getting out of bed rules, toys, comforters, relaxation, meditation, music, night lights, you name it. I even shouted at him to stay in his fucking bed. Parent of the year award, right there.

Go the Fuck to Sleep by Adam Mansbach and Ricardo Cortes aka MY PEOPLE

When I finally had enough of living on caffeine and built up resentment, and asked for help we were referred to a paediatric sleep specialist who checked that we were doing everything 'right' first (no screen time before bed, a good bed time routine etc) and got us booked in for a sleep study.

The study showed he has Restless Leg Syndrome (RLS) and Periodic Limb Movement Disorder (PLMD) which is the name given to restless legs if it continues after you've fallen asleep. Your legs can move up to five times an hour when you're asleep to be considered OK and the sensors showed that Tricky's legs moved on average TWENTYFIVE TIMES AN HOUR. These little jerking movements were preventing him from going to sleep and then waking him up when he finally drifted off.

She started Tricks on melatonin (much to the chargin of our GP) and it helped him get to sleep, but he didn't stay asleep. A trial of Magnesium showed no improvement, so that's where an iron supplement came in.

A measly 5ml of iron every night is our miracle drug.

I cannot believe it.

Since starting the melatonin and iron, Tricks no longer takes hours to go to sleep and he doesn't wake up all night long. Halle-fuckin'-lujah!

I can put him to bed and go back to check on him ten minutes later to find him fast asleep. THIS HAS NEVER HAPPENED BEFORE. He generally sleeps through the night and if I hear him wake, he takes a sip of water, turns over, farts, whatever it is that he woke for, and GOES BACK TO SLEEP!

I repeat THIS HAS NEVER HAPPENED BEFORE!

He is finally getting the sleep he needs and I'm so happy for him, and you betcha I'm frickin' happy for me, too.

We'll continue the melatonin and iron for three months and then re-asses, and try to wean him off them. But until then, I will rejoice in the glorious hours of unbroken sleep we are now getting and try to catch up on those last seven years.

Letter to Tricky - seven years old

Hey Dude,

Seven years ago today you made me a mother, and I am so incredibly grateful for that. Here's what has happened with you in the last twelve months (well, the last six, because my memory sucks).

You lost your first tooth! Finally! You were one of the last of your friends to even get a wobble going on, so you were super chuffed when it happened. But then you became really concerned about some random fairy coming in to your room at night. The idea of a tiny person with wings taking your tooth freaked you out, and the notion that she would give you a coin did not ease your worries. 

So I told you that the Tooth Fairy was a thing that parents made up to make their kids brush their teeth, to calm you down. I don't regret telling you that, but then it immediately made you re-question the idea of Santa. For months you'd been asking for explanations on how the big guy in red gets to every house, how he knows who is who, how he knows if you're on holiday etc for months and you weren't satisfied with my "because he's magic" and "the elves help him" explanations. You wanted answers based in physics. 

You turned to me and said "So parents make up Santa, too, right?". I wasn't ready for it, but I told you the truth. That Christmas is magical because we make it magical by being together and loving each other. We both cried. I told you that the job of older kids and adults was to keep the magic alive, and in the months since then you've spoken to your sister about Santa/the Easter Bunny/the Tooth Fairy without skipping a beat, then when she wasn't looking, given me the cheekiest wink. We're in a secret club now, you and me. 

Whilst you enjoyed footy last year, by the end of the season you were very much over it. By chance we saw a display for a local martial arts centre and you wanted to give it a try, and buddy, well, it looks like you found your thing.

You have gone ahead in leaps and bounds. You have gotten so many awards, badges and certificates, because you try SO hard and you're actually pretty damn good at it. Just this week they pulled you aside to test early for your next belt and you flew through. After the ceremony, you'll be an orange belt. Well done!!! But mostly, we can see the incredible difference to your confidence. 

It's not to say there haven't been hiccups in your Zen Do Kai adventures. You absolutely hate some of the warm ups where the instructors are trying to distract you while you have to keep a straight face. It quite often ends in tears before it has even begun because you don't like it when you can't do something. Even when none of the other kids can do it either. You hold yourself to such a high standard even though your dad and I have always said we don't care if you're the best, we only care that you have fun and try. But still you are a perfectionist - and I'm so sorry, because you totally get that from me. 

School continues to be awesome for you, and you have an insatiable desire to learn. Your reading is through the roof, and you are on to novels. The teacher pulled me aside last term to say you are being "extended" now, and I have to tell you, as a child of nerdy parents who signed you up to the library as a baby and have read to you at least three books a day since the day you were born, we were so excited. Just last week you were taken to the other year two class when their teacher was unwell and the children had to read to you! You thought you were hot stuff, and I teared up. Nerd FTW! 

You have a great group of pals there, and it was very hard for you to choose only three to come to your birthday party which will be in a few weeks time. You wanted them all to come, but it's a sleepover and my hard fought for sanity is valuable to me, so I was very firm on the number! It's a gamer sleepover, because you're all about Forza Horizon, Minecraft, Pokemon and all things games. 

Speaking of sleep, you are seeing a paediatric sleep specialist so we can figure out why you don't. Every night it takes you hours to fall asleep, and you wake up multiple times a night and lay awake for hours. I don't know how you function on such little sleep, bud, because I sure don't. We have tried lots of things together to solve this issue; reward charts, co sleeping, not co sleeping, tough love (read: yelling at you), sitting with you until you fall asleep, completely ignoring you, you name it, and nothing has worked. You had a sleep study a few weeks ago, and it was pretty traumatic to be so wired up, but I was so astounded at the way you kept your head still anyway. We'll get the results soon, but in the meantime, you've started on Melatonin with mixed results. So we'll see what happens, and we'll figure it out together. 

You're a lovely kid, Tricks, and I really enjoy seeing the way you're changing and growing up. I love the way you're getting in to singing, writing songs and music. They're usually about love or cars, or the love of cars. Heh. You are either helping your sister and cheering her along or teasing her and correcting her (to which I usually sigh and say "Mate, she's only little, she doesn't know how to spell Koenigsegg yet OK, give her a break". There is no inbetween. Playing 'Danger Devils' nicely or trying to punch her. Asking for two snacks so you can share with her, or dobbing on her for breathing on you wrong. Ahhhh sibling love.

I'm so proud of the clever, funny, confident, caring kiddo you are. Happy birthday, smunchy bum.

Love, Mama x

Letter to Tricky - Six years old

Happy birthday, Buddy!!!

Little dude, you are six years old today. SIX.

You are in year one and loving every minute of it. You're the youngest in your class but have managed to get in the top numeracy and literacy groups. The nerd lyf chose you it seems.

I love all the notes you write and watching you figure out how to spell things is fascinating. Like the time you tried to spell Mercedes and wrote "msady's". Sah cute! You label everything you draw, a trait that means I will keep the label maker away from you or I'm sure to come home to you having labelled the dog.

Boundary pushing and selective listening are two of your favourite hobbies it would seem. I'm told it's normal for your age, but geez where did my lovely, reasonable boy go? You're growing up and asserting your independence, and I do love that, but sometimes I find it hard when getting ready for school takes seventeen reminders, a chart, and threatening to leave without you before you'll put your bloody shoes on. It's OK though, you'll figure it out... won't you?

Scooting at the skate park is high on your list of awesome things to do, and you got a new scooter and helmet this morning so I'm sure we'll be back at the ramps very soon to christen them. You can manage a few jumps and apparently they have cool names but I don't know what they are.

You started Auskick last month and you freakin' LOVE it. I wasn't sure how you'd go because previously you've considered yourself a master at any given sport after two minutes and then refused to play any more. But your team is almost exclusively made up of your school friends, and you all play together really well.

Every day after school you and your mates kick the ball around, and then when we get home you want to practise more, so lately you're out in the yard until it gets chilly, kicking over and over again. You're not what I'd call a natural athlete, but the effort you put in is amazing and you have come so far from not being able to do anything to having a pretty nice kick for a newbie.

You've kicked two points - the first time because you didn't know that the goal was the middle part (oops, my bad) and the second time because there were people in front of the goal and you didn't want to hurt them.

You are still a sweet, sensitive little man and will often tear up in movies, even crying at happy endings because you're so pleased it all worked out. Your level of empathy is astounding and it has helped you understand what has been going on with me lately.

Recently you wrote me a note saying you were glad I was getting my 'joy' back and it was so touching. I've explained my depression to you using Pixar's Inside Out as a starting point and you seem to understand it really well. I let you know that I take medicine to help my brain, the way you take medicine to help your lungs, and I'm hoping being open and age-appropriately honest with you will mean you never stigmatize someone with mental illness or abilities different to your own. I've hidden a lot from you, my boy, but I know you can feel what is going on and I'm so proud of you for how you've handled it.

We went camping for the first time as a family recently and it was so great so we'll be going again soon. You loved it so much and haven't stopped talking about it. You rode your bike from sun up to sun down and pretty much only came back to the tent when you were hungry. You had a massive stack and got blood everywhere which you thought was pretty cool after it had stopped hurting. It was wonderful to see you talking to new people and you declared that making friends was the best bit about the whole trip. There may have been something in my eye after you said it.

You had a disco party last night and you declared it the best party ever. Probably because dancing to loud music with the coloured lights flashing in the darkness at what should be bed time is so out of the norm. You had some lovely friends over and were very lucky to receive some amazingly thoughtful gifts.

It's gonna be another great year, dude, I can feel it. Your confidence is developing so much and I can't wait to see what happens. I promise we'll wag a school afternoon again soon and get up to mischief together.

Love Mum xxx

It's just a colour

The other day at school drop off I witnessed Tricky being teased. I'm sure kids have been mean to him before, but it was the first time I'd ever seen it happen.

We were hanging around the classroom door, waiting for it to open and a few girls in his grade were there too. They were all chatting and laughing, having a nice time.

Then the mood shifted when one girl, who is usually lovely, noticed Tricky's pink water bottle.

"Errrrr, you've got a PINK water bottle!!! Girls, look, Tricky has a PINK water bottle!" she squealed.

Tricks tried spinning around so the girls couldn't see his water bottle on the side of his back pack, but the three of them pounced on him and stopped him from turning. They weren't being violent, they were just mucking around.

"Let me see! It's PINK!!!" they laughed.

He made some funny faces at them and they lost interest in the water bottle, but as a groups of kids are want to do sometimes, they picked something else.

"And you don't have any freckles! That's so weird!" The girl said.

The other girls crowded around his face to have a look. Their freckled noses scrunched up with sun damage and scrutiny.

Tricks looked rather confused and asked who wanted to play chasey. They all said yes and off they went.

It was bizarre standing there, watching it unfold. I didn't want to step in, I wanted to see how he would handle it without me. I'm a fan of kids working out their own issues with guidance rather than mum stepping in every time to fight their battles, and since this was a low level teasing I felt it was a good introduction to standing up for yourself.

That he tried to make them laugh shows he's my kid. Humour is my weapon of choice. That he tried to change the subject also shows he's my kid. If my first weapon doesn't work, running away is my only other strategy. But I want him to have more.

When the doors opened we walked in and had a chat.

"What did those girls say about your water bottle?"

"They made fun of me because it was pink. Maybe I should get a new one?"

"You chose that water bottle because it's your favourite colour. Do you think someone who isn't hurting someone should change what they're doing, or do you think someone who is teasing someone should change what they're doing?"

"I think the person teasing shouldn't tease."

"Yep. And what can we say if someone says they don't like our pink water bottle?"

"It's just a colour! There's no such thing as boys and girls colours!"

"Right on, little guy! If that is your favourite colour, then it doesn't matter what other people say."

We did our usual kisses on his hands (so he can place his hands on his cheeks during the day if he feels like he needs a kiss from mum), and as I left he ran off to play with his friends.

All day I wondered if I'd done the right thing by not intervening. Should I have stepped in? Should I have said something at the time? Mentioned it to the girls' mums? They would have been mortified that their children were teasing and would have told them off. Or was holding back and arming him with words and reason the way to go?

Tricks has grown up in an environment where we try not to gender toys and accept that toys are for playing with and pretending with, no matter what colour they are or who they are aimed towards. He loves Lego, cars, plays rough and tells poo jokes. Other times he nurtures dolls and is Brozen - a bro who likes Frozen. His favourite colour is pink and he wants to be an army officer when he grows up.

He's a wonderful mixture of masculine and feminine but I realize that he could seem weird to some people who are only used to rigidly defined gender roles.

So I equip my boy with strategies to use when someone teases him and hope for the best in a schoolyard that can be cruel sometimes. It's just a colour. Although in my head I'm shouting inappropriately at a six year old "It's just a fucking colour and it's called sunscreen, bitch!".

The Recovered Aquaphobe

Tricky vs Water has been an ongoing saga around these parts, and if you've been around for a while you'd know he had a full blown phobia of water on his face or head - it's not that he just didn't like it, he was terrified. But I'm ecstatic to say he has now overcome it. Insert jazz hands, pom poms, confetti and a lazer light show here.

I have had a heap of people ask what we did to help him through, so I thought I'd share our successes (and many failures) with you here. All kids are different, which is really freakin' frustrating when you're looking for answers because dammit sometimes an easy solution would be awesome. But this is what we tried and the end results, seen in the video below (a #mumbrag video if ever there was!!), mean we couldn't be more proud of our guy. 

Hair Washing 

THEN: Hair washing was a nightmare for everyone involved. Going on hours of research (i.e. the articles popping up all over the web about "I stopped washing my hair three years ago and it's never been healthier"), I figured that skipping hair washing wouldn't be such a bad thing for a while. It's not like he was playing in mud every day.

Hair and Face Wash fails:

• Asking him to lean his head back - as soon as the water would touch him, he'd instinctively coil inward making the water go straight over his face and eyes resulting in a meltdown
• Letting him do it himself - big fat nope. He'd quite happily lather the shampoo but rinsing it out himself was not happening.
• Letting him choose a special shampoo - made no difference at all! 
• Using every single contraption made for "tearless" hairwashing. Nope, nope, nope. The the fancy hats, the rings, you name it. Tried it. Didn't work for him. 
• Yelling. Yeah, not proud of myself, but I'll admit that I did it in a moment (or two or three or four...) of pure frustration. Surprise, surprise, this didn't work.

Hair and Face Wash wins:

• Playfully splashing or tipping water on the back of his head no where near his face. 
• Using a progressively wetter wash cloth to wash his face - we started out as a bit of a "spit and polish" family and over time progressed to damp cloths then wet cloths as he could tolerate it. 
• Covering his eyes with a wash cloth himself - holding it himself gave him a feeling of control that he was desperate for. I would still need to be really careful with where I was pouring water, but his fear diminished massively. 
• Laying on the laundry bench and hanging his head in to the sink - it hurt his neck a little, but he would keep his head completely back in the position 
• Laying in a very shallow bath, his head resting on an old two litre bottle as a cushion - like the laundry sink, he'd leave his head right back and the water wouldn't touch his face
• Letting him wash my hair
• Reward chart - this was only brought in at the very end when he was already comfortable with getting his hair washed but still needed a little encouragement to let me do it daily after swimming lessons when he was stinking of chlorine! It would not have worked earlier because no amount of stickers can calm a phobia. Not even holographic dinosaur ones. 

NOW: We can wash Tricky's face and hair without any issues. He still doesn't like water in his eyes (does anyone?), but now that he isn't scared, he will calmly hold his head back until everything is finished. If any drips down his face he'll brush away or ask for a cloth if there is a lot. Champion.

Swimming

THEN: Tricks would happily paddle in a wading pool without dramas, and run along the shoreline in a sheltered cove, but getting wet above waist level happened for the FIRST time ever in January last year! We were so proud. 

Swim Wins:

• GOGGLES - I went straight to a "good" brand of goggles rather than buying something cheap that would let water in. I wanted these babies to be water tight or he'd never trust another pair. I went with Zoggs and so far, so good. 
• Floaties - we got a proper floatie for his back but just some cheapie ones for his arms, and he liked the security of them, even if he was only in waist deep water.
• No splashing - this meant we could only swim when there weren't very many people around
• Small swimming lesson group with friends - I gave Tricky the choice of participating in his school swimming lessons or not, and he chose to do it. Peer pressure, not wanting to be left out? I'm not sure, but it helped him enormously to have people he knew around. His first swimming lesson had me in tears I was so happy to see him trying so hard. 
• PRAISE - we let Tricks know at every opportunity that he was doing a good job, and that all we wanted was for him to try but he could stop at any time. This meant that sometimes he was being lavished with praise for going in waist deep - because for him, it was a mammoth achievement so we treated it as such. He needed lots of encouragement and thrived on turning around to see a thumbs up or a wave from me sitting by the pool. 
• Acknowledging his fear - letting Tricky share his feelings without fear of ridicule was really important to us and I think it definitely helped. He knew he was not going to get in trouble and we made sure we never said he was being silly/naughty/misbehaving when he was too terrified to get in the water. 

Swim Fails:

• Assuming that because he swum so confidently three weeks ago, that he'd be right back in to it at the same level (he needs a little warm up after a few weeks off)
• Big groups of people he doesn't know well 
• Slides with water sprays
• Forgetting goggles - ASK ME HOW I KNOW!

NOW: This dude just amazes me. He put his face in the water for the first time in November last year and now he appears to have grown gills and is diving under the water at every opportunity and bloody loving it. He is still cautious, which definitely isn't a bad thing, and even mentioned to his swim instructor that he was scared when they were simulating falling in a pool so they could get to the edge, but he's come so far in two months... just look:

Tricky has overcome his water phobia and then some! My boy grew gills!! 🐠 From blowing bubbles in water for the first time in November to THIS! 🐠 Details on the blog this afternoon #swimming #partboypartfish #freestyle #aquaphobia #waterphobia #MumBrag

A video posted by glow (@glowless) on Jan 14, 2016 at 10:05pm PST

Building his confidence around water has been so important to us, not just because washing the hair of a terrified child is exhausting, but his for his enjoyment and for his safety in such a water mad country. 

Best Santa Photos in Perth

Not sponsored

I'm a sucker for a Santa photo, and I think I've found the best in Perth!

There are a bajillion Santas around and not all are cut from the same plush, red velvet. 

As far as I'm concerned, to make the best Santa photo in Perth you need a winning trifecta:

1. Santa must have a REAL beard! This is non negotiable despite some very fancy fake beards getting around. A real smile is also preferred but I will accept a fake smile if the beard is legit. A lovely backdrop is also a bonus, but I will always peg genuine white whiskers above all else. 

Would you look at those whiskers!
Copyright Penny Butler Photography - used with permission

2. Allocated times. I did not understand the joy or appreciate the value that is booking for Santa photos until Bobbin the Explorer came in to our lives. I could not line up forever with this feisty femme and expect her to then smile sweetly at the camera - she'd be climbing the sleigh, finding out if Rudolph was a boy or girl (and proclaiming LOUDLY that it didn't have a penis so it must be a girl), and generally getting up to marvellous mischief. Which is all fabulous and entertaining except every other kid is doing the same thing and the frazzled mothers are scrounging in handbags for anything to bring some peace; snacks, toys, valium, you name it. 

Knowing that when we arrive, we have a few minutes wait at most takes so much pressure off and also means that there is less time for the kids to spill tomato sauce down their fronts. Plus with a 15 minute window there is no rush to get in, smile, get out while the next bored toddler tries to photobomb. It's SO much more relaxed and, shock, horror, is actually quite fun!

3. A real photographer. Once the realm of the rich and famous, now everyone can get a sweet deal with a real photographer. The best part is that they take a heap of photos and choose the best as opposed to five rushed jobs for you to choose from at a shopping centre where you sometimes have to pick the least bad - which I admit is better than back in the day when you got the instant photo with no choice at all! 

As an added bonus, a real photographer can touch up the pictures if you need, so if, for example, your two year old rubbed her face in the lawn and came up with a tiny little rash on her cheeks and forehead the morning of the photos, well, they could be touched up slightly. ASK ME HOW I KNOW! 

My mate Penny from Penny Butler Photography does Santa photos for the people of Perth every year and she ticks all three boxes with her awesome set up. 

Santa not only has a real beard, but he's SO good with the kids and his suit? Holy Nutcracker, it was divine! Beautiful embroidery which on closer inspection had reindeer, angels and snowflakes amongst the filigree. 

His set up is in his little work shed with his sleigh this year - which he built himself, and even has a letter box that you can pop your wish list in to - if you put your address in there, he'll write back. Tricky drew him a picture and asked him how old he was... Santa answered but we have been sworn to secrecy. 

Santa is very hands on, doesn't make the elves do everything
Copyright Penny Butler Photography - used with permission

To make it even more magical, the whole thing is at the Christmas Tree Farm in Mariginiup (north in the City of Wanneroo), and there are families wandering around choosing their tree, Christmas carols on the loudspeaker, and a real sense of excitement hangs in the air. The Christmas Tree Farm is where Santa hangs out when he's in Perth - a holiday house if you will. Can't be stuck at the North Pole all year. 

The man never stops, even on holiday he's in the Christmas spirit
Copyright Penny Butler Photography - used with permission

Penny knew I loved the funny photos she'd taken for another family last year, so after she'd snapped the usual ones she got the kids to ham it up. It's my favourite photo and is now our Christmas card! 

Considering I've spent $70 in the past for a handful of randomly sized prints in a rush job with a crappy Santa, I was more than happy to pay the $60 for these and support a small business rather than a giant multinational.

For your money you get 15 minutes with Santa (my two had about 5 minutes and then buggered off!), 4-5 digital images that you can then print yourself or email out, and a reply from Santa if you post your letter in the special mail box on the day. 

There are still some spots available so contact Penny at Penny Butler Photography for bookings.

Of water phobias and crying poolside

TRIGGER WARNING: this post mentions child sexual assault and may be distressing to some readers.

Tricks has long been afraid of the water. In particular, having water on his face and head. I'm talking full blown phobia. Aquaphobia, to be precise. Not hydrophobia, that's a rabies thing.

Swimming was never on the cards, though occasionally he would paddle ankle deep, at the beach or pool as long as there was no splashing. The first time he got completely in a pool was January this year. It was a momentous occasion and I took about one hundred photographs. If he was splashed in the face, or water got on his hair it would be the end of the world, but THE KID WAS IN A POOL!

Even hair washing was highly traumatic (for both of us) until a few months ago. We tried every contraption, every technique, every "failproof-no-more-tears-this-worked-for-my-water-phobic-child" suggestion we heard. Nothing worked and I was always afraid that the police would be called when we washed his hair, such were the screams echoing down the street from our house.

Lights and sirens, a hard knock on the door and "Excuse me, ma'am, there's been a complaint made against you of child abuse" until Tricky walks out with only half the shampoo out of his hair and they go "Ahh, never mind, I had one of those kids, too".

We never knew the cause of his phobia. Sometimes I would think it was because of his craniosynostosis surgeries because it seemed head related: he would also panic at the hairdressers and very infrequent home haircuts with massive amounts of bribery were the only way forward for quite some time. But at other times I'd think it was just his personality. This introverted, slightly anxious, sweet and sensitive little boy just did not like the sensation.

When a note came around at school that swimming lessons were to start soon, I didn't quite know what to do. Excuse him from the lessons, or pay the money and hope that the combination of someone other than me telling him what to do and a little bit of peer pressure would work wonders? I consulted lots of other mums and they were all very helpful, ensuring me that the swim teachers are very gentle with the "dry heads".

The day before lessons started we headed to my bestie's house to have a swim in her pool with her boys. Tricks got in for a while, but began to panic when it got a little bit splashy. The fear was obvious as tears rolled down his face. He spent the rest of the time on the side, not even wanting to put his feet in.

With the previous day's tears fresh in my mind, I headed to the pool to watch his first lesson. My head was cloudy with an emotional hangover thanks to a horribly timed medication change. A few other mums were there and while we waited for the kids to arrive we talked about how mums cry at things like this.

I told them I've never been one to cry over my kids' milestones. I'm the type to fist pump, high five and happy dance (complete with spirit fingers, of course) but not shed a tear. Which is weird because I cry over bloody everything else. I'm the one smiling and cheering in a sea of wailing mums who appear to be the reason waterproof mascara was invented. They're just so damn happy and proud. It's beautiful.

"You know what?" I said to one of the mums, "If this goes well, I think I will cry".

In hindsight it probably wasn't great for me to head out to the pools when I was feeling low, but there was no way I was missing this lesson.

The bus load of eager little bodies arrived, draped in too-big towels, with goggles covering half their faces so you had to piece together gap-toothed smiles and hair colour to figure out who was who.

As they were led in to the pool in small groups, Tricks was standing bolt upright, making him easy to spot amongst the others who were relaxed and happily bobbing up and down to wet their whole bodies. The teacher, Danni*, knew he was scared and asked him to squat down so his shoulders were under water. He half followed her instructions and made it to chest height. As she spoke to the other kids she took his hand and started trickling water over his shoulders. She was paying him just the right amount of attention - the focus wasn't on him, but she was fully aware of his phobia the whole time, and never stopped easing him in to the water.

Slowly she moved to trickling the water over his head, and her own, laughing as she did it, making it a game. He was still standing stiff as a board, and I could see from the way he held his jaw he was holding back tears.

It came to blowing bubbles... simple enough, but a task that has previously been met with straight out refusal.

He touched his lips gingerly to the water, and stood up. He touched again and blew the tiniest bubble. And again, this time a few more.

I looked to the mums, "Yeah, gonna cry now" I squeaked out.

With the biggest smile on my face the tears started to fall. I was so proud you'd have thought my kid was winning Olympic gold for the 50m freestyle not blowing a few bubbles.

I was handed a tissue and for a moment there, I enjoyed those tears. Everyone knew how momentous this was for him, there was no judgement for crying, the other mums were happy for him, too.

I continued to watch and to my utter amazement, he dipped his whole head under water as they crawled around the shallows pretending to swim. A moment ago he'd never had water on his lips and now his entire face was submerged! He rose up and Danni gave him a little affectionate squeeze on the shoulder.

That was all it took. Watching her (completely innocent) physical contact with him while she smiled.

With my already emotional state, I was transported back to my own horrific swimming lessons where my teacher, Garry*, started off encouraging me with those same little affectionate squeezes, and ended up sexually assaulting me under the water while other children swam laps right next to us.

Garry taught the top class, level twelve, and it was the aim of every kid in the swim club to get to his lane. The furthest from the parents; from the admin; from eyes that could see what he was doing.

He would teach from the deep end where we couldn't stand and would "help us stay afloat" as he gave us instructions for our next lap. Though his idea of help and mine are quite different, with his fingers exploring where they shouldn't have, week after week, month after month.

I would kick away as soon as I could, embarrassed, ashamed, unsure.

I was 10.

When the term ended, I didn't go back. I never got my Bronze and everyone was really surprised that I'd just given up on something I had enjoyed so much and was doing pretty well at.

I look up and I'm watching Tricks again, only a few moments have passed and it is his turn to duck under the water again. He does it, and she squeezes his arm, this time it elicits the smallest of smiles from him.

I feel bile rise up in my throat, and the chlorine, which was fine until now, starts burning my nostrils. My thoughts are all over the place, racing wildly from motherly pride to thinking that I've put my child in harms way.

I excuse myself from the other mums, lying that I want a better view, and I exit the rear of the centre. I suck in fresh air like my life depends on it and flip my sunglasses down so that the others don't notice my happy tears have turned to acrid, trauma tears.

I move to the doors and keep my eyes on him. Trying desperately to focus on how well he's doing and the fact that the teacher is not stealing his innocence. My ears are buzzing and I'm light headed, but I keep staring; counting his kicks, the number of times he readjusts his goggles, anything to pull myself out of my own head, to stop this panic from turning in to a full blown anxiety attack.

Toward the end of the lesson, I regain my composure and rejoin the other mums. I text MG and tell him how well the Trickster is doing, that he has blown us all away with how hard he is trying. My bestie walks in to watch the next session, and I hurriedly tell her that OMG Tricky blew bubbles in the water, and knowing that it's a HUGE thing especially compared to just yesterday in her pool, she tears up, too.

The kids exit the pool and Tricky beams a mega watt smile at me. We high five. We knuckle bump. I tell him how proud I am of him, and I can see he is proud of himself, too. Within a minute they're back on the bus and on the way back to school, and I'm heading to the car.

I don't hold it together long. I drive away crying, amazed at how a shoulder squeeze combined with a bit of an unstable mood could set this off. I've been to pools before since it happened without much of a thought, but it dawns on me I've never sent my kid to swimming lessons before. Put him in the exact same situation that did so much damage to me. Triggers are a bitch and you don't always know where they'll be.

By the end of the week, my new meds had started to kick in and the withdrawal of the last lot has gone (halle-fuckin-lujah), so my mental state is returning to "normal" and I can visit the pool again feeling completely different. I can look at it for what it is for him, not what it was for me.

I watch my little guy float on his front, on his back, swim under four kick boards, duck dive down to retrieve a toy and ENJOY every bit of it. I marvel at how far he has come in five lessons and a tiny little happy tear forms in the corner of my eye.

I smile, the tear slides down my cheek, and I don't wipe it away. Now it's my turn to be so damn happy and proud, and beautiful.

*not their real names

Gratefulness Vs Discharge guilt

I've been having a rough time of late.

There. I said it.

Um, there was supposed to be a massive weight lifted off my shoulders when I admitted it, wasn't there? Yet here I am, struggling to stand upright under the pressure. The pressure of what, I'm not entirely sure. Motherhood? Life? My white, middle class privilege?

I can pinpoint exactly where it all started. It was in Princess Margaret Hospital with Bobbin and Tricky.

Hospital is never a nice place to be, particularly a childrens' hospital. While it makes the kids better, it seems to simultaneously suck the life out of the parents and school them in how to count your blessings.

We were there for two weeks, which in the scheme of things is such a short time. For an otherwise healthy kid, though, two weeks is forever to be requiring oxygen. Every day they'd come and check her and say "maybe tomorrow", and every day we moved further past our 'estimated date of discharge' written on Bobbin's name board.

It was only on the eleventh day that they decided to refer us to the respiratory team after I'd begged for days to let us go home with an oxygen tank, just so we could get out there. The respiratory doctor came in and took charge, she made a plan of action to start antibiotics for atypical pneumonia, a blood test to confirm, and had a back up plan of a chest CT and bronchioscope if the meds didn't start working (there was a thought that Bobbin had perhaps aspirated some food in to her lungs).

 

The improvement was noticeable that afternoon and within 24 hours she was able to come off oxygen for the first time in twelve days and we could go home after two weeks. The original medical team came in and APOLOGIZED for not referring us sooner. I couldn't believe it. But it's my child, so of course she was atypical. She even had an atypical presentation of atypical (mycoplasma) pneumonia. No wonder the med team missed it.

So off we went home, and that should have been that. Apart from a residual cough, everything was fine for Bobbin.

But it didn't stop there for me. I can't stop thinking of the other families; the other kids.

Like the gorgeous boy who made Bobbin light up every time he whizzed in to the room on his bright red wheelchair (which was a lot!), who had been in for six months. He was so fun. They played monster trucks together and when Tricky visited, the boys would go off to the play room together for a while. It was a bit confusing for him when Tricky was admitted, but he just saw it as an opportunity to spend more time with fellow car aficionados. Ejected from a car that was crashed by his drunken dad, he has years of rehab in front of him.

Or the sweet girl who was having hundreds of seizures a day thanks to a degenerative disorder. She had lovely get well soon cards from her class at school, flowers, balloons, you name it, to brighten her corner of the ward and make relearning to walk, talk and eat more bearable.

Or the eleven week old boy who was in the cot next to Bobbin with blunt force trauma to the head; two skull fractures; a massive bleed to the brain. The Child Protection Unit coming and going; the wee babe going for all sorts of tests; the parents contacting their lawyer; turning over furniture looking for listening devices.

You can hear absolutely everything going on in the next cot a metre away, those curtains aren't known for their sound deadening properties, after all. The parents talked loudly on the phone to make sure we all heard them, but at one point they whispered to each other. I could still hear them. He was telling her what to say when questioned, that the bleed was caused by his most recent vaccination, that the (new) skull fractures occurred during his birth.

We stayed in a room with them for three days before we were moved for our safety. Part of me wanted to stay in there, writing down everything they said so someone could stand up for this little guy, and another part of me wanted to run as far away as I could, hands over ears, la la la I'm not listening, this doesn't really happen to innocent babes.

But it does. It did. And though this whole experience has made me hold my munchkins tighter, love on them even more, and be eternally grateful for them and their health, it has also crushed a little part of my soul, too. And I'm having a lot of trouble moving past it. I'm hoping that by writing it down; getting it out of my head, that I'll be able to.

Letter to Tricky - five years old

Hey Trickster,

Happy birthday, buddy. 

Five years old, hey? Five seems like such a big boy number. It's a WHOLE hand!!! 

You continue to be a pretty awesome kid. You love scooting around the skate park, riding your bike to school (without trainer wheels, I might add!), climbing up the outside of playgrounds, jumping on the trampoline, gardening in the veggie patch, playing drums, building LEGO monuments, getting dirty, anything crafty, reading books, writing, and playing cars.

We can now wash your hair without tears! The whole water phobia appears to be a thing of the past now! You can now have showers and let the water slightly splash your face - this is a huge achievement, dude! You've been swimming a few times now, and your confidence is building so much. The first time you went swimming I was so proud I cried... and took three million photos. 

You are still my sweet, sensitive guy; you need me next to you to fall asleep and you wake up to come in to our bed twice a night. Sometimes I get cranky about it, but then I realize that you won't want me around for much longer, so I tend to snuggle in to you, kiss your cheeks and let you stay for a while before scooting you out and sending you back. I'm a sucker, I know. 

The other day you said I was your best good friend, at the top of your friends list. Not gonna lie, it was lovely to hear. Especially since sometimes I think you'd prefer to live with your Perth grandparents - because they give you treats and let you play iPad. I was surprised that Bobbin wasn't up the top, you and she play together really well about half the time. The other half of the time you're telling her to leave you alone and not move your cars.

You love to teach her. You have taught her to count (somewhat) and you are so encouraging whenever she tries things. When you say "Good job, sweetheart" my heart melts. Actually, you're quick to praise everyone when they try. It's always "Well done, Mum", and "Great try, Dad". So sweet.

School is still brilliantly exciting to you, which I love. You have made some lovely little friends that don't mind that you still take a little bit to warm up, and your teachers are helping you gain confidence.Your teacher says you have the neatest handwriting in class and you like to be the only one to draw a particular picture - so if the others are all doing rabbits for the letter R, you'll do rocket and the like. Because you're a nerd. We love nerds in this family, so power to you, Tricks. 

I'm looking forward to another brilliant year, kiddo. It could be even better if you could try listening when I talk at least some of the time... just an idea. 

Love your guts.

Mama xxx

The difference a year makes

At the start of this year I created a memory jar. It was a big jar that cost a few dollars from The Reject Shop (god, I love that place) that I chucked a bow on in a lame attempt to make it look pretty. It didn't. It looked like a Pinterest fail.

The deal was, every day I would write something nice that happened. It didn't have to be big; just something that had made me smile. Things like got a seat on the train, got a text from a friend, MG cooked an awesome dinner, a good hair day, anything.

After a few weeks, I kinda lost interest which, hello, story of my life. Big plans, not much motivation and oooooh shiny let's start a completely different project and push the other one to the back where it can't mock me for never finishing anything.

Last week as I was putting up Christmas decorations I found the jar with the pathetic smattering of notes in it and sat down to read them. One in particular caught my eye:

29th January 2014
Tricky playing WITH Logan!!! Talking, making up games even!

It was a truly momentous occasion and I'm so glad I wrote it down. So glad that I was completely filled with guilt for not continuing on with it, but there's not much I can do now apart from start again next year, perhaps with a nicer bow. Note to self: check Pinterest again. But I digress.

It was so noteworthy because until then, Tricky hadn't played with Logan despite knowing him, and seeing him weekly, since they were both around six weeks old. His mama, Mrs O, and I met at our awesome mothers group and she's one of my closest friends, so the boys have literally grown up together and even had joint birthday parties as they were born a week apart. But it still took my shy guy three years to begin to interact. That's one helluva warm up period.

The boys at their first Christmas party

Yesterday was Tricky's last day of kindy and the transformation since that memorable day in January when he started to play with other children (and not just adults) is staggering.

At the beginning of the year he would not talk. He would not sing or dance in class. He was coaxed and encouraged by his fabulous teacher who has had lots of experience with introverted kids, but it was just a matter of him quietly growing his confidence. It wasn't something that could be forced upon him; pushing him or punishing him would just make him upset because he was trying. The only person he would talk to or interact with at all was Logan and I was so grateful that they were in class together so there would be a familiar face to help the transition.

And transition he did. Now, he not only talks and plays with his buddies, he begs to have them come over or to go to their houses. When he is at school or with his mates he cracks jokes, sings and dances, makes fart noises, has poo and death in every game, pretends to be a dog, plays chasey, and more often than not, acts completely bloody silly. And I flippin' love it! OK maybe not the poo stuff, but you get my point. Just your average four year old. Average is awesome, never underestimate average.

He and Logan are such good mates. And I'm so lucky that Mrs O and I are too (she is totally my drinking buddy).

I'm bursting with pride at all his achievements this year. He has come so much farther than many of us had anticipated and it is magical that other people can now see his gorgeous, kind, funny personality shining through - a feature that only his family had experienced previously.

I will be forever thankful that he has had such a wonderful teacher who has been caring yet firm, and that he ended up in class with Logan and a beautiful bunch of kids who are just lovely to be around. Plus all the parents are ace, too. Any class mums and dads that meet ups in the pub to celebrate the end of the school year are OK by me!

Tell me what you're super proud of your kids for this year. Embrace the #mumbrag