Pride of Friendship: The WILD LILLY STUDIO Opening!!

Being a small business owner has brought me a lot of great things in the past 12-months. It's brought me a sense of clarity that I've never experienced before, and some very amazing friendships. Friendships that started just by networking with the right people, and then those 'right people' became business acquaintances, and friends. Really, really good friends.

And it's in those friendships I have discovered that we're all wanting the same thing: success. We believe that hard work, and a positive outlook will indeed bless us with everything that we've worked, and in some cases suffered for.

So I couldn't have been prouder to have watched someone who started as a business acquaintance and become a very dear friend, achieve something pretty darn special. My dear friend threw caution to the wind and she did it. She opened her own studio.

I went to her Official Opening a couple of weeks ago, and I stood there in awe of the amount of people that appreciated her so much and loved her so dearly. She filled her studio, people were outside! I actually found myself just standing there watching her, in that non-creepy-but-totally-in-awe moment when you're just too proud to function. And I may have teared up, just a little when she was talking about her daughter... "It's all for you, kiddo!" *cries*

She did it. She chased her dream. She didn't give up. And it's paid off.

And I am so proud of her.

If you're interested in checking out Carol's AMAZING photography work, you can visit her website here, or drop in to her NEW! studio at Unit 5/685 Brighton Road, Seacliff (Tuesday to Saturday 8:30am to 3:00pm)

I'm no longer the Out-Of-Touch Parent

I make no secret of the fact that Logan's schooling, thus far, has been difficult. It's been a combination of behavioural issues (Sensory Processing Disorder and Anxiety), but also not having the right support network within his school - and as a parent it's been very difficult. Difficult to send my son to school 5-days a week and hoping that he's treated nicely. Difficult to go to work and hope that I won't get a phone call to go and pick him up over some trivial issue. It's hard to not get emotional when it's your child, and you feel that they're being mistreated.

Each year Logan has been at school his teachers have improved, slowly. His Reception year was wrought with frustration at a teacher that was a major part of his problems, and formed no part in a solution whatsoever. And the Principal wasn't much better. Year One was better - we had a teacher that, even though I felt he was labelled 'the naughty kid', she wanted to help him. She initiated avenues for us that meant identifying some of his issues, which has enabled us to move forward.

This year, he is two days in and she's amazing. And amazing in that I want to go to school and just hug her.

As a working mother, it is SO hard to drop your kid off at school (and for me, I drop him off at 7:20am, so at before school care!) and not know what they're up to, who is teaching them, or what kind of effect it will have on him at home. We get newsletters, but when you have a young child, expecting them to bring it home in one piece... well it's just not going to happen. By the time I get them (if I get them!), it's a week later and all the 'news' isn't relevant anymore.

So quite often I've had to call the school like an out-of-touch mother and just ask. Ask if there's perhaps anything I should know - Is the last day of school this term a Casual Day? When is the Sports Day? What time is school finishing on 'X' Day? All those little bits of information that get missed when you're not physically there to ask it yourself at the end of the school day.

This teacher.. She Blogs.

BLOGS! A blog dedicated to the classroom!

I opened his new 'Communication Book' yesterday to find out when his 'Sharing Day' is. Also to find out what Reader he has for the week. And it was there. This fresh, typed, colourful letter from his new teacher. I've never had a colourful typed letter from school before!

And it had dot points. I *may* have gotten butterflies at the thought that this teacher knew how to use Microsoft Word. Just a little bit.

I knew EVERYTHING. The first day in and I know when Sharing Day is. I know when they have 'Fruit Time'. I even know her DIRECT email address. I read it and called out to my husband with the same amount of excitement when I get an email to say that Lorna Jane is on sale. (and trust me, I get excited!)

I just love her. For thinking of those out-of-touch parents like me, that aren't present at school, but still desperately want to know what our kids are up to.

And suddenly this year looks like it's going to be a great school year.

My boys weren't breastfed, and they turned out OK

When I was growing up, I had these visions in my mind of how I would raise my children. I imagined dressing them in cute little outfits, wearing cloth nappies... and breastfeeding. I went into Motherhood under the false pretence that it would be easy. That it was natural and thus came naturally. Most of it did, except breastfeeding.

I also assumed that being, ahem, rather ample in that area that it would also mean that they'd be nice and full. Almost as if my cup would runneth over.

And they didn't. Not even close.

I was 23 when I had Logan. I was the first within my circle of friends to have a child, and the first amongst my cousins and immediate family - so when it came to asking questions, or receiving advice I was lost. And I struggled to find my place, and what I wanted amongst it all.

I tried and failed miserably to breastfeed him. And at about 5-weeks of age, and after spending the couple of weeks prior to that feeding, dealing with the agony of cracked nipples et al, I caved and gave up. I couldn't do it anymore, it was affecting every aspect of my life and I was failing all of it.

Ryder was born 5.5 years later - and when it came to having him I had remnants of guilt from my first child. I didn't want to fail, and I felt that I gave up far too easily. So I pushed myself - from the moment I knew I was pregnant I put myself under this enormous pressure to breastfeed. And muchlike his brother I just couldn't, there was nothing there, no milk.

I tried everything: the biscuits, the vitamins, the prescriptions, expressing... OMG I expressed like you wouldn't believe. If he wasn't attached to my boob, it was attached to the breast pump. I was exhausted. And at 5-weeks, the same time I 'quit' with his brother, I too admitted defeat and put my boy onto formula. (the photo above is the photo I took of Ryder on his 'last ever' breastfeed. I was an emotional wreck)

And then I blamed my breasts for ruining the bond I had with my children.

It's not been til now, when both of my children are that little bit older, and incredibly healthy, that I've been able to 'let go' of this guilt. There would have been no way I could have kept up with their demands - I have two very hungry boys, and they were very hungry from the moment they entered the world.

I would have loved to have been one of those mothers out there feeding their children, but I was one of those other mothers that bottle fed, and got those same 'judging eyes' for a different reason. And being the relatively polite person I am, when asked why I was bottle feeding and not breast, I'd let them know that it wasn't by choice... I would have done things differently if I had any control over it. Alas I didn't.

So from a non-breastfeeding mama, to all those beautiful breastfeeding mamas out there, I say more power to you. Feed your bubba, whereever, whenever and be proud that you can. Because you can. And because for a completely natural thing in our own bodies, it's bloody hard.

When a trip to the Physio breaks your heart... and not your back

I've been seeing a Physio about an issue with my back for a couple of weeks now. It's nothing major but I have a lot of stiffness that is causing me a lot of discomfort. And by a lot of discomfort, I mean that at times I cannot stand, or sit, and it's very sore.

Today I went along to my weekly appointment like any other week. I laid on the table, made small talk whilst also attempting to entertain 17-month old Ryder.

About half way through my appointment, an elderly man came in for his treatment and he laid on the table adjacent to me. There was a curtain drawn between us, so I was never able to see his face, but I could tell by the way he spoke that he was upset.

My Physio started talking to him, with a very sincere and solemn tone to his voice as I laid there with some weird machine attached to my back. And I laid there, contemplating stresses in my life, and worrying over a 17-month old boy who was becoming restless, I heard a heart breaking story of a man who *just* lost his wife. Of 55 years.

I felt horrible 'eavesdropping' his story, and hearing his cries. But his tears and his raw emotion got the better of me. And I cried. From behind the curtain I cried for him, for a love he lost and so desperately misses.

You see, he awoke on Christmas morning and said 'Merry Christmas' to his wife. Christmas-freaking-morning. She didn't respond - and upon checking her he realised she had a stroke, a stroke which paralysed most of her body and rendered her unable to speak, ever.

She was kept alive, and bounced between improving and 'going downhill' for a few days - and her final word before her passing a couple of weeks later was to her pregnant grandchild (who was expecting their first great-grandchild). She reached her hands onto her pregnant belly and whilst she struggled, she uttered the word 'boy'.

And she passed on not that much later.

I don't think I've ever heard a grown man cry. And this poor man was crying the way you could only expect someone to cry when they've lost the love of their life. He was trying, so hard, to let my physio know what happened - and as he struggled through each sentence, and I heard each heartbreaking moment of this woman's final days surrounded by those that desperately wanted her to stay here, I just cried with him. I kept picturing the events taking place in my mind, picturing this frail woman uttering her last words.

And the worst thing? The most heart breaking thing? That poor man was at the physio because he hurt his back in the hospital chair whilst holding onto her hand.

Suddenly, every single trivial stress in my life seemed insignificant. And there's a part of me still, hours later, that make me reflect on my marriage, my children and my loved ones - and it scares the crap out of me to even think what my life would be like without any of them. It's the same kind of fear that washes over me when watching a 'pull at the heart strings' movie... and I fear, so much, of my life without the love of my life.

There's a part of me that wants to remember this man's heartbreak for the rest of my life. To use his heartbreak to fuel more 'living in the moment' within my marriage.

And very aptly, 'Click' is just starting on TV. One of those 'pull at the heartstrings' movies that very much ties in with this exact emotion... Life is short. It's too short. But not too short to sit by your loved one in hospital, in their last moments, and hurt your back.

You can fix your back. And I am sure that went through his mind as it ached.
But his heart? I don't think that'll heal. Ever.