#850 Walk like a Shaman

Have you ever felt like you weren’t being heard?

Well, maybe it had to do with the people you were talking to, NOT LISTENING.

We are all predispositioned in our views on the world and our personal opinions, based on the experiences we’ve had, the teachers who have taught us, and the things that moved us into our own a-ha! moments.

We talk and talk and talk. It really only matters though, who you are listening to, and whether they are your kindred spirit. When seeking guidance, advice, help, if you are chalk, and the person you are talking to is cheese, well… it serves to reason that their advice will centre on the dairy, whereas you are looking at a blackboard kind of approach.

You get my drift.

I know that it is beneficial to widen the horizons and look outside the square – this applies to all parts of life, with the region of seeking outside help included. But when you feel like your soul is trying to tell you something, and wherever you go to for help, you can not hear any words of comfort, you can’t see any glimmers of wisdom, and you can’t feel any deeper meaning or connection that makes you think you might finally be in the right hands…

You start second guessing yourself. You start to doubt that inner voice, that quiet yearning tone, and wonder if your soul, is in fact, what you think it is.

You start to listen to the majority.

I depend a lot on my instinct and intuition…

Thank God for that.

Because today I found someone who speaks my language. She not only spoke with comfort, wisdom and meaning, but she actually spoke to my soul, and confirmed to me all my darkest and deepest fears and wishes.

They had been true. I had doubted myself, for nothing.

The feeling of relief and gratitude that I still hold in me from this meeting today, is profound. My soul is light, my head is clear. There is no stopping me now.

The waves of repercussions I am still getting from having met face to face with this amazing human, are still echoing through my body, and I hope they don’t leave… not now, not soon, not EVER.

Today, I met a Shaman.

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Photo by Allef Vinicius on Unsplash

#799 (Tiny) kitchen hand

I was preparing dinner. One of the things on tonight’s list were these too-easy mini pizzas I make using puff pastry, and they work just as well as a side dish as they do in baby girl’s kinder lunchbox.

She spied me, making them.

“Mama me help?”

I must have grumbled, or made no response. I was in one of those moods. You know that mood where you just want to get shit done, instead of entertaining someone and being all patient?

Sadly in that moment, I wasn’t the ‘let’s do this together honey!’ Mum I try to be. Rather I was the short-tempered and cranky ‘I’m busy!’ Mum.

I must have realised this though, because even when her back was turned as I got to a part that she could do, instead of quickly finishing them off myself, I called her over.

“Do you wanna help me sprinkle cheese?”

And after she did that, narrating “sprinkle sprinkle sprinkle” as she went, she then asked

“Can I roll?”

I breathed in deep for that one. God help me how would they turn out? … But sure, why the hell not? It was just rolling.

They turned out beautiful. One broke in the middle half-way through, but I didn’t even care. I had suddenly seen ourselves through my eyes 5 years earlier, and realised that she was helping me – wanting to help me in the kitchen – something a pre-Motherhood SmikG would have clapped her hands with joy for. Something a pre-baby me would have thought was the most cherished and beautiful thing in the world to share.

And so I pushed my busy-ness to the side, and stood in the glow of gratitude.

#675 Helping Hubbie no.2

I was rushing around the house 20 minutes before leaving for work, trying to organise some Christmas treats to bring in.

Usually I bake gingerbread men and spread the Christmas cheer. I still had tradies in the kitchen yesterday, so freshly baked gingerbread was NOT going to happen.

I got baby girl popping in chocolates in little bags for me, while I started writing on the little cards for each of my work colleagues.

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15 minutes now. Crap. I still had to eat.

A pleading look, a sweet question, and one fast Hubbie later, and I was eating this:

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He looks out for me and I love him so much for it. I asked him to make me a cheese and tomato sandwich, and he threw in some cucumber and ham and sprinkled salt and pepper all Masterchef-style, and bam! lunch done.

I drove off 5 minutes late with a bag full of individually-wrapped and personalised Christmas chocolates, but I didn’t care because my belly was happy.

🙂

And on a side note… I (well baby girl) wrapped 13 lots of choc for my work buddies… though I really would have wanted to do less. And why? Because Christmas. Though there are people I am closer to than others, and some that I feel are NOT deserving of treats as are others… I just couldn’t omit certain people simply because of our work relationship or what I think about them most of the time.

And so then I thought, ‘if I can ignore the crap for one festive day, how about we ignore it for the other 364 days of the year?’

???

Food for thought…

 

#640 Saved by the Family

“I’m f^&ked,” I wrote to Hubbie from work this morning. “Heads up.”

He knew what that meant. That meant I was going to come home later in the day, plonk myself on the couch, and moan about how much pain I was in.

And I did exactly that.

Baby girl assisted by sitting really close to me and telling me I was her best friend in the whole world, cradling my face from time to time, and saying every so often “yay, Mama home.”

Hubbie helped by cooking dinner and doing ALL the washing up.

Both HUGE things. I mean, love, attention, food and home maintenance… I should get sick more often, yeah?

NO. Most definitely, no.

Back to normal tomorrow please.

But it is nice to know, my loved ones have my back. ♥

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Photo by Daria Nepriakhina on Unsplash

 

#617 The stage she is at, 4.2

It occurred to me today as baby girl and I walked hand in hand into the local shopping centre to do some grocery shopping, that I am really enjoying the stage baby girl is at.

It comes to reason that parents should always be enjoying ALL the stages their kids go through. True, true. However each stage comes with it its own unique successes as it does its own circumstantial tribulations, and though the younger years are dominated by innocence and naivety of the world, the older ones are shadowed with development, awareness and coming-of-age real world issues.

Each stage is beautiful, though at the time as parents, we probably wanna bang our heads against the wall, more often than not. But, I think I have found a pretty cool age with baby girl at the moment…

She listens. Most of the time. She’s at the age where she listens when I say “hold my hand” as we are heading through a car park, and if she stamps her foot down and says “no,” because she is holding a mini Lego piece, a Shopkin toy or a kinder surprise, I tell her to stick ‘right next to me,’ and she happily complies. I know she will be good, and I know I can trust her.

She listens when I bargain with her too. “We can’t do that now, but I promise you, sometime next week we will come back for a babycino and I’ll let you play there for 20 minutes!”

“YAY! Thank you so much Mama!”

And that leads me to the next thing. She is very easily made happy. Everything amuses her, everything is fun, everything is exciting. The sight of her old fave stuffed toy makes her squeal with delight before holding it close to her chest in a bear-hug, I tell her her Dad is coming home for lunch and she starts sprinting around the house in anticipation… and then, there is PASTA.

The fireworks that begin when the girl realises she is having her fave carb for dinner, I can’t even begin to explain. “Yippees!” “Woo hoos!” jumping up and down and saying things like “best in the whole world” are just some of the catch phrases when she sits down to this. It’s the adult equivalent of winning the lottery, I kid you not.

The phrases too. I say “Dad is at work today,” and she responds with “Oh, come home now. Best friend Dad.” (Awww).

She got further brownie points by saying “Mummy Daddy in my heart.” Girl you want a Ferrari for your next birthday or something? Damn, the heart strings!

And then I close/open the car window as she wishes and she says “yeah, good job Mama.” Big LOLS when she congratulates me on a job well done.

And then there are her food requests. “Mama do banana, no blueberry, no strawberry – ” making sure I get her morning weetbix order right. She’ll be hassling waiters with her food requirements in no time.

She thrives on responsibility. She helps me wipe the water from her trampoline after it rains, she insists on putting items into the shopping trolley, and if I just mention the word ‘help,’ she is immediately at beck and call, on duty, set to impress, and more than ready for all the accolades that follow.

There’s a lot of innocence, a lot of fun, and a lot of laughter at a stage like this one. She is young and carefree enough to not be worried about the ‘real world,’ yet still old enough to be able to go to the toilet on her own, brush her teeth, and even put toilet paper rolls in the toilet when I ask her to.

All of the above happened today, and though I scratch my head at times thinking ‘where did the day go?’ when I look back like I did today, to see the memorable moments making it up, it all comes flooding back to me.

The day went with my lovely 4 year old girl.

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#606 Being able to Give

I feel lucky to be a part of a community that cares so much about those less fortunate around them.

And I am grateful, that like them, I am able to give what I have to those that are in need.

It need not be heaps of money, pricey items or even the most expensive of commodities, TIME.

Helping how you can, in the smallest of ways as what it may seem like to you, is help enough.

I have been following an ongoing facebook thread in a local page I follow, of two women who take in unwanted/unused household items and clothing, to give to those unable to afford it, because they are experiencing some horrible hardship. The most common of unfortunate circumstances has been when someone in the family is sick, and therefore all of their money goes to medical treatments, rather than other things which usually a necessity, become a luxury.

So when the call out went to Summer clothing in girls items aged 3-4, I knew it was time to step up.

I went through baby girl’s wardrobe, looking for specific items to donate. As it is I have kept most of her clothes and parted only with some, for the main reason that there is a possibility that I could one day have another girl, and she could use many of these beautiful items.

Now having said that, I know that if I were to really have another girl, I would probably only use a very minute amount of these ‘recycled’ clothes, and buy the rest, from sheer want of getting pretty new things for her. I think really, I find it hard to let go of these clothes once baby girl grows out of them due to the memories attached, and I use the ‘recycle’ excuse as cover.

But I did what I could anyway, and popped some pretty things in a bag. I stalled at two dresses, and so thought best I call in baby girl for help.

“Baby girl, these two dresses… do you think they’re too small? Mummy was going to give some of your small things to a sick girl.”

Baby girl looked at the dresses, thinking.

Finally she settled, letting me know that yes, I could give away the two smaller ones, yet definitely do not give away the one on the right Mum.

Such a girl.

And that’s it. I was humbled by the presence of sickness and health, of love and sadness, and of introducing an important topic to baby girl… that of giving to those less fortunate, and the stark nature of Life as we know it.

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Photo by ORNELLA BINNI on Unsplash

#569 My nurse

Not only do I have a cheerleader.

Not only do I have a monkey.

Not only do I have a princess.

Not only do I have a clever cookie.

Not only do I have a mini me.

But I also have a Nurse.

I was very worse for wear, emotionally speaking, today. I had a good cry, and baby girl saw me in this state. I waver between wanting her to see me in all my facets and understand that adults get upset too, but I also worry about stressing her out and placing undue worries on her sweet head, and so I try to hide it from her at times too.

She saw me covering my face and wiping away my tears.

She wanted to make me happy. She rubbed my back. She pulled me over to her toys and got me down to play with her.

My mind was weighing on me too much. I went to lie on the couch.

Soon she found me. She got a lip balm she has recently discovered, and promptly applied it to my lips.

Then she took her flowery-framed toddler sunglasses, and put them on my face, to make me, in her sweet words, “more happy.”

Next she took the throw draped over the couch, and covered me in it. By this stage I was feeling better with all of this attention, and was starting to lap up her dedication to the cause.

She then lay down next to me under the throw, and we cuddled there on the couch, while the wild weather that has been shocking Spring, unleashed through the windows outside.

She sat up, a thoughtful look on her face. I was about to launch into a gentle spiel of how big people can also get upset sometimes, just like little people, but decided to ask her a question first.

“What are you thinking baby girl?”

A pause.

“A toy.”

I actually burst out laughing. Here I was thinking she would be scarred from seeing her Mum so upset, and instead she was thinking of a God-damn toy.

I laughed, and she laughed with me, mimicking my airy/breathless/cackly laugh.

We went to the shops soon after.

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This girl, wearing a Unicorn skirt on top of her trakkies, a Unicorn headband, sunglasses as if it were 30 degrees out (it was like, 3) and her Olaf band-aid on her forehead from where she had busted her head nicely days earlier from bashing it against a glass coffee table, got her God-damn toy.

She totally deserved it. She had literally saved me. If it weren’t for her, I would have been in that funk for a long, long, long, sad time.

She can have all the toys in the world. My nurse.