Tuesday, 30 June 2015


Originally published in Elke Magazine

Hindsight is both a curse and a gift. Mistakes made are so obvious when a slightly older, slightly wiser version of you trawls through old memories. But that’s the thing; they are memories and nothing more. That time has passed and all we can do is grow…


I fell in love when I was eighteen to the boy that is now the father of my children. It was like any young love, only it was ours; fierce and bright and strong with no thought of the future, until we realised that life was taking us in opposite directions. He was Swedish. I was Australian, our lives separated by a world in between. He was going back to the north, to his home and I was staying. Being away from him was only half living. My thoughts wandered to him always. My heart had already left with him and before long, with nothing but my suitcase, the rest of me followed too.

When I arrived on the frozen ground relief spread through my bones like nothing I have felt before. I could breathe again. I felt at home, not in Sweden, but with him. I was shy, young, attached to my lover like I was reliving an ancient love tale. It was infinite and all consuming. My first child grew slowly inside my expanding belly and for a time I felt complete, blissful in knowing that my baby would be joining me in my love-filled dream, my little world.

Months and months went on before I realised how much I had drawn into myself. I hadn’t made a life for myself; I had created my own world inside the walls of my apartment, away from the newness beyond. My baby boy was perfection but as he grew, I grew too. My ambitions and my loneliness slowly eating away at my euphoria and then suddenly I was lost. After almost three years I longed for home, but the boy I had fallen in love with had his life here, his friends, his family. He had a history, familiarity and a comfort that I yearned for.

We had three different homes in a matter of months and four weeks after our second child was born we left the grey Swedish Winter for Australia, the promise of the burning sun too tempting to resist. It was both wonderful and heartbreaking. We were together with our small ones but we were leaving behind half of our family. I had been too busy, too blind to realise that we were so loved and that each time we moved it meant we would be taking a part of their lives away. It was both misery and elation. We felt torn. We learned quickly the consequences of our spontaneity and wanderlust. The hardships that we thought we had left behind were only the beginning.  After weeks I could see the same struggle that I had gone through, only this time I was observing. It was ferocious and dark and then nothingness, like waves in a storm. Somewhere, in the ceaseless moving, our emptied pockets and the broken beginnings of friendships, we had forgotten how to live. We became lonely and bored and started to forget each other too.

For the first time we stopped. For the first time we were honest with ourselves. The mistakes we’d been so blind to became obvious. In the night, when our beautiful babies slept, all the truths and faults and naivety flowed from us and in the end we discovered that the life we had chosen was never going to be easy. Home for us could never be one place. His home was there, mine was here. We needed to make our own. We needed to find our common ground. Where it was didn’t matter, as long as it was a place where we could build our lives together. Somewhere we didn’t need to feel torn, somewhere we could discover ourselves without one of us feeling left behind.

We are on the verge of that adventure. We have found our common ground. We are young and reckless but broken and now will be the time and place to right our wrongs, to catch up with ourselves and each other. We know it will take time and work. We will have to be brave and patient and accept the hardships we have created for ourselves and continue on regardless. But most of all, it’s our blessing; an opportunity to learn, to live and to thrive and for that, I will always be grateful.

                                                                                          FOLLOW US ON: INSTAGRAM

Letters for our children

Originally published in Elke Magazine

“I showered for the first time in days, sweet ones, and I was not alone. Your small, pink bodies dancing around my feet while water trickled down invisible paths on your bare backs. You are sleeping now and I can be alone. I am sick and exhausted and I am happy to hear your breaths in the dark so I can take a moment to just be. I wish I could describe how blissful it is to just sit still, in ease and in silence. Without one eye on you, ready to leap to save you or any number of our belongings, as it always is in your waking hours and of course, as my thoughts are finally free to wander they find their way back to you, my little ones and all I want to do is fill these blank pages with words about you both, because no matter how much I write it will never be enough…”

I write letters.

I steal quiet moments during the sunshine hours or stay up late into the night and I write to my children. I write my love for them, my wonder. I write my frustrations and my joy. Some letters are never finished, interrupted mid sentence, never to be continued. Others are just scraps, small tastes of the people they’re becoming. I write letters and it heals me. When my bones ache from guilt and I can’t run away from it, I turn it into words for them.I don’t write as often as I should, life happens instead, and with two small people life can be an orderless rambling of graceless moments. But when I open my journal I become giddy from that sweet sensation of ink-covered pages beneath my fingers. It’s beautiful, the way the paper takes on a different quality and as I admire with warm eyes, a word I’ve written weeks, months, maybe even years ago, catches my attention and I read. My heart lights up as pages filled with my loves, my fears, my dreams, my stories and my heartaches leap out at me and I remember.  I remember with such raw freshness sometimes, it hurts.

“You are my beautiful nature boy. You are calmed by the colours and the movement of the trees in the wind, fascinated by the noises that the world makes. As soon as I take you outdoors you are calm, at peace and truly satisfied. It is humbling to see you like this and I am so proud to be your mama. At three months you are as bright eyed as ever…”

Shivers run cold beneath my skin when I think of my children reading my words when they’ve grown. Maybe they will be waiting for a child of their own or maybe they will take comfort in having an insight into our lives as young people, as young parents. Maybe they will want to remember where they came from, all the places we travelled and all the love we shared. Maybe it will help them through their own darkness or to piece together missing parts of their own story.

What they find in these letters, is something I will be waiting a long time to know, but I can only think of the joy to come, for me and for them. My sweet ones, that will grow out of their baby bodies and fall into life as children, as teenagers and then as adults. To think that they are on the same journey that I am on, only they are just beginning. And even though I might not always be near them I hope in some small way I can help them, encourage them and guide them.

Write letters to your children. Be honest, open and heart felt. Pour love and gratitude into them. Collect their words and moments and beautiful, little things that surround them and turn it into a book or send a bulging envelope filled with ripped out journal entries to them. It is a gift I cannot wait to give.

“…So sleep my little ones and when you wake I will be here to wrap you in my arms and kiss your sleepy cheeks and then we can eat and dance and sing and play like we so often do. I will try to not to get too grumpy and I will try to understand. Tomorrow I will try the best I can, I promise, and I hope that even though I’ve messed it up so many times before, you’ll be happy. So sleep.”


Monday, 29 June 2015

Honey Dawn

It was a jet lagged morning that we climbed out of bed and drove in the darkness to a little clearing away from the road. Elder slept on his favourite, thick blanket in the long grass and August stayed close as we explored. Slowly the world expanded as the light spread across the landscape. What had been a wall of night turned into rolling hills and a wide body of water, still and bright. The grass turned into a deep honey colour, gold and red abundant. We climbed trees and danced until it really properly felt like day time and then we went back home wondering why we didn't welcome every new day like this.


Monday, 7 July 2014


Mathilde, with her fiery hair, followed me into the cold. Our breath formed billowing, white clouds and our teeth chattered fiercely. But her sweet, young face remained just so and her piercing blue eyes caught mine through my lens and before we were forced inside as the snow began falling and the cold began gnawing at our limbs, we captured these...   


Wednesday, 2 July 2014


My hands smell of fresh, succulent lemons as I prepare breakfast, lemons that were picked from my parents' farm. It's so strange that a scent can be so much, could carry so much meaning. I am giddy from the very thought of it, as it lingers on my hands.

We are in an old, new place. Back to my roots in my childhood town and the farm I used to call home. The people I used to know are here still, unchanged in many ways and kind like I remember. As I have grown this place has remained still. I look the same as I did before I ran away too but beneath my skin, every part of me is different.

Familiar faces on the street come as a shock to me. Introverted, in my own made up world, I forget that here I am forced to meet people from my past. I am so happy to see them but I become a little bashful and say silly things, scolding myself for being so ridiculous as I walk away red faced and slightly embarrassed. 

My small boys flourish here. Already I see so much change in them. Before the sun has emerged above the horizon we are awake, jet lagged and anxious to see the sun we walk through the shadowed garden and wait for its impending glow. August runs, giggling. He is ecstatic, like an imprisoned bird set free to soar again. My parents' dogs, black and white and wild, follow August eagerly. They are almost always by his side, like his animal guardians. Our days spent here are spent outside. I follow August with my camera and Elder sleeps peacefully against me in his carrier. We collect eggs and pick raspberries, strawberries, cherry tomatoes and snow peas from the garden. August learns quickly and knows how to find them. He walks satisfied from the garden with sticky hands and his plump lips stained red.

Elder is like sunshine on a dull day. He is happy and giggling and patient, content with his world. It is a relief to be the mother of such a calm and gentle creature. Adjusting to two children is tiring and my busy mind slips easily into distracted frustration. I will be forever appreciative that loved ones are near enough to save me, that the incredible task of loving and caring is shared with my family.

Life's dynamic has changed now that Elder is here. The slow, easy days when August was so tiny have changed to organised, regimented ones or complete chaos, mostly the latter. It's hard to accept that those bliss-filled days are gone now but this new tempo is ripe with possibility and has taught us to strive for bigger, better things. I wish we could decide on a path to take now. I remind myself that it will come in time and if not, we will carve our own way.

Each night a weary August pulls me to the door as he rubs his eyes and I pick him up, wrapping my warm arms around his tiny body and walk him outside. The stars here are brighter and more beautiful than any other place I have been. We are drawn to them. They call to us, just as Sirens would entice sailors by their deceptive beauty and promise. I sing 'Twinkle twinkle little star' as we stare out to the never ending universe above. August waves to the sky as I take him inside. I wonder sometimes how he can contemplate such an extraordinary sight.

When my mind wanders from reality, daydreams are filled with fresh food and a garden of my own. I am more lazy than I would like to admit when it comes to food but I'm hoping that a working garden created by my own hands will be the encouragement I need to dedicate my time to making wholesome meals. While we're here, with space and support I would like to turn my day dreams into reality.

How long we plan to stay is unclear. We are lost, as we so often are and life here is insecure. Tomorrow we might have to leave but maybe we will stay and discover something incredible. 

                                                                     FOLLOW US ON:  BLOGLOVIN   FACEBOOK   INSTAGRAM

Vote For Us @ TopBaby Blogs! The Best Baby Blog Directory Please click! A visit a day boosts my blog ranking at Top Mommy Blogs - The Best Mommy Blog Directory Ever!