The Giving Heart

I had a moment with Judah during the week.

We were watching the news as a family while eating dinner – which almost never happens in our house because of all the violence and death and bad news that you tend to be bombarded with. But, I’d been a bit out of touch with what was going on in our world, and thought it might be a good idea to play catch up.

The kids were talking about bacon and trying to out-sing eachother in nursery rhymes; and a story came on about babies and young children dying in Yemen from starvation. Dave and I watched these small, skeletal babies in hospital, unable to keep any food down, and their mothers, their hearts breaking, desperate to prevent their children from slowly starving to death. No food, no milk, no jobs, and no money.

During the piece, Judah stropped singing, and watched intently; there was a moment where I almost got up and turned it off, but I didn’t. And when it finished, his questions began.

Why are those babies so sick?

Why can’t his mummy give him food so that he can be strong?

Does his daddy have a job?

Why doesn’t his Grannie give him food?

Is the doctor fixing him?

Why are the people fighting where he is?

Dave and I very slowly and carefully answered his queries, and explained the best way that we could - which is a tricky thing when your listener is only nearly four years old. I didn’t want him to be frightened, or to be overwhelmed – and I would have gladly held off on such a discussion for another three years until his understanding of the world and his place in it grew.

But, there we were, sitting at the table and talking to our boy about big things.

And while my heart was saddened for the loss of the beautiful way that he viewed the world, Judah’s compassionate heart sought to find a way to help:

Can I take the little baby my dinner so he can grow big and strong?

No sweetheart, that babe lives a very long way away. He’s in the hospital, and the doctors are helping him the best way that they can, I said.

Then I will get on three planes and walk to where he is and find all the food and give it to him so that he can be strong, he said with determination.

I was so proud of him.

Since then, we’ve had a (Judah initiated and very gently explained) daily conversation about that little baby and children in need; and while he is broadening in his understanding, he’s also interested in finding solutions and ways in which we can help. So this morning, I suggested that we take an empty jar from the cupboard, and start saving some of our pocket money to send to babies and kids that need help.

That is a very good idea Mum, he said. You can take all the money from my piggy bank and send it to the kids, so that they can be big and strong.

So very proud.

As I write this post, I’m smiling at the generosity that children have when given the opportunity to help others in need; and while it’s a discussion that I thought we’d be having in a few years, it really has reinforced for me the idea that you’re never to young to give, or to be giving. And who knows where this spark of generosity may lead? If it enables Judah to be a more compassionate child, or to grow into a man who feels the plight of others and seeks to make a difference, then embracing it now may just be the best thing we’ve ever done.

Nat

Image from joojoo on Etsy.



Find me...

And just like that, we’ve moved seamlessly from the world of pirates and the high seas, to detectives, mysteries, magnifying glasses and solving crimes.

I’m actually not quite sure what the trigger was; perhaps there was none. All I know is that my almost-four-year-old is now very slowly investigating his world, magnifying glass in hand, looking for clues that monsters have been visiting, and following (real and imagined) footprints on the floor.

My conversations with Judah nowadays tend to follow this tract:

Me: Judah, what do you want for lunch?

J: I need you to come with me and look for the foofprimts I saw outside with my magmify glass.

Me: Peanut butter or honey on your sandwich?

J: Mummy, when did you see the monster yesterday?

Me: Only when he was dancing in the front garden. Now, what do you want for lunch?

J: Um, I want some money to catch the plane to the detective shop in Adelaide.

Whenever it isn’t mealtime or naptime or you-need-to-do-this-now time, we all join in the detective work. This morning, I explained to him that good detectives ask a lot of questions, and write the answers down in a notebook that they keep in their pockets. Said notebook was found, and a pencil given, and the questions began; random things like, what did you have for breakfast? Or, why do you like yellow?

I guess you never know what questions will solve the mystery, right?

What games are your little ones playing at the moment? Or, do you remember playing detective games when you were a kid?

Nat

Remembering

So, I had a moment during the week with Lyra that made me stop and think about the things we remember from childhood, the comfort of safe, sweet memories, and how they replicate from generation to generation.

I was dressing to go out when little Lyra-Lou, fresh from a bath, wet hair in ringlets and in a bright purple singlet, came marching into the bedroom to see what I was doing. She watched for a while in silence and then began asking questions, wanting to join in too. I put cream on her small chubby cheeks, lip gloss on her pouted lips, and brushed her hair; she looked at herself and at me with a lovely sense of wonder, before declaring that we were both very pretty, and skipping out of the room to show her Daddy.

I remember doing the same thing as a girl – watching my mother dress, carefully applying her makeup. I thought she was the most beautiful woman in the world; I expect most little girls feel the same way. And she would include me in her beauty routines in the same way – cream on my cheeks, brushing my long hair, maybe just the smallest touch of lipstick. And I can see the memory playing before me, and feel that same delight, thinking that she had magically transferred some of her loveliness to me.

Have you ever had a moment like that with your child – where a memory from your youth is played over?

Nat

Ps. I think this is my most favourite photo of Lou, in her beloved Wimcee headdress. When I took it, she was telling me about where things come from – juice comes from bees, yoghurt comes from bees, milk comes from a moo, and apples are from the fridge. Bless.

Treasure!

Over the holidays, I watched the movie Amelie again, for the first time in a long time. If you know it, you may remember that Amelie goes on a mission to return a small box of treasure, found hidden in a secret cavity in her bathroom. After some delightful detective work, she finds the now grown-up owner and returns the box to him anonymously; and the memories that flood back as the man rifles through his childhood box of treasure, welled up with emotion, leave Amelie changed – she resolves to do good all her days.

While I watched the movie, Judah’s treasure box sat on the couch next to me. It was given to him at Christmas, lovingly and beautifully made by Kim and filled with the most wondrous things: an old fashioned metal robot, shells, a metal cog, a small spanner, random chess pieces, a spinning top, a hand-carved zebra from Africa, dice, rocks and a wooden spoon. Judah has added his own small treasures: a five-cent piece, an old metal fighter plane, a small plastic frog, and tiny corkscrew shells he finds at the beach.

The box was the catalyst: before we knew it, he’d embraced collecting and treasure, moved on from robots and mechanical things, and jumped headfirst (arrrrrr, me-hearties!) into the world of pirates roaming the high seas.

Obsessed, I tell you.

Actually, I can’t begin to tell you how fun this phase is; there are plenty of hand-drawn maps and more cause for armour (yeah, I didn’t know that pirates wore armour either!), eye patches, and toilet roll spyglasses with bright cellophane stuck to one end. Beach visits see him spending a considerable amount of time scanning the horizon watching for approaching tall ships, and digging in the sand at random intervals, just in case visiting pirates buried their loot.

At home, the treasure box now lives securely in a treasure chest; his fanciful stories have scary monsters that morph into hooked/peg-legged pirates (that fly through the sky chasing our magic dog, Ella and superhero sister Lou, who eats cake while sitting on the sun), and driving sees us playing a version of ‘Where’s Wally,’ pirate-style.

For the record, pirates seem to camp out a lot in trees, hide in clouds, and like visiting McDonalds for ice-cream. Who would have guessed?

Personally, I love treasure. And I wished that I had my own small wonders still tucked away somewhere, safe in a rusty box or buried beneath one of our old Queenslanders in the cool under-the-house dirt. My box may have contained paper dolls, pressed flowers, small hand-drawn pictures, pages from picture books and magazines, little dolls, and handwritten notes in envelopes with crinkle-edged stamps.

What would your treasure box contain?

Nat

Making Christmas Ours...

This year, I’m making a pumpkin pie for Christmas Day desert.

And perhaps even a lemon tart, loaded with fresh seasonal berries.

There’ll be lazy after-dinner swims in the pool, iced tea in tall glass pitchers, old (sometimes scratchy) jazz records being played, and a string of lanterns glowing on the verandah.

I’ve been thinking about starting our own family Christmas traditions a lot lately – you know, the things that you do every year as a family (isn’t there just a loveliness in things that stay the same over time?), and the things that we’ll look forward to with delicious anticipation. The small things that will make Christmas our Christmas.

The babes are old enough now to be swept up in magical things, and we’ve been discussing Santa’s job (and whether Santa enlists the help of fairies to help him out), and all the childlike things that go along with it. Judah has decided that he wants to leave a present for Santa, which I readily agreed to – and Lou suggested that the reindeer might like some honey on toast, along with the traditional carrots and apples. Who doesn’t like hot-buttered honey toast?

Dave and I have been brainstorming ways to make the magic of the season real for them both. Inside, on our bright Christmas morning, there’ll be a note left from Santa, footprints leading out from the fireplace, and a pile of string-wrapped presents stacked under the Judah-decorated tree. The plate of homemade goodies that the little ones will make the day before, will have proved too much of a temptation for old St Nick; and outside, the reindeer feast will be all but a memory. There may even be some sparkly glitter in the place where they rested – evidence of their magical pit-stop.

As we lean towards the loveliness of Christmas day, the kids have begun making their presents for the people they love most in the world – with my help, of course. Their drawings are very person-specific, and done with such care and sweetness; some of them have been transformed into small artworks, some have been set aside for more intricate projects in the New Year. But most importantly, they are all wrapped up in the idea of giving to people, and I can’t help but smile at their enthusiasm.

Do you have Christmas traditions that you’ve brought into your family from your childhood? Or have you created your own special family traditions?

Nat

Image from here.

Childhood Games

Our survey is in full swing, and it’s been lovely reading all the responses – thank you to everyone who’s already taken part – your feedback is greatly appreciated! If you’d like to be in the running to win a gorgeous Quill & Ink Handmade prize pack, you can fill out our quick survey here. Entries close soon!

In the surveys, it’s been interesting to see the progression of change in the games and toys and the way that we’ve played over generations – it’s always been something that’s really interested me (and not just because we make toys for children).

I’ve always loved hearing stories of how our grandparents played and the types of toys they had, compared to the way our parents played, and the games that they were able to create. Even the games and toys that I played with as a child are quite different to the games my wee ones play now. Not better or worse, mind you; but I guess the most obvious difference would be is that they generally have more to spark that creativity, more things to create their games with.

I don’t remember much about my childhood toy stash; but here are a couple of key things that we played with that stand out in my memory - like my box of paper dolls. Kim and I also shared a box of small, palm sized dolls, which we (very creatively) called ‘Little Dolls’ – which were played with for years, until they were literally falling apart with too much handling. The dolls all had names from the Sound of Music and the Slipper and the Rose (a musical version of Cinderella), which were our two favourite movies. I’m pretty sure that we even had multiple dolls that we named Leisel, because wasn’t she the most beautiful, most graceful and just the loveliest girl?

And at school, it was all about crazy athletic games which involved flexibility or accuracy; and for a little while there, the school yard was littered with girls kicking up their legs like can-can dancers to play Elastics (thanks for the reminder, Maxabella – it made me smile) – do you remember that game? I was even confident when the elastic height neared holders’ necks – how in the world did we ever manage that?

We were also obsessed for a while with handball, which was tricky and competitive and often resulted in lots of heated arguments over line balls and whether the serves were legal, and if the other person was cheating. There was always tiggy, red rover (both of which I seemed to be totally hopeless at), roller skating, soccer (in the middle of summer, when the earth seemed to be on fire), and skipping ropes, which was revived every year during the ‘Jump Rope for Heart’ campaign. I even remember a skipping carnival, where we raised money for the Heart Foundation by spending a whole day taking turns with the skipping rope, dressed in red, red ribbons flying in our plaited hair.

Right now, my babes are half-heartedly playing with a tub of Lego and a box of matchbox cars. Judah’s chasing a balloon around the house, trying to tackle it like a football player, and Lou’s attempting to stand on her head. We’ve had guitars out this morning, have done a bit of Elvis dancing, and there’s talk of bike riding as soon as it warms up a bit.

Isn’t play, in all its forms, just the most magical thing?

Do you remember your favourite childhood games?

Nat

Image from here.

I'll remember you...

Make loving memories wherever you can - That’s what I think every time I look into the sweet little faces of my niece Lou and nephew Judah.  Often, all Lou says to me is ‘no,’ and  I’ll watch Judah bite his lower lip when he’s about to crash tackle me out of frustration, but it’s all those little things and a million more that I don’t want to ever forget. 

    

It’s also one of the reasons why I started a memory book – so that all those quirky things they do wouldn’t be lost in the daily hustle and bustle of our lives; so that we’ll be able to look back in the years to come and remember the funny little people they once were.

The old cliché of ‘time flying’ really is true. After Lou came along, I began to see how many funny, heart-warming little moments with Judah I’d already forgotten; so, to make amends, every time I saw them, I began to write down short anecdotes – something that made my heart melt, something silly we’d had a conversation about, or something that made us all laugh out loud. It’s a record of the memory, of the day, of their age and their very distinctive personalities, and a way to keep it all close to my heart.

(Like this: I remember the day I held Judah in my arms for the first time; I was stunned firstly that he was a boy (as we had all convinced ourselves that a little girl was on her way), and then completely amazed that this little person had in an instant become such a huge part of my life - and I knew absolutely nothing about him yet)

These two little souls (and hopefully some more in the future) have taught me how important it is that we smile, giggle, and love each other, growing closer all the time - and my little memory book helps me document that journey.

How do you remember and celebrate family?  

Kim

All the world in a book...

I have a weakness for children’s picture books.

When I was pregnant with Judah, my eldest, I had already amassed a stack of best-loved books, and read to him daily, in utero. I don’t actually know if it made any difference, but Judah does love to listen to stories, and will (sometimes) stop mid-tantrum, or during a particularly boisterous outburst, to sit quietly and hear me read to him. I love this, and I hope it's the beginning of a life-long love of the printed word. 

His favourite books at the moment are The Tiger Who Came to Tea by Judith Kerr, Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day by Judith Viorst, and much to my delight – Tikki Tikki Tembo, by Arlene Mosel (it was my favourite book as a child).

Little Lou can’t quite manage to sit still through a whole story yet, unless it’s past her bedtime and she’s exhausted. Then she’ll lean in, thumb in her mouth, dolly under her arm, and I can read to her without having to call her back one hundred times. Her favourite is The Very Hungry Caterpillar, by Eric Carle – much loved by children and parents all over the world. 

I absolutely love finding picture book treasures online or in second hand bookstores. How wonderful it is to find an iconic childhood favourite buried in a box at a garage sale or hidden in the shelves at an op shop? My favourite find so far has been an old hardcover edition of The Magic Pudding, written and illustrated by Norman Lindsay. I adore that bad-tempered pudding, the simple drawings and the beautifully expressed Australiana theme – and I can’t wait to start reading it to the kids when they’re old enough.   

The Magic Pudding by Norman Lindsay, pg 22-23

What are your favourite children's picture books?

Nat

Ps. Linking up with the lovely Multiple Mum over at And then there were four for the Weekend Rewind. Thanks for stopping by! x

Diaries, journals and childhood keepsakes

Lately I’ve been reminiscing about my child/teenage-hood diaries.

Most of them had cheap locks on them, that if you pulled with even the smallest amount of force, it’d practically fall open. I’d also often only write on half the page, or until I made a spelling mistake; and then frustrated with myself, I’d either tear the whole page out, or start again a few pages along.

I was a girl obsessed with perfection, and to some extent, I still am.

And the content? When I was young, it was random rememberings of beautiful days; as I grew, it became a collection of crazed rantings in which I fixated on the unfairness of situations and things, or in rare entries, the boys I liked.

There is one thing that I’m sure set me apart, in terms of journaling - that is, once they were full up with all my secrets, I burned them, one page at a time, in a stone furnace in our backyard. For some reason, I remember looking forward to this (almost) yearly cathartic burning – it was almost like by doing it, I was able to shed the skin of the previous year, leave behind all the nonsense, worries and craziness of the previous months, and start completely anew on paper.

And in terms of journals, starting anew is the best, isn’t it? Crisp blank pages, sometimes a brand new pen, neat orderly writing, and wild stabs at being poetic and/or imaginative.

I just loved those new journals; they each had such possibility.

As I got older, the burnings slowed, then stopped altogether – and now I have a small collection of journals that I don’t think I could part with, each one wrapped in tissue paper and stored carefully in a huge box in my closet. They’re sticky-taped shut, dated, and brimming with secrets and forgotten parts of my life – almost like mini time capsules. I like the idea of opening them up again when I’m wrinkled and grey and rediscovering my young, impulsive self.

Because I’ve been remembering journals and diaries, it’s made me think about whether my two little munchkins would be the type to keep them as they grow up. Granted, they’re still very young and can’t even write their own names; but if I can think of them as pseudo time capsules, it may just give me an opportunity to start a wee bit earlier.

And then, as if it was all meant to be, I stumbled across this blog post by Katie Rich, a Brooklyn based creative mum-extraordinaire, and promptly fell in love...

Ruth's journal entry from April 21, 2009 from Katie Did

Katie’s two girls, Eve and Ruth, illustrated the best part of their week in their own journals every Sunday, and with some explanations from mama Katie, produced something so beautifully age specific and special – an treasury of the best bits of their life over the course of a year, as seen through their own eyes.

Isn’t that just precious?

So, I thought I’d give it a go with Judah. At two-and-a-half, he’s able to tell me about what he’s drawing, and loves pencilling intricate spiralled objects, which could turn out to be our dog, a blue truck, or his little sister. I’m hoping that it’ll be an evolution of drawings over the next however many months and years, and an opportunity for me to pass on something I loved as a girl.

Nat

The good, the bad, and the gruesome of fairy tales

Rapunzel and The Princess and the Pea Papercuts by Quill & Ink Handmade





You may have seen some of our beautifully intricate fairy tale papercuts at markets or on facebook – they’ve actually been an interesting and challenging extension to my obsession with childhood fairy tales.

I’m sure I loved fairy tales (as much as I do now) as a kid; I mean, who doesn’t? Aside from the ‘handsome prince rescues beautiful maiden’ scenario, I love the way that the stories are so predictable; each one follows a similar formula – no matter how the tale starts, you know that the bad guys will be punished, that the prince figure will always find his way to the beautiful maiden, that good will eventually triumph over evil, and the world will be set to right. I love the predictability, the tales’ certain path – I’ve always found it very comforting.

Over the years, I’ve read stories from all over the world, studied the way they work, applied and tested various well known formulas, and written plenty of my own. But the thing that has struck me the most? The disparity between my remembrance of childhood fairy tales – the stories that were soft, warm, rosy and beautiful – and the gruesomeness of reading the same stories as an adult. They’re violent, bloody, scary, filled with double meanings and suggestive adults only content. They almost always involve some kind of ghastly sacrifice, true love is constantly put to the test (and left to the pure-hearted maiden to master), and yes – Stepmothers are always, always bad.

Briar Rose Papercut by Quill & Ink Handmade

When I started reading them again as an adult, I’d often find myself laughing out loud at the content. Take for example, the original version of Rapunzel by the Brothers’ Grimm - the naïve, unmarried Rapunzel alludes to a lover (yes, a lover) and the child that she’s carrying by complaining of the increasing tightness of her gowns to her captor, Dame Gothel.

And the wicked Stepmother in the Juniper Tree decapitates the head of her small stepson, then props him up against the wall, his head balanced precariously on his shoulders, and goes on with her chores. She later goes on to chop up his corpse, adding the meat to a stew that she feeds to his father.

As gruesome as the tales are, I actually think it adds to their specialist appeal – they’re able to span the divide between childhood and adulthood, making the tales accessible to a wider audience. As a child, I glossed over the horrid for the happily ever after; as an adult, I’m able to laugh at the scandal, decadence and the audacity of the content.

The Seven Ravens papercut by Quill & Ink Handmade

It’s also one of the reasons I started papercutting the tales – I wanted to encourage adults to re-read these astonishing and beloved stories. While most of the papercuts are for children, containing sweet scenes with beautiful girls trapped in their beautiful worlds, each one comes with a blurb of the story, which I hope prompts a rediscovery of the classic.  And in some, there’s also a hint of the true nature of the tale - like the small knife in the hand of the girl in the Seven Ravens, which she uses to cut off her finger in order to save her enchanted brothers.

Nat

Simple Pleasures

When I was little, I had a small box of paper dolls that I painstakingly handmade and gave personalities to. I’d cut them all out together in one big long paper doll chain, then give each one a different hairstyle and clothes with my bright coloured felt pens. They were all named after characters from my favourite childhood movies, had complicated, busy lives, were always getting into romantic scrapes, and the girls always needed to be rescued by one of the ‘handsome prince’ type figures.

I loved those paper dolls; they were my most favourite and for some strange reason, an entirely secret game. Maybe I just liked having a creative outlet that was all my own.

I also remember being really upset if one of them got too fragile for use and I knew I’d have to make a replacement (which was never quite the same or as good as the original).

I saw a paper doll for sale on Etsy this week, and it spurred the memory of my own; and then in searching for some to go along with this post, I found these which I actually wouldn’t mind owning myself…

Miniature Moveable Valentines Dolls by Hollandsworth

Summer Fun Paper Doll set by Little Mo and Friends

The Cat made me Steal by PaperThinSaga

I kept my paper doll box until I was well into my teens, and then just before moving out, in a fit of grown-up-ed-ness, I threw out the lot. I regret it now - having a small daughter of my own, I can’t help but imagine showing them to her when she’s a little bit older – a small glimpse into the childhood I can barely remember.

 

Nat