Beyond the Edge of Adventure

My family loves bread. I'm pretty sure that most of my children have inherited, through their father's genes, a love of all things white, fluffy, savoury and fresh! Not to say that I'm not a fan of warm, fresh bread - it just doesn't like me. Being a crazily busy Mama, I have trained my children to get their own breakfast in the mornings. It saves me heaps of time flapping around the kitchen and teaches my children independence, how to moderate their servings with their appetite, economy and how to help the younger children. There's one thing that I do not like about this system. They can eat whatever they like from the following: -porridge -weet bix -museli (if I have some in the pantry) -toast -fruit One of my children would eat nothing except fruit if we let him! He's the one who says, "Nah, I'm not hungry for a biscuit. Can I have an apple?" - bless his little socks. But quite a few of my children enjoy crunchy warm toast of a mo

Oh, home.   The sweet sacred sound of birds singing, children playing and electrical appliances humming.       A place where life is lived, love is loved and new life is born.       The smell of linen freshly inside from flapping in the wind all day.   Where rambunctiousness and peace are symbiotic.     Home is freshness, green and soothing. It is red, bloody and where battles are played out to seek greater unity.   A dialogue on stage between oneself, God and one another.   Home is where the garden is. The scraggly garden. The small garden. There nonetheless, for poking and planting in when I need grounding.     It's a symphony of shouting love, righteous anger, peaceful battles, safe walls, sweetness, all tumbling under the baton of His right hand.   The war is won at home. It's a precious diamond in the rough of life. Dig it up, put it on a ring, put it on your finger. Never let it go!   Home is a sanctuary. It&#

  The running shoes are back on - again! Every single book I read on depression/anxiety mentions exercise as imperative to recovery. I have laughed every time I've read that, since I have approximately ZERO time to go for hot-jiggety walks, no money for a gym membership or dance class and roughly NO motivation to do exercise!   Why is exercise so hard to do on your own?   I realised I needed a group of like-minded ladies to keep me accountable and to motivate me to get started on an exercise routine.   Walking around a track locally was my first idea - but I wasn't able to get anyone to join me regularly and eventually I was 'too busy' to go on my own.   Then, when I was scrolling Facebook instead of exercising one day, I saw that someone had shared a post by a blogger at Stay Strong Mummy . She's a Mum of three and one of those fitnessy-types - but she found things a little different when she had her children and she couldn't keep up with

I have fallen. Oh, how I have fallen. The dull thud of my hopes and dreams has crashed on the ground. This isn’t the first time. The past three years of my life seems to be a constant acrobatic stunt in which I fail to make it and then fail to make it and then fail........ My (figurative) knees are sore from wordless shouty prayers to God. I feel disrespectful, whingy and weak. Yesterday, I spent the day in bed. I wish I could say it was a romantic dreamy day. But the truth of the matter is, I was exhausted. My main problem with this circus called life is that I think I should be able to perform this crazy stunt called motherhood perfectly the first time. My normal is everyone else’s crazy. So when I fall over from exhaustion, I often need the dull thud to make my eyes open up – to see that what I expect from myself is more than anyone can humanly do. When the thud has happened, I lie there – stunned - wondering how I could have failed so horribly yet again. Then, above the din