Have we got it too good?

In anticipation of reading aloud various books to E4, I have been reading them myself first to see if they will be suitable for her. I am so enjoying reading these ‘childrens’ books. Some I remember from my own childhood, and some I’m reading for the first time.

I’ve recently read Matilda by Roald Dahl, Charlotte’s Web by E B White and The Little House on the Prairie by Laura Ingalls Wilder.

I LOVED The Little House on the Prairie. I found myself reading bits of it aloud to D, and for me that’s always a good indicator of a book that I love or which has impacted me. D tolerates my cries ‘Oh, listen to this …’ and patiently waits while I read. Sometimes he quite enjoys it too, and other times he’s clearly bored. Poor thing.

What I loved about this book was the way it made me think about how we live. I so enjoyed learning a little about pioneer life (American) and it made me long for the simplicity of that life too. Strange really, those longings it brought out of me…I honestly can’t see myself ever dashing off to the outback with a horse and a wagon and an axe and gun and fending for myself like they did. Why was I so attracted to that lifestyle?

The heroine Laura’s family lived very simple lives, with few material possessions. They set off into unknown territory to make a new life for themselves. This required them to have the skills to source their own food and water, build shelter and protect themselves from dangers. The didn’t have much, and so it meant that when they had luxuries it really was a special treat.

Sometimes I think that we have so much in our lives, nothing is special anymore. We eat well, a varied diet with plenty of luxury foods. We have entertainment aplenty, easy transport, running water. We don’t have to struggle for the necessities of life. What our parents or grandparents would have considered luxuries are now considered commonplace or ‘must haves’. But are we really better off?

I often wonder why we are so busy when we have washing machines to wash our clothes, dishwashers to wash our dishes, cars to get us to places quickly, computers to communicate faster and supposedly more effectively etc. Surely all our conveniences should create more leisure time. And yet, we often don’t spend time together as a family just talking. I have heaps of ‘friends’ and people I email from time to time, and even virtual friends who I keep in ‘relationship’ by reading and writing in the most public forum…the internet. (Am I the only one who thinks there is something strangely artificial about that?) And yet few really close friends with whom I can spend a long time in easy company.

And how can you compare the delight of receiving a long hand written letter from far away, with a quickly typed electronic message on your screen? This is probably another post altogether, but don’t you miss the days of writing and receiving letters? It’s a dying art and I’m feeling inspired to keep it alive.

Anyway, I know others have written on this subject. I think I might just give it some thought and try to recapture some of the simplicity of life; the essence of truly living, and living well.

A heavy heart and swirly brain

Don’t have a clue what to write…received some bad news yesterday and am still in shock. I’ve posted about it but kept it private for now cause the family is still reeling. I hate being so far away from family at times like this.

Strangely, the past month or two I have been regularly thinking that I must get my passport in order as it has expired.  When the call came yesterday, it was the first thing I thought of…that I didn’t have a passport. I think I may have to go over there in the next ?? I dunno when…weeks, months? and offer support to my Mum and Dad.

I often don’t think of my family as being particularly close…well, my relation to it I suppose. But there are bonds that exist and need to be strengthened in a crisis. I still don’t know what to do if anything. I have walked around in a zombie like state for the last two days. I keep telling E4 not to talk to me too much simply because I can’t concentrate on her long detailed chatter and constant interruptions when I’m inside my head thinking. Poor kid. I keep telling her to leave me alone. I’ve managed the washing and little else. I’m not emotional about it….strangely detatched, but the distance from the situation does that I suppose. I am worried though. And stressed because I’m tired and overwhelmed by decisions to be made, and the car needs fixing, I need to renew my passport, apply for one for R7months, and I have work outstanding.

I feel like I desperately need some space. Some time at home alone to sort it out in my head, to work through the mundane tasks that need to be done.

I drag myself away now (from where I am trying to hide here inside my head alone with my thought) to make some dinner for my hungry kids who have been watching DVD’s all afternoon. I feel guilty that they’ve been largely ignored today, and that they are getting macaroni cheese for dinner.

All in a days work.

Growing up my Mum would say that any spare change we did not remove from our pockets on wash day would be hers. She said it was her tip for doing the washing. (And her clever way of getting us to check our own pockets to avoid potential tissue disasters). Sometimes she’d make a dollar or two, which is still pretty poor pay for the work I reckon.

Anyway, this morning the dryer was making a ghastly sound so I checked it and found two nuts. No, not macadamia nuts, nuts of the nuts and bolts variety. You know….metal ones. Dryer back on, and still sounded bad, so after further exploration I found this little collection:

Whether this tells me my family don’t think my service is good enough for a gold coin tip, or simply that I am a mother of a certain young boy I’m not sure. But it all comes out in the wash. (Ok, a terribly predictable turn of phrase, but how could I resist)

(The coin as luck would have it, is an out-of-circulation NZ 5c piece.)

Ta daaaaa! and no laughing now…

Click for larger image.

So here it is people. My first attempt. It’s not going on the wall….(it’s A4 size) but it was fun and I’ll definitely be doing it again!

Made in the Image of God.

I grew up thinking I was not creative. I didn’t have a particular talent…I couldn’t draw, paint, sing or play an instrument well. I wasn’t good at sports or dance or anything that seemed to matter to me as a child. I struggled to draw a tuna tin in my first year of art at school, and it was horrible to feel incompetent. My confidence was low, and so I put in little effort and didn’t continue art the following year when we had the choice.

I think back to my Year 8 art class, and consider the teaching methods. Why would I want to draw a tin of food!!!! It was a death blow to any inspiration in art. It was like: “Draw something, create something and then we’ll mark you on how well or badly you did it.” Crikey! No wonder I gave up!

I’m not a professional teacher, and yet intuitively I know that if you want children to be inspired in art…expose them to great art! All genres and from all era’s. Something different will appeal to each one, and maybe they’ll be motivated to try something. Then teach the skills required to create the piece. Then teach them about the paints and brushes, the techniques, the mediums. The theory…the techniques meant nothing to me, were completely boring and I wasn’t motivated to try because I didn’t understand the point. Now that I am inspired to be creative, I would be much more attentive to a lesson on perspective or some other art thing. I still may never have been particularly good at drawing or painting, but you know what….I think I would have enjoyed art classes.

All my life, I have always salivated (well not literally, but it really does come close to that!) when looking at art supplies… paints, brushes, pencils, and all kinds of paper. A blank canvas excites me at the possibilities to fill it with something beautiful. I never bought anything before because I always said “I can’t draw”, which in my mind really meant “I’m not artistic”.

Now that I am older, I have gradually realised that I do love to create. I have discovered that when inspired, I can create. A little inspiration from Sarah and I wrote a little piece below which while may not be brilliant, is an expression of me. I  like to sew and write, and take photographs and sing and create gifts. I’m less narrow in my definition of creativity. I no longer think of creativity only in terms of painting a masterpiece or sketching a portrait or playing an instrument.

Nevertheless, recently I spent a little bit of money on some paints and brushes and canvas paper, and I’m going to give it a go. I have no idea if anything will come of it. I still don’t think I can draw, but I’m not going to let that stop me create something beautiful with paint. Well…I’ll try at least. And this time it’s going to be fun!

I firmly believe that every person has creativity in them. We are made in the image of God…a creative God whose creation is diverse and beautiful and intricate and intelligent and amazing and perfect.

I Am From

I am from TV towers,
from Kitchener buns and fluorescent zinc cream.
I am from the north wind and cracked footpaths.
(Pebbly, dusty and hard under bare summer-toughened feet.)
I am from the fig tree,
leafy, complicated, secret, cool;
the kikuyu grass, spongy and prickly and never quite green.

 

I am from Tea at five and Works hard but drinks too much,
from Ann and Ernest and Sybil.
I am from job lists and Christmas baking
and pretending everything is OK.
From Do what I say and not what I do
and Careful of the popcorn husks.
I am from church on Sunday.
Jesus loves me this I know, and singing comfort to myself.

 

I’m from Wallaroo and Wondai, Pasties and Neopolitan ice cream.
From the lottery number uncle to Vietnam and the father who volunteered
the loved daughter who travelled the world.

I am from the top bedroom, the piano room and a box of old black and white’s in a wooden box. From letters and frames and an album on my bookshelf with too few photographs and which sometimes makes me cry.

 

I wrote this after reading Sarah’s post. The original poem in this format can be found here.

Oh the misery

Last night after dinner, I told E4 to go and clean her teeth and get ready for bed.

Clearly not happy she gave an impressive performance: A loud wail “Ooohhhhh I was Just About to do some DRAWING!!” followed by this gem:

“Oh but Mum, all I got to do all day was PLAY and EAT!”

It’s not easy…being GREEN

I thought I was being a kind and fun mama when I offered B2 a colour bath this evening. (Well, kind fun and stupid I guess.) He had asked his Dad for a bubble bath but as he’s suffered from excema lately I thought a colour bath would be a fun alternative to soaps.

He chose yellow, so D put a few drops of yellow food colouring in the water and the fun began. I carried on with dressing the baby ready for bed etc in the next room and got caught up in conversation with D and after the laughter and noises finally registered on my they’re up to something radar it was too late. This is what I found.

It would be a fun pun to say I saw red but ironically the only colour they didn’t tip out was red. What you see here is and entire bottle of green food colouring as well as an entire bottle of blue and an entire bottle of yellow. I guess I could tell myself this was an exercise in home schooling…every art student must learn that blue and yellow makes green which added to green makes A LOT OF GREEN!!!

There are more photos of the bath water and two green tinged children but it wouldn’t be wise to post those on the internet. Lets just say the clean up was fun.

This was an old orange towel with flowers on it:

And believe me, this hand didn’t end up looking like this because I like gardening:

And in completely unrelated news (other than the fact that this mischief was also started by B2) here’s R6 months… not crying, not tired, but wiping water from his eyes. B2 saw fit to bring the spray bottle (supposed to be outside to water the vege seedlings) inside and spray water all over his little brother who sat there and didn’t even cry despite being quite wet. You’ll notice the guitar is quite wet. *rolling eyes*

I know you can’t tell in the photo that he’s wet, but it’s true. (Besides the real reason I posted it is that he’s just so flippin’ cute)

Ok…I just previewed the photo and it’s too small as it is, but if you click on it it links to a BIG one, so you can see the wet bits. And yep, it really is late at night and that’s why you’re being subjected to all this drivel. And because I haven’t posted in a while and I missed you and am feeling rather chatty. I really have to go though because it’s very late and D is sick so not only will I have the three kids to look after tomorow, I’ll also have to look after him and what ’s more I’m looking after a friends little girl. She’s 2 too (toot toot!) but no where near as mischievous as my little toilet blocking mess making master 2!