On stubbornness and storytelling

This little angel and I are embroiled in a battle of the wills right now. And I fear she is both more patient and more stubborn than I am. She spent most of the night last night fighting to stay awake. Not crying, just yelling, relishing the sound of her own voice, crying out "Aaaaa Aaaaa Aaaaa. Aaaaa Aaaaa Aaaaa. AAAAA. AAAAA. AAAAA" with a kind of fierce joy in our bedroom until the echos of her vocal gymnastics quite literally rang in our ears.

That started at 11pm. It is now 8.30am and we haven't found resolution yet. I pray she will go to sleep. Madeleine is exhausted and I am destroyed, but she is absolutely determined not to sleep today. Not if she can help it. Instead, she has a story she wants the world to hear, and she is telling it as loudly as she can.

Madeleine is a talker. She tries to join in on other people's conversations. When we read to her, she mimmicks us as best she can (generally with a stirring rendition of "Aaaaa Aaaaa Aaaaa.") When the nurse at mother's group is giving a talk, Madeleine attempts to drown her out with her very best "AAAAA. AAAAA. AAAAA."

Having a little baby has taught me that some things I had always thought were learned behaviour are actually hard-wired into us. Like putting out the bottom lip when upset, something Madeleine does gloriously well, and which she did for the first time approximately 30 seconds after being born. Same goes for rubbing the eyes with fists when tired (there has been a lot of that going on this morning, by both of us).

The need to communicate is another. Even before she found her 'talking' voice, Madeleine tried desperately to communicate with me; with a chin-thrust, with a gummy smile, with a wail of displeasure. This kid is four months old and I swear she is already up to Chapter 17 of her memoirs.

I believe that story telling, in any format, is fundamental to the human experience. Our need to recap, reframe, and even reinvent our stories for others to hear goes to the core of what it means to be human, and to exist as part of a community. And the stories we tell ourselves are just as important as those we tell to others.

If I think about it, I guess this is the philosophy behind why I became a writer. It is certainly the philosophy that underpins the plot and characters in my book Airmail.

It is also the philosophy behind a summit called The Future of Storytelling, that was held in New York earlier this month. The organisers believe that "stories—in the broadest sense of the word—shape the meaning and momentum of everyday life. Stories will never die, but the ways we tell them are changing."

They commissioned a short film on collaborative storytelling for the summit. It is about how sharing stories can help connect thousands, but also speak just from one person to another. I watched it this morning, and Madeleine joined her voice with these New York voices and, together without knowing it, we celebrated shared stories. And through my exhaustion, I found a kind of solidarity, even beauty, in this knowledge.

Every story that belongs to us, each and every one, shapes who we are and who we will become. This story of my tug-of-war with my daughter through the long, dark hours of the night will lodge itself in my bones now, and in hers. It is part of her and part of me and, by reading it, it has become part of you, too.

Madeleine just started yelling again. I'm back on duty. If you have a moment to spare, friend, make yourself a cup of tea and watch this little video. I hope it inspires you, like it inspired me. And if you want to share a story with me, leave one in the comments or send me an email. It makes my day to hear from you.

story(us) from Already Alive on Vimeo.

(ps. Do you subscribe to this blog? If you do and you haven't redeemed your free copy of Airmail, click here to go for it and I'll post a book out to you. There are no strings, it's just a little gift from me to you to say thanks for your support.)

If not duffers won't drown

Books with maps in the front are the best kinds of books. Am I right? I have been re-reading my way through the childhood classics, of late. I've done Harry Potter, The Northern Lights, Narnia, A Wrinkle in Time and The Owl Service. I've dipped my toes into the young adult worlds of Tomorrow, When the World Began and The Hunger Games. Now, I'm reading the Swallows and Amazons books.

Were these in your childhood? Written in the 1930s, they tell the story of four siblings who head out on a little sailing boat called 'Swallow' and camp on an island all by themselves. There, they meet two more little girls with a sailing boat of their own, 'Amazon,' who call themselves pirates and wage a good, fun war on the 'Swallows'.

These books are a modern mother's worst nightmare. For one thing, the four kids are out on the water without life jackets and without adults. The littlest boy, Roger, is only seven, and he can't even swim. They light fires, carry knives, cook their own meals and camp alone on an otherwise-deserted island. In the second book, their boat capsizes, sinks, and the children have to swim for their lives. And the mother still lets them keep camping alone.

When the children wrote to their father to ask permission to take the sailing boat out to the island, he sent them a telegraph: BETTER DROWNED THAN DUFFERS IF NOT DUFFERS WON'T DROWN. Better drowned than duffers? I think NOT. Madeleine, you can be as big a duffer as you choose. Six times over. Just please don't drown.

Yet there is something glorious about these books. Not only about the freedom and abandon of their adventures. But also of the responsibility that is just assumed children hold: they keep their tents tidy, they share their food rations, the older ones make sure the younger ones get to bed on time (most of the time).

Make a safer world for kids

National Kidsafe Day is coming up on 23 October, a day when we do our darndest to learn about the key dangers facing our children, and figure out how we can keep their precious little lives safe.

Did you know that more children die from injury than of cancer, asthma and infectious diseases combined? I'm talking about accidents that should be avoidable, like falls from windows, drowning in shallow water and strangling on blind cords.

I'm using National Kidsafe Day to educate myself about the environment in which Madeleine will grow up, and what I can do to protect her from accidents and injuries.

But with all this in mind, how do I ensure Madeleine lives a life full of adventure, of exploration, and of independence? How can I find that balance? This is something I think I will spend her lifetime trying to figure out.

Disclaimer:

I am participating in the National Kidsafe Day Bloggers Competition to support and promote child safety, along with the added bonus of chances to win prizes. All opinions are my own and not those of Kidsafe. To find out more or to enter the competition, please visit www.kidsafeday.com.au.

Spring love + links

How was your weekend? We are soaking up the warmer weather, and I think the best part is that Madeleine gets to bare her fat little arms and fat little legs and chubby little toes. There is just so much more of her to kiss all the time! I have ordered two pairs of espadrilles from the The Iconic, ready to pound the pavement in ice cream pastel style with my little darling as much as we can, before the weather gets too hot.

To ease you into Monday, here is the cutest little across-the-ages love story (originally seen here), plus some more fun links from around the web...

Balance your roles and be the best you

What would you make from this collection of polka dot DIYs?

Let's do ice cream

Squeeze 'n spray this lemon

Festival des metiers

Adorable zines (ferns! thrift stores!)

This strawberry wildflower cake makes me so excited about spring

Ralph Lauren's new Downton Abbey inspired collection

Orange bunting: on pants, on a purse

Hello stranger on the street, could you please tell me how to take care of my baby?

Flapper inspired champagne cocktail. Cheers.

Get to bed!

And on another note, happy birthday to my wonderful brother Adam. We fought like cats and dogs when we were little, but we have been best of friends for many, many years. Even though we don't see as much of each other since I moved away (to New York, to Queensland, to Adelaide, to Melbourne), you are still very, very dear to me. I'm so proud to be your sister! Love you Hulbs.

Madeleine grows up

You are three months old, Madeleine. Your whole life stretches before you. Life was the first gift I gave you. In 70 years, 80, 90, this world may still know you. Lucky world! I wonder what it will look like then.

What will you do with all those years? They are your very own to grasp and love and celebrate, my darling. What a bounty!

Will you plant radish seedlings and watch them grow? Will you kiss a cat? Will you curl up for hours with your favourite books? Will you giggle for hours with your best friends? Will you make silly smiles with orange quarters? Will you lie in the sun and dream animals out of clouds? Will you draw and paint and stick and shape? Will you squeal and run and chase and jump?

Will you ride horses like your mama? Train chickens like your dad? Sew costumes like your big sister? Take photos like your middle sister?

Please be kind and loving to others. Please help those who are in need.

Please know that you are deeply loved. Please know that you are infinitely precious.

I wonder what you will do when you are big.

Will you be Prime Minister? A shopkeeper? An artist? A child-raiser? An archaeologist? A chef? A fundraiser? A scientist?

There is so much you can do with your life. And you don’t have to stick to just one path. After all, you have all those years in your pocket. Those many, many decades, in which to tell the world: “I AM MADELEINE, HEAR ME ROAR,” and then give it a kiss on the nose.

And I will help you. I will love you. I will dream with you. I will support you.

ALWAYS.

This world will hear you and love you long after I am gone, Madeleine. (Oh, I am so jealous of this world!) But even death won’t stop me helping you. Nothing can. We've made plans, my sweet. You are in safe hands.

Oh and Madeleine? No power in this world or the next could even TOUCH the love I have for you. That, my angel, is eternal.

And then some.

Disclaimer: I am participating in the LIFE Awareness campaign. I received a VISA gift card for this post courtesy of Life Insurance Finder, via Digital Parents Collective. I am also in the running to win an iPad3. As always, all opinions are purely my own.

That was the official disclaimer. Here's what else I have to say: Mr B and I both have life insurance so that our girls can know every opportunity life has to offer them, even if we can't be there to give it in person. So I am completely comfortable putting my name to this campaign, which is all about thinking about how you will care for those you leave behind. >

Madeleine grows up

You are three months old, Madeleine. Your whole life stretches before you. Life was the first gift I gave you. In 70 years, 80, 90, this world may still know you. Lucky world! I wonder what it will look like then.

What will you do with all those years? They are your very own to grasp and love and celebrate, my darling. What a bounty!

Will you plant radish seedlings and watch them grow? Will you kiss a cat? Will you curl up for hours with your favourite books? Will you giggle for hours with your best friends? Will you make silly smiles with orange quarters? Will you lie in the sun and dream animals out of clouds? Will you draw and paint and stick and shape? Will you squeal and run and chase and jump?

Will you ride horses like your mama? Train chickens like your dad? Sew costumes like your big sister? Take photos like your middle sister?

Please be kind and loving to others. Please help those who are in need.

Please know that you are deeply loved. Please know that you are infinitely precious.

I wonder what you will do when you are big.

Will you be Prime Minister? A shopkeeper? An artist? A child-raiser? An archaeologist? A chef? A fundraiser? A scientist?

There is so much you can do with your life. And you don’t have to stick to just one path. After all, you have all those years in your pocket. Those many, many decades, in which to tell the world: “I AM MADELEINE, HEAR ME ROAR,” and then give it a kiss on the nose.

And I will help you. I will love you. I will dream with you. I will support you.

ALWAYS.

This world will hear you and love you long after I am gone, Madeleine. (Oh, I am so jealous of this world!) But even death won’t stop me helping you. Nothing can. We've made plans, my sweet. You are in safe hands.

Oh and Madeleine? No power in this world or the next could even TOUCH the love I have for you. That, my angel, is eternal.

And then some.

Disclaimer: I am participating in the LIFE Awareness campaign. I received a VISA gift card for this post courtesy of Life Insurance Finder, via Digital Parents Collective. I am also in the running to win an iPad3. As always, all opinions are purely my own.

That was the official disclaimer. Here's what else I have to say: Mr B and I both have life insurance so that our girls can know every opportunity life has to offer them, even if we can't be there to give it in person. So I am completely comfortable putting my name to this campaign, which is all about thinking about how you will care for those you leave behind. >

Lately, on Instagram

spring! - long walks through fitzroy and carlton - vege burgers - hail storms - jasmine blossoms - fathers' day - painted elephants - socks for trees - breakfast at tiffany's - the talking tram in bendigo - a baby that smells sooooo good

What's been happening in your neck of the woods?

ps. I also write for iVillage:

* How do you define 'home'? (+ making friends when working from home + revisiting the 'cafe test') * My love is not like a butterfly

and English Muse:

* Antipodean dispatch: Eucalyptus (is anyone else devastated that this film didn't happen?)

and Smarter Business Ideas:

* Big shoes to fill (can your family business survive your retirement?)

On dads and daughters

My darlings all slept in this morning, and boy were they adorable. I came in from the kitchen to find Em, Madeleine and Mr B all snuggling together in our bed. It was a perfect early spring day for Fathers' Day. Warm, sunny, and fragrant with blossoms in the air. I made a batch of fresh lemonade and we packed together a picnic of olives, marinated artichokes, salami, blue cheese, crackers and stuffed baguettes, and headed to the park for the afternoon.

Madeleine loved it, positively basking in the warm sunlight. At one point I looked over and caught Mr B sharing a kiss with big daughter and small, and my heart swelled fit to burst. Man I love this family!

Later I rang my own father as we took a stroll up Brunswick Street on the way to play ping pong at Grub. Dad was having a not so happy day, feeling sick, so we'll have to make a big fuss of him when he and Mum make it down to Melbourne for a visit next weekend. They haven't seen Madeleine since the week she was born, so they are well overdue for some cuddles with my big chubby princess.

Is there ever a time when you stop feeling like a child around your parents? I mean that in a good way. To this day my natural instinct is still to turn to Dad (and Mum) for advice, for guidance, for wisdom. When you are a little girl, your parents are the source of everything you need to know. Then puberty hits and they know nothing, plus, YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND ME OR MY MUSIC. Finally the hormones settle down and you become friends again.

Now with little Madeleine in my world, I find myself turning to them even more: for support, for guidance, for love. I really have to remind myself from time to time that they might need my support, too. Most of all, I want little M to know her Nan and Pa, to give them the smiles and giggles she gives to others in her life. I wish they lived closer to us, I really do.

How did you spend Fathers' Day?

Elsewhere

Have you seen the latest collection from Fleur and Dot? If you have a little girl (or know one), you should check it out. I'm all over this on English Muse this week.

And also, PARENTAL GUIDANCE HAS TAKEN OVER MY LIFE. I'm not kidding. It's so frustrating, but kind of sweet. That's on iVillage. Has this ever happened to you too?

Lately, winter days

Last week Madeleine and I took a walk with friends to visit the Taco Truck, since it was parked nearby. I confess I fell rather heavily for the fish tacos. Omigod I could have eaten five of those babies. Then on the weekend we embarked on a little family road trip - Madeleine's first proper outing - so that she could spend time with her Nanna, aunts and cousins. They all predictably adored one another, and Madeleine turned on her not-inconsiderable charm for the cousins, smiling and laughing and snuggling like a pro. Livvy, who is five, started crying. "I love Madeleine the most of all my cousins," she wailed. "I want her to be my sister!"

Meanwhile, did anyone visit the Melbourne Art Fair last week? We made plans to go on Sunday, but they didn't quite pan out.

First, the walk there was glorious and sun-shiney. Madeline was all rugged up against the winter wind in the most adorable knitted Red Riding Hood cape  (does dressing your baby in cute outfits ever get old?). We wandered along streets and laneways that had barely changed in more than a hundred years, through a park with trees so wide four people would have to hold hands to hug them, and over to the Exhibition Buildings in Carlton.

But when we got there we discovered the tickets were $30 each. Don't you think that's a bit steep, for an exhibition that's also a sale? Anyway, we were cheapskates and blanched at the idea of spending $60 just to look around for such a short time (given Madeleine's tolerance levels), so we strolled across to the museum instead.

I'd been to this museum a few times but only for special shows, this was my first time visiting the general galleries. They are wonderful! There's something to be said for purpose-built space, it's all so interactive and engaging. Plus, Mr B revealed a talent for identifying many strange animals in a weird, tiered taxidermy room that was at once creepy and educational. Madeleine looked super cute in her red knitted poncho. On the other hand, as you can probably tell she most definitely did NOT like being photographed with the hood on.

Dear Madeleine

Dear Madeleine, When I kiss the top of your head you smell like milk duds, white chocolate, only infinitely sweeter and better.

Every morning when I wake up, I stretch out with my arms and hands above my head and my toes pointing to the ceiling. Then I pick you up and put you on your change mat and before you even open your eyes, you stretch out with your arms and hands above your head and your toes pointing to the ceiling.

Lately you have been crying quite a bit, and all you seem to want through the day is to cuddle in my arms, which makes it difficult to get anything done. But it is oh so special. This is a precious, precious time for you and me. So I sit and we snuggle and all my jobs go undone and my deadlines go unmet and my love swells and swells.

For some strange reason, your new favourite time is when I change your nappies. You always smile and laugh at me then.

Speaking of your smile, it is like a sunburst. A gummy sunburst of joy. I have tears in my eyes as I type this, even thinking of your smile.

And your laugh: oh boy! You don’t giggle or even chuckle, you Ho Ho just like Santa (I’ll tell you about Santa later). When you laugh, you say “a-HOO” and throw back your chin for comedic emphasis. Oh lord, it’d break your heart if you could see your adorable self.

We read together every day. Sometimes we read your books, board books with bright pictures and just one or two words in them. When you’re feeling attentive, you like to look at the pictures. Other times I read out loud to you from whatever I’m reading. Right now that’s Eucalyptus by Murray Bail. You seem to like this a lot and it’s often a good one to read you to sleep. Perhaps because the rhythm of the words is kind of musical and water-like.

You love having a bath, which is your Daddy’s job. You have been known to splash him with gusto, something you both seem to enjoy.

You think Oliver the dog is very funny, and give him an “a-HOO” whenever he walks into your line of vision.

When you were born your eyes were darkest slate blue. Like a storm. Now they are a deep, deep, romantic blue, fringed with eyelashes so long they sweep your eyebrows.

You are losing some of the hair you had when you were born, but you carry off a receding hairline exceedingly well. Indeed you are divinely beautiful.

Oh and Madeleine, your chubby knees and elbows! I die!

Seven weeks and two days, Madeleine. That’s how long you have been in my world. But I think you were in my heart at the beginning of time.

Love, Mama