June 16th, 2008 §
Yes, a rare photo of Cas AND his Mum.
We went to see The Medieval Imagination exhibition at the State Library a little while ago with a couple of friends; Brett from Airminded, and HG, who wrote that beautiful guest post for me. That meant there was somebody other than me to hold the camera and that is, I think, one of the best presents you can give a single parent.
In other news…
I haven’t been very well, hence my long absence.
I haven’t been very well, hence 1st semester uni was really screwed up. I’ll do better next time.
A girlfriend gave me her old car. Hooray for being able to grocery shopping with ease! (And see friends at the State Library). The car is sadly purple but my friend still rocks, obviously.
We’ve received some parcels for WinterWarm, which is also great, and I’ll be working on some blog posts for that this week.
There is a couple of other (possible) good news items but I don’t want to jinx them so… we’ll see.
And my Mum will be visiting soon which means I will get to have a sleep in for the first time in a year.
I’ll also be able to get to see my doctor, with Mum babysitting and me in my shiny, purple car. So hopefully health won’t be an issue for much longer.
Hugs to everyone I’ve abandoned and I will be trying to catch up with you all soon.
xx
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March 3rd, 2008 §
Hello. My name is Caspar. You probably know that already because my Mum writes about me a lot.
Anyway, I now have the worst haircut in the history of the universe. Except perhaps for the early 1900s, which is the era I now look like I was born in even though I’m totally a 21st century boy.
You see, my mother has been trying to cut my hair for 2 months, but I’ve resorted to the most devastating tactics to avoid this. She finds it difficult to get near me with scissors when I’m screaming and struggling. The screaming she could live with, but when I move around like a shark in a net, the scissors just seem far too risky. Today, however, she was determined.
She put me in the bath seat. She gave me an entire bag of chocolates to play with. I still didn’t cave and it required about 20 minutes of randomly snipping whatever hair she could get a hold of before the chocolate bliss finally set in and I stayed still.
She tried to tidy it up as best she could while I complained about the hair falling in my bag of chocolate, but this is what I’m left with. She’s a bit annoyed because she really likes my hair and is quite a good hairdresser normally. But I guess I only have myself to blame.
By the way, she’s still alive and will return to tell you all about O-Week and what she’s been up to soon.
Love Caspar.
ps: My belly button is really funny.
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February 25th, 2008 §
December 17th, 2007 §
“Hey Mum, I need a haircut. This is just a little too Emo.”
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December 11th, 2007 §
He’s not quite so fair of face any more.
He’s now The Elephant Man…
This is what to expect when you have boys, right?
He thought launching himself into the bed head was a great idea. Until he hit it. Then the screaming and me grabbing him to see how how badly he’d hurt himself only to find that within seconds there was a mean looking bruise and a rock hard lump beneath that hair that needs cutting.
Never having seen anything come up that fast before I was glad Big Sis’ boyfriend hadn’t taken the car and dashed off in a frenzy to the doctor’s. I’m really not a panicky mum, but it was wicked. Luckily, my doc checked him out immediately and wasn’t concerned at all. Believe me, if I’d had to pay that $40 out of my own pocket (my doctor bulk bills for children) it would have been worth every single penny. This one freaked me out.
Now, I’ll just be taking proud rainbow shots for the rest of the week.
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August 25th, 2007 Comments Off
It was 9:30pm and I was starting a post about our days at the park. I had pictures. I went over to the pram to grab my camera from the nappy bag hanging off the handles.
It wasn’t there.
And I’d been busy. There were so many photos I hadn’t yet had time to upload on that aptly-named memory card; photos from Mum’s visit, from Caspar’s surgery. Photos from today. Photos which marked an amazing change in Caspar as a little human being. Which I was going to write about.
I remembered putting the camera down beside the red slide when Caspar walked over to me. I remembered going to play on the see-saw, and going to have one last turn on the swings before Big Sis called to see if I would take her to the supermarket. So home we went.
Once my brain had taken that split second to process those movements, I was frozen. I had a sleeping baby in my bedroom but I had to go to the park. I’m lucky. I could. Big Sis, whose house I am living in, was only a step away, watching the football and waiting for pizza with her boyfriend in the house behind us on this dual occupancy lot. They came over to stay with Cas while I sped out onto the road and took a right. Parking half over the curb, I left the lights on and barefoot, wearing only a singlet, I ran outside into the winter, over the grass and over the bark to the red slide.
It wasn’t there.
I drove home still frozen. Big Sis and B came out to meet me and I burst into tears. Not just tears but those deep, sorrowful, heartbroken tears; the kind only a woman can cry, the kind you cry when you know your loss is irrevocable.
I walked into the house. I couldn’t speak. Big Sis, in her dressing gown, came toward me to envelop me in her Big Sis arms but she stepped away from me abruptly when she saw, plain as day, my camera sitting on top of Caspar’s bookshelf.
This is a really funny story. It should be funny. A blind panic from a mother whose brain is still not functioning at full capacity. A mind is a terrible thing to lose. That’s my punchline, right? But I’m not ready to laugh yet.
These digital remnants I get to keep are a drop in the ocean for a mother who, so many times a day, sees something new in her son, sees him grow, sees him change, sees him approach the world from different angles, sees him constantly becoming that little human being she already knew he was before she gave birth to him.
But they’re what I get to keep. They’re what I can look at now, while he’s sleeping, so I don’t go and pick him up and disturb his rest just so I can hold him. They’re what I will be able to look at when he’s grown and gone and I can no longer glance up from the dishes or my computer or the chopping board and be overcome by the transcendent perfection of this person I created and yet can take no credit for.
So thank you, Big Sis, for not laughing. Or, at least, for not laughing at me.
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