Being Twenty.

I have been putting off writing about her for the longest time.  Not because she's not worth my time. Not because I can't think of what to say. Not because I don't love her. But because I do.  And because the feelings and emotions that I have about her are probably the hardest ones to describe, the most painful, the saddest, the happiest and the most raw.  Most days, I get on with my life.  I don't dwell.  I want to live in the moment and not worry about what was or what is to be.  Some days though, I falter and from there, it all just comes tumbling down.  The good, the bad and the ugly.  Those days are cleansing, theraputic and torturous all rolled into one emotional giant ball, and if I'm not feeing strong at the beginning, I come out of the other end in a bit of a wreck.

She was born almost 20 years ago.  I was a naive, optimistic, very young girl, who had thrown myself into marriage, and motherhood in my usual tempestuous way.  She was the only planned baby that I have ever had and I couldn't wait.  The whole nine months I spent imagining my baby.  Girl or Boy?  Would I be able to cope?  Would I be able to endure birth? Would I be a good Mother?  I was in a constant elated state and ten days after my due date, on 1st November 1990, she was finally ready to be born.  It was a very long and hard labour for such a young girl, still only 20.  I went for about 19 intense hours with no pain relief and despite my determination to continue on in this way, Doctors stepped in, when I was dipping in and out of conciousness.  Thankfully they realised what my young mind could not, and gave me a dose of pethidine to see me to the end.   Still in shock, but relieved it was over, I remember looking down at this small bundle in my arms.  Somebody had said girl I think, and I was still trying to focus on her face and register the fact that she was mine.  So different to the baby I had imagined in my head.  Who did she look like?  I couldn't recognise her at all.  Confusion was clouding my mind and the first few hours of my little ones life I was numb.  In the very deepest darkest part of my mind, there was a sound, a vibration, like an out of place music note, played slightly off pitch.  Over and over, so low and quiet, but constant.  Was I the only one who could hear it?  Not my husband.  Not the mid-wives.  Not the family who came to visit.  Happy faces on them all, and I felt guilty.  It was me.  I wasn't going to be a good mother after all.  This was not how I had envisioned this scene, over the past happy, oblivious, cosy nine months.  Everyone had gone and I lay awake, watching her.  Please let me feel something.  Please let me be normal.  Let the emptiness in my heart, fill.    Slowly tears rolled down my face and I began to thaw, a little.  Watching her tiny long fingers curl around mine, I began to see her, just her.  She was so perfect.  Like a little Eskimo child - dark long hair surrounding tiny features and the most perfect eyebrows that I had ever seen on a baby.  But, I could still hear the music, it was not in tune, and although I didn't know it then, it would stay with me for a long time.

Libby received a formal diagnosis aged 17 months and after we had spent 6 weeks thinking that she had a disease that she would not survive beyond the age of 5, it was still hard to hear.   It was one of the most gruelling times of our lives.  Her Dad cried and screamed to the world that it wasn't fair, it wasn't right, and I just remained silent.  I went very still and quiet and comforted him, looked after my two babies, and continued on.  Not a great big shock to me, that my perfect little girl had a chromosome defect, that was so rare, it didn't even have a name.  I felt so betrayed by the world that should have heard me.  How many times had I questioned my GP?  How many midwives had I queried?  How many times had I asked others?  Just one very young Mother who seemed to have been dismissed so easily and quickly, as though I wasn't old enough to understand yet.   This was a path that changed me from here on in.  It was the last time that I would allow myself to be guided, where my children were concerned and it was where I changed from a young girl who thought I could do it all, to a young girl who actually could.  The music stopped.  I knew what I'd always known.  That my girl was special.

The therapy started and we threw ourselves into it.  4 days a week I spent, taking her to special classes.  She walked at 17mths, although it was still very hit and miss.  She would stumble in her Piedro boots, laced up to her ankles for support, fall over and then get up and go all over again.  She had no idea that she was different and we weren't about to tell her.  Such a determined little girl.  We never said 'no you can't do it' or 'no you shouldn't' or 'be careful'.  We pushed her and she easily went.  She wanted to do everything that her peers did, and although in many cases, it's taken her longer, she has excelled all of our predictions and dreams.  I remember the Doctor who delivered her final diagnosis to us saying "she may never properly walk, may never run, may never talk or read and write"  Just as I had heard the music in my head before, I knew that she would.  That she would do all these things.  I never once questioned my faith in her ability and her determination and she has proved me right. 

 Today she is a young Woman, almost the same age that I was when I brought her into this world.   She is every inch as determined as she was and she still amazes me every day.   A typical teenager in so many ways, which I cherish, and she and I have the relationship that I always hoped that we would.  She is different and she knows it now.  But not in a 'I'm apart from the rest of the world' sort of a way, in a 'I'm special' sort of a way.  Now and then, when she's having a teenage moment and the world seems to be against her, she will tell me that she wishes she were like everyone else, and it just about breaks my heart.  But most of the time, she just knows that she's special, because she's unique, and lovely, and precious.  She's my Libby.  She's my little girl and the only music that I hear now when I think of her is happy, joyful and perfectly in tune.

I know that I will take me a lifetime to deal with the emotions that started the night she was born.  I don't know why I was chosen to be her Mother, and I'm not sure if I'll ever feel worthy of that title.  I can think of so many people who I think could have been a better role model for my girl.  Who would have naturally slid into the position that I have probably struggled with my whole life.  It still hurts to remember her birth, her diagnosis, her struggles, I still fall apart when I think about all of this, and I question my ability every day.  But I can unreservedly say that being her Mother has been an absolute privilege and she has made me prouder then she can ever imagine.

Dreaming of Home

Our pictures are finally up on our bedroom walls.  They have been waiting patiently and quietly for a while now and it's so nice to be able to see them when we wake up in the morning. 
About seven years ago, David and I went back home.  To our wonderful, beloved Cyprus, the place that is home to us.  It's where our story began, when we were young teens, where we lived next door to eachother, went to school and met.  Its one end of our rainbow.  While we were there, we delved back into our childhood and revisited memories that have remained vivid and fresh.   Almost like uncovering a dream that had been shrouded for years...peeling back the covers one by one.  We literally stumbled across people who we had known long ago, little slithers of our past that were almost exactly as we had left them.  Teachers who still worked in our school, friends who we bumped into in the same sailing club, the same Tavernas, and who had managed to cling onto the life that we had left behind years ago.  It was surreal.

Finally, David Wood kisses Emma Payne at the amphitheatre at Curium! ;)

At a Tavera at Latchi

Episkopi Sailing Club Marina on Tunnel Beach.  The day that we went back, and sailed in the rain with Rick Clarke, just because it made us laugh.....to be 16 again!

One afternoon whilst at the Episkopi sailing club, on Tunnel beach, we 'stumbled across' two of our old Teachers.  And by old, I mean that they had taught us as youngsters, not that they appeared or seemed old at all, because they did not.  I used to frequently babysit their kids as a teen, and I can still picture the inside of their house, including details.  Their daughter was my youngest sisters best friend and she was often at our house, back then.  A sweet natured, sunny, delight of a girl with freckles and vibrant red curls, and her younger cheeky brother, Sam.  Sarah and Charles Beale were standing there in the sailing club, sharing a drink with friends - just as we'd left them years ago, it didn't seem real.  They were the same people I had known, but different.  Far more chilled out and with more of a hippy artistic vibe then I had remembered.  I think though, that they had always been that way, I just hadn't really seen it back then.   Now we were all adults, all on the same page and details that I had overlooked before, seemed so much clearer.  We soon all got talking and a few days later, we  found ourselves at their house for more catching up.  No more married quarter for them, they were in a gorgeous,  little gem of a house, nestled in the middle of a typical Cypriot village - it really seemed like a little piece of rustic heaven to me.  And hung on their walls were the most beautiful, vivid, striking pieces of artwork.  Some done by Sarah, some by Jessica who has inherited her Mums fantastic eye and talent.  Even better then that, most of them were of our beloved Island, our home and we were lucky enough to take a few of Jessicas prints away with us.  They've travelled around the world with us a few times, lovingly boxed and un-boxed.  I'm so glad that they are finally in a place where we can see them.  They inspire us to keep dreaming our dream, the one that will eventually find us back home again.

This one is my favourite, because it holds so many memories, its where I hung out with my friends, where I swam, where I socialised and where David learnt to sail and then eventually became part of a team of instructors who helped teach others to sail, including Jessica and Sam.

I wish I could remember where this was exactly, it does seem so very familiar!

To all of us who lived this life, who went to St Johns, lived in Episkopi, Akrotiri, or Limasol, who sailed and swam on this beach and who I knew back then...I'm so glad I have you all to share these memories with.  They will never leave me and I know that most of  you all feel exactly the same.

http://www.angelfire.com/sc/isycjromer/

Where Are My Cherries?

I am struggling today.  I'm struggling with a torrent of thoughts running around inside my head, and trying to sort through them logically.  Not that I want to be logical, necessarily.  I find it highly over-rated and well, it's not me really.  I am one of the least logical people I know.  Logic and me, we're a world apart.  I don't get it, or get people who are, they are not 'my people'.   More inclined to be ruled by my emotions, heart, and instincts.  I am what my Grandmother used to describe me as, 'a hothouse flower'.  I blossom when I'm watered and tendered to with loving care, but put me outside to brave the elements and the unpredictability of life, and I might just wither away. 
I know the peaks and troughs of life, make me stronger ultimately, that they are what have made me that person that I am, but I do wish I felt as though I was on a peak rather then a trough right now.

Blogging when I'm down is very much against my nature, it totally goes against the grain, which is why I'm doing it.  I have a need to keep it real, to be honest with myself and to try to keep the doors open.  Doors that I so often close, doors that keep the world out and me safe and sound inside.  Ultimately I will always be a private person, (this makes me laugh when I so often blog to one and all), but really its true.  I find it very difficult to let people in.  It's almost like exposing my insides.  It's scary, it's painful and it sends me into a pure blind panic.  So today, here and now, I'm pushing my boundaries, experiencing the uncomfortable, the taboo, because life is a challenge - right?  If we don't push ourselves to our limits, then who will? 

I won't go into the whys or wherefores, because the details don't matter.   I can tell you that today, I'm struggling.  The clear blue sea that I love so much, seems misty and dull, the sky feels overcast, and I feel cold.  I have a hundred and one rambling thoughts bubbling away just under the surface, and I'm trying very hard to rationally deal with them all, in the most logical way that I can.  

Today for the first time ever, I picked up my camera, and then put it down again.  Not even my love for capturing the beauty in something lifted me.  Not for a flicker of a second.  I know that tomorrow I'll probably be fine.  I might have answered some of my questions by then. I might have hugged my children. I might have had some well needed sleep.  I might have felt someone elses pain, and I might have managed to unload my heavy heart just a little bit. 

But, I can't post this with no pictures, and I do want to end it with something beautiful, so I will.  Here are some pictures of some very special people, who I know I am blessed to know.  They are not new pictures, they are not todays, but I have had fun with some new effects that I have enjoyed playing with.  I hope you like them, and I hope you forgive me my 'Eeyore moment'.  My next blog will be a happy one, I promise you that!

These effects are simply called 'seventies'.

And this one is 'colorized'

Seriously, I know you probably won't believe it...but I'm feeling better already! :)  I'm just looking forward to another bowl of cherries.

DreamWorld Baby!

We're building up for David being away again for quite a while.  6 weeks is a long time in an 8yr old and 4yr olds life.  They feel as though there is no light at the end of the tunnel, or that the light is so far away they will never reach it.  We like to do silly little things to make it a little more bearable.  One of which is a freddo frog a day.  David fills two containers full of them, with their names on them, and they get to eat one for each day he's gone.  That way, they can see the pile getting smaller as the days go on and they get a 'Daddy treat' at the same time.   We also have Skype set up, and try to speak to him the same time most days/nights depending on where he is in the world.  Even if its just for a few minutes, it helps.  We also try to take the little ones out somewhere fun and just for them, on his last week.

This time it was DreamWorld, the Bright Lights, Big City of all little people...and where the world is full of Wiggles, Spongebob and brightly coloured SnoKones....

And where you can ride the carousel as many times as you'd like..

All the while, pretending to be way too cool for it....

When really you're lovin it just as much as they are...

It's a place where, anything is possible, including riding giant blues clues  that go up and down, around and around...

It's a place where little girls can have extra cuddles with their Daddy..

And where you can expect the unexpected..

Nothing more unexpected then David pushing the stroller, hehee!

It's a place where small boys convince their Mothers to go on big scary rides that they are far too old for..

Yeah, that was a little intense!

It's where you can get a little confused....

It's where you can buy buckets of fairy-floss...

And then, lick the sticky pink sugar off your fingers....

While getting just as much of it on the outside, as on the inside...

And where little girls dance by the water fountains,

And sit next to Koalas.

It's a fun filled, happy, sunny and chilled place to be...It's DreamWorld Baby!!

Even Puff  (the magic dragon)  had a blast...

Bye bye for now.....we'll be seeing you, shortly! :)

The Eyes Have It

My boy Joe, that's how I think of him, My Boy Joe.  Even when I'm saying Joey, Joseph, or just Joe..in my head, he's always My Boy Joe.  He's like a creamy, melty, soft, yummy toffee.  He smells of warm clean woollen socks, he looks like an overgrown Labrador Puppy and he has the sensitivity of somebody well beyond his years.  He's a thinker, a worrier and our little Professor.  I can't describe my overwhelming protectiveness towards him and when he's sad, there are shadows in my heart.  He doesn't really get upset or sad about the usual 8yr old stuff.  He gets sad about the world, and about people in it who don't care like he does.  He wants to stop and change all the misery and suffering and he truly believes that one day he will.  If ever I believed in anyone, it's him.  In reality, of course I realise that it's not possible to make all things Unicorns and Rainbows, but I love that this is his ideal.  That this is what he is reaching for. 

From the moment that he was placed in my arms, I melted.  I think I will always think this about My Boy Joe. I remember gazing at his innocent wide open face with my nose, my smaller features, his Daddys expressions and exclaiming at his eyelashes.  I had never seen eyelashes like his before.  Golden blonde at the top and dark at the tips.  Surely it would be the other way around, it was really sweetly strange.  He still has them and when he looks down, they remind me of  sticks on a beach.  Sandy at the top with the striking darker colour at the ends. Little sand-dunes.  Lovely thick multi-coloured lashes, has My Boy Joe!

And as if that wasn't gorgeous enough, he also has the most beautiful eyes that I've ever seen in an eight year old called My Boy Joe.

My little fluffy overgrown Labrador boy with the weight of the world on his very small over grown Puppy dog shoulders, and his very serious expressions.  He is happy most of the time, I promise! ;)

I hope that in twenty years, they'll still be there, those sandy/dark tipped lashes, that are so much a part of  My Boy Joe!

THE WOODS IN OZ: Seventeen Sweet Months!

THE WOODS IN OZ: Seventeen Sweet Months!: "That's how long my little Doll has been in my arms. And, literally - that's pretty much the way it's been. My little look-alike has been g..."

Seventeen Sweet Months!

That's how long my little Doll has been in my arms.  And, literally - that's pretty much the way it's been.  My little look-alike has been glued to me from the moment she was placed into them.  She and I, we're a team.  She's happier now then she was, to spend up to 20 minutes at a time away from my side, but that's about as long as she'll go before she comes toddling over to me, for some more 'dat dat'.  Or just to to be picked up, to  lay her sweet soft curls on my shoulder for a moment or two,  and to feel safe and secure in her position of Mamas little shadow.   She's determined, stubborn, happy, funny, crazy, kooky, emotional and sweet all rolled into one.  She has a low husky little laugh that is extremely infectious and a little crooked smile, just as I used to have as a child. 
She's not me though, she's more confident, more goofy,  more chilled and I'm so very glad of that.  I hope that as the years roll by, I can continue to make her feel safe, all the while giving her the confidence to be who she is,  and who she will become.  It's like watching a beautiful portrait being painted before my eyes...each day is a new brush stroke, a fresh streak of light, a different shading, another detail added.  It's amazing.  She's amazing.

Such a busy little Bee she was in the garden today.  She loves the feel of the grains of sand between her fingers, and mixing it up in her bucket.

Why can't time be kept hold of just a little longer?  Why is it so bitter-sweet to watch my last little one become less and less of a baby every day?

I'm so proud of you little one, I'm so very thankful to have you in my life.  I'm so very grateful to be your Mummy.  You are my little wonder baby Lucy, and I just hope that I can let go of you gracefully, one day!