Category: #ThisIsReal (page 1 of 4)

Taking Stock: Hello Spring

Geez, it’s been a while since I’ve blogged. Apologies to my readers who I have sorta left hanging. Shit has been full-on around here, and there has been enough motivation and cause for a re-jig of things around here. A bit of seeing things from a different perspective, if you will. (Like we don’t already do that, hey? *snort*).

In a nutshell: while having Sno at home has been great, it’s also brought its own challenges. And it’s forced us to accept that homeschooling her was no quick fix, issues still existed but they just changed their form. So she’s going back to school on a part-time basis, instead.  We are hoping that we can achieve a better balance for everyone with this arrangement She has been working actively at home on different strategies which we are going to implement in a schooling environment (non-verbal communication cards, using her noise-canceling headphones at school and dictation app are just a few of them).

And as for me, I’ve been completely run off my feet. Turns out freelancing, studying, homeschooling one child whilst wrangling the other 3, attempting to have a stable marriage and making time for myself is a lot to take on. I know, who knew, huh? So something had to shift. I’ve had to really prioritise the most pressing needs. Good news is, I graduate at the end of the month! I cannot tell you how much relief things brings me. Papagirltribe and I are hoping to swap roles as soon as I can find full-time employment in the media or communications industry, so there are big changes ahead. After ten years of being the primary caregiver to our girls (whilst doing a whole bunch of other stuff like 4 years of volunteering, presenting at conferences and general advocacy work), it’s time for me to “tag” Papagirltribe in and for me to “tag” myself out. Feeling excited would be an understatement. He has plans to go back to study next year, too, which works out well with Beans heading off to kindy part-time.

Phew. That’s a big ramble. Anyway. School holidays are almost over (thank fucking god) so I thought I’d see in this new term with a little memo below, to reconnect with you all and say hi.

Making: I have no idea. Feeding a family of six is really taking away my motivation to cook food ever again.
Cooking: Fine, I’ll probably make these for lunch and this for dinner.
Drinking: Pukka Licorice & Peppermint tea. Fave.
Reading: 4 books at the moment. Yep, seriously. This, this , this and this. I also just finished reading this.
Wanting: A little space, a live-in chef and an automatic self-starting laundry.
Looking: Out the window at the wet deck. I can’t believe it rained. It’s been a long time.
Considering: Whether I can throw out more crap in the house so I don’t have to find a place for it.
Wishing: I could find a job soon, like, tomorrow.
Enjoying: Squishy cuddles with my sunshiney 3 year old Beans.
Waiting: For the husband to get home so I can run off to my Barre class and leave him to put the four girls to bed.
Liking: Heading to the markets on a Sunday for our weekly fruit and veg haul (and steamed duck buns).
Wondering: Where the hell my purse went.
Loving: Living so close to somewhere so beautiful.
Pondering: Packing it all up and moving us away for a big change.
Listening: To Richard Fidler’s Conversations; currently chatting to Eddie Ayres which is really wonderful.
Deciding: That Papagirltribe can plan our anniversary escape in it’s entirety himself.
Buying: More tea.
Watching:  Nothing. Perks of not owning a TV and finding everything else batshit boring.
Hoping: My 99.5 year old Oma passes away soon so that my Mama’s Alzheimer’s doesn’t continue to regress too quickly from the worry.
Marvelling: At my cat’s grasp on (a lack) of personal space.
Cringing: At the thought of the biggest consumerist holiday of the year (Christmas) fast approaching. Blah.
Needing: To hang out with my best friend and twin.. yo, Jessie?!
Learning: About the power of the female menstrual cycle and the themes within the blood wisdom. See here.
Questioning: How I can further let things go and opt for the path of ease.
Smelling: The rain!
Wearing: My hair out, leggings on. Home day.
Noticing: The more expectations we hold, the more we risk being disappointed.
Thinking: I really should have made the effort to get to Chenrezig yesterday, so I’ll go soon instead.
Knowing: Tomorrow is gonna be super tricky.
Admiring: People who speak their truths, embrace their vulnerability and can laugh at themselves.
Getting: Up to pee.
Bookmarking: Free photo editing software.
Closing: Down the tab with all the pretties in the cart.
Feeling: Excited about travelling down the coast for the Women in Media Conference and staying in a hotel alone for a night.. eeeee.
Celebrating: My graduation, in a month!
Embracing: The power of vulnerability.

I just paid money to cry, basically.

And it isn’t the first time it’s happened either.  In fact, this evening would mark the third time it’s happened to me. But the difference in tonight is, it’s the first time I haven’t grabbed my bag and keys and made an immediate run for it.

What I’m talking about is yoga. In the past six years, each time I have joined in a group yoga class it has brought up such intense, overwhelming emotions that leave me literally sobbing in the back of the studio class room full of other women.


Taken in my car, after class.

Yoga makes me cry.

Which is super weird, because I do yoga every evening at home in my bedroom and I don’t ever recall ever crying then.

Anyway, this evening I rocked up to a fusion class which I’ve never done before and yep.. it happened again. Only this time I didn’t run away when it happened. No, this time as I lay on my mat in the room which had all of it’s lights turned off during the beginning meditation, I felt the familiar feeling of the tears welling up in my eyes and instead I just let them flow, and I surrendered to it – whole heartedly.  This time as the tears came and the emotions too, I let them flow because this time I felt safe. I felt held. I felt like it was time to try and stop attempting to make sense of this physical release and instead I decided I was just gonna let it play out.

And it didn’t just happen once, either. Oh no, this evening after the first time, I went on to cry twice more.

At one point I was literally heaving, sobbing. The tears were coming and so was all the emotion and I was that woman, in the back of the class, crying in yoga.

So I’m sure you’re all wondering why I was crying, exactly. And you know, I don’t really know. But what I do know is that so many times as a parent, as a woman, as a wife – I have to push my emotional needs to the background because there are other things in my life which require prioritisation. So many times throughout the day where shit is hard, and it’s challenging and it’s pushing me and forcing me to use all my reserves as a woman and mother just to get through.

Except… when I’m laying on a yoga mat, in a dark room, with other women – I can’t escape my emotions, I can’t run from them and it’s here, funnily enough, where they decide to come out. So they come out in the form of wet, sticky tears which trickle down my face and into my hair. My breathing increases, my heart rate climbs and I sob and cry and let it all out. They aren’t tears of sadness though, they’re tears of relief. Tears of release. Tears of healing.

Instead of shelving my emotions, numbing them or running from them – I’m able to feel them fully, in all that they are – and its okay.  It’s totally okay. In fact, it’s fucking lovely.

I left the yoga class tonight when it was over, and having felt my feelings in their entirety – I felt like a weight had been lifted. I feel emotionally cleansed and I feel like a better version of myself. All raw, sweary, sticky salty tears – me.

And yes, I will be going back.


Sit With The Shit.

Something that keeps popping up lately in my journey as a mother to four daughters is discomfort, and how to best manage it. You know, the yucky stuff that life throws us at from time to time that is often inevitable and most of the time just something we have to “get through”. I think as instinct, we humans tend to push away the shitty stuff because it sucks. We don’t want to experience it, so we put it off and shove it away for as long as we can manage. It might be stuff we are afraid of, maybe we are ashamed of it, perhaps we just don’t feel we have the energy to deal with it.

The thing is though, pushing away this stuff is exhausting. The constant energy that we put out there as a means to avoid dealing with this stuff, whatever it may be – is taxing. The energy we expel trying to numb it or make it hurt less is tiresome.

So something I am trying to teach my girls is the following, simply: sit with the shit. Whatever crap stuff comes your way, the stuff you can’t really do anything about – just sit with it. Don’t try and find solutions, because sometimes there just aren’t any. Try not to run away from it or procrastinate against dealing with it, because it won’t go away and instead it’ll just pop up again when you may have convinced yourself that it’s gone.

Sit with the shit. Be with the discomfort.

Why? Because here’s the thing. Once we have stopped pushing away the shit that hurts or the shit we don’t want to deal with, once we are just present with it, giving ourselves permission to feel it and have it go through us – then it’s done. Once we have sat with our shit, it can move on and so can we. It no longer has the power over us, making us run a mile or problem-solve endlessly, wracking our brains in an attempt to discover the reason.

And what comes next is liberation. Freedom.

Sit with your shit. Be with it. Feel it. So then you can move on.

This body; these breasts.


I’ve been on adventures with this body and these breasts that have seen me overcome insurmountable challenges, doubts and climb mountains both physical and emotional. I have ridden through waves of doubt that turned into storms of peril, and I’ve come out to see the other side.  I know what I am capable of as a woman, and it isn’t half of what it was until I became a mother.

I don’t think I ever really had a relationship with my own body until I became a mother. I was 19, and until then my body had served as more of a canvas for clothing and make up which I experimented with. It was a body for sex and pleasure, but it wasn’t a body that I really ever felt connected to or even respect for, really. It just was.

But that was ten years ago. It’s different now.

Ten years ago when I first became a mother for the first time. Ten years ago my body first served a purpose to grow, nurture and provide for my belly-dweller when she was thrust earth side. It wasn’t smooth-sailing at first. I remember feeling a lot of regret and resentment towards my body. It didn’t do what it was supposed to, or maybe was it that I just hadn’t been patient enough to allow it to?

I guess it doesn’t really matter. I learned. I learned to trust, to surrender and to let go. My body grew within it life another three times after that first time. It grew expanded and tightened, expanded and tightened and expanded and tightened once more.

I’ve had pregnancies all beyond forty weeks and one that extended into it’s forty-fourth week.

It took me until my third daughter to work out how to breastfeed, for multiple reasons including a traumatic birth and overcoming the residual trauma left behind from sexual assault. Being a woman with itty bitty titties I thoroughly enjoyed the ample bosom that formed while I nourished Wilding and Beans. Looking at my breasts now, one month after my final baby has weaned one month before she turned 3 – and they tell a different story.  They’re probably smaller now than my soft belly is, which by the way is no where near a six pack but that’s okay . My life-sustaining breasts are now a mere blip, where wearing a bra is totally unnecessary but handy in terms of retrieving them from hiding under my armpits.

The top of my hips are now covered with beautiful silvery lines, where my pelvis stretched with the weight of accommodating my babies as they grew.

After ten years of growing and nurturing my offspring, my body is now purely my own.

My body is soft.
My body is strong.
My body is supple, and flexible.
My breasts are small but mighty.

And my lines tell a story all over my body of the journey it has been on.

Oh, the stories I could tell you.

I’m so grateful.



Dear Daughter as you near your 10th birthday,

I see you growing up right before my very eyes. Your body is changing and you’re noticing every single occurrence, both welcoming it with excitement and feeling overwhelmed from it, because, really, you’re still so very young.

I watch as you come and wrap your arms around me awkwardly, all legs and arms.. and then no sooner, you’re running off to your room, slamming the door behind you because you want to be left alone.

I know you’re in this place of in-between. I can’t imagine how frustrated and confused you feel. But I want you to know you’re not alone.

We argued this morning, we both said words we didn’t mean and although we have both since apologised and made up, it’s still lingering with me. I don’t want to be someone you can’t talk to, but also, if you don’t want to talk – that’s okay. You don’t have to talk. Silence is good with me, if it’s with you.

I’m in a place of watching you go through changes hormonally that seem totally out of your grasp, and I just want to hold you. I want to tell you it’s okay. I want to tell you that it gets easier.. but I don’t know if it does. Maybe it’s not that being a woman gets easier or if it’s just that we become stronger. Because we learn to embrace our innate feminine power and all that comes with it. Slowly we learn to surrender to the ebb and flow rather than fight against it.

But daughter, I can see why you’re fighting against it. It’s new and relatively unknown, and being a woman isn’t easy. Becoming one is even harder. I can understand why you’re fiercely trying to hold onto your childlike innocence, I can see that you don’t want to grow up.

Here’s the thing, though. No matter how old you are, no matter how many moody outbursts you have or how much you try to push me away – I will always be here. My love for you is not conditional – you may outgrow your clothes but you’ll never ever outgrow me. I will always have time for you, I will always make time for you and I will always be in your corner.

I know this shit is tough. And I’m more than willing to let you live your life, your way, as you learn to navigate it independently. But nothing you can ever do will make me not love you, and there will never be a time I won’t be your constant.



My word for 2017 is “release”.

As this time of year comes around everyone seems to get contemplative; gathering up their memories of the year and taking stock. And yeah it’s cliched because we can do this anytime we like but there’s something about a new year and a fresh slate that is sort of irresistibly appealing.

I know I write a lot about my daughters and my husband but not often about me, I guess because my needs often get shelved as I take on the role of advocate, wife and mother in the foreground most often. Raising four children is often times like trying to shove an octopus into a netted bag – shit is just going everywhere! The process of stripping bare the layers that make me who I am and the fact that those layers consist of my four incredible daughters mean that as they each go off to school, I’m forming who I am again. It’s quietly exhilarating and liberating.

This year is going to be the first time in my entire 10 year marriage where I am not pregnant and wrangling a toddler. For real. Soon I’ll be finished breastfeeding, soon our final baby (who is over 2.5 years of age) will move out of our bedroom and into sharing with her sister.


So what about me? I’m 29, and I’ll be 30 in 2017. I had my first baby when I was 19, and that baby will be 10 this year. I’m not autistic but yet I am surrounded by marvellously complicated and layered autistic peeps who I adore and who push me to see the world from new angles. And let’s not forget my second daughter, who is my neurotypical ally.

But anyway. I am studying, and this semester I’ll be taking on 3 subjects and it is my hope that this time next year I’ll be a graduate of Journalism which I am really excited about, because I hope to write part-time for my living after that. Writing has always been a passion and outlet of mine and it just so happens I write about autism a lot because I guess, how the saying goes – write about what you know, hey? I think writing about autism serves as a catharsis for me, and if it’s helping others on similar journeys – then that’s even better. But I know about a lot of other stuff too. I am a passionate hairy-pitted feminist who actively campaigns for better maternal health access, I have birthed 3 out of my 4 girls at home and I could talk about birth all day long. I am passionate about respectful parenting without rewards, shame or punishment and body autonomy and consent. I want my girls to be strong little women, even if it’s painfully full-on now as they’re learning how to master their wiles.

I love art. Our house is covered in artwork; a lot of which is mine but lots of the girls too, and lots from friends and I actually want to buy more but I think my husband’s eyes might actually pop out of his head if I did. I love to eat. Lots. I love to move, I love being out in nature. I hate hate hate coriander, avocado and I think most wine tastes foul… but I won’t say no to a cider. I was abused for many many years as a child. I lost my Grandma this year who was a real matriarch to my family and I miss her dearly. I haven’t really had a present mother for many years as she’s been unwell with either Alzheimers or Dementia (currently undiagnosed), and I struggle with the loss of a role she’s had in my life for a number of reasons –  and I can only hope the way I am parenting my girls is carving strong pathways for my maternal connection to them, despite my own relationship with my mother being unhealthy and absent.

At the end of each year I like to set a new word to act as a touchstone which can help anchor me back to major goals I have for myself. This year’s word was “breathe” which was amusing, considering how often I felt like I was either suffocating or exhausted from treading water.

So next year. Next year my word is going to be “release“.

I’m going to release myself from the hold of toxic relationships.
I’m going to release myself from the curse that is expectation.
I’m going to release myself from the expectation that I have to do it all and be everyones everything.
I am going to release myself from the guilt I experience when I do nothing at all.
I’m going to release myself from the demands others make of me and remember to prioritise my own needs a little bit, every day.
I’m going to release myself from the grasp that four children bring and make dates with my incredible, sexy, intelligent, amazing husband regular and nurture our marriage.

The only other thing I can commit to is regular Sunday Family Adventures where we go someplace new in our amazing part of the country as a family and eat and explore. The rest.. well, I’ll leave that up to the universe. Unlike the majority of the people living in my house, I for one love surprises…. so, bring it.

And would you believe it, my period arrived today – which is normally bang on time, a few days after it was due. So my body is physically releasing now, too.

Synchronicity, yo.

I hope that this year you’re able to let go of what isn’t serving you, find your happy regularly and take time out for yourself too. I am so very grateful for all the support my writing has garnered, and I feel privileged to have made so many new connections this year as a result of it and look forward to a new year making new grounds.

Blessings and all that other clichéd shit,





Don’t Wait; Make It Happen.

It’s really fucking hard to find time to connect as a family. Finding the perfect moment amidst the constant normal family happenings and also the laundry and the food preparation.. yeah, it can seem all too difficult. It takes conscious effort to spend quality time together and when you’re a big family and dealing with the extra challenges of autism it can often get shelved in the too hard basket.

So we’ve stopped waiting for the perfect moments to connect and have time together and instead we have just started creating it.

Once a week, usually on a Sunday morning we all head out for what we call our “Sunday family breakfast adventure”.

Working to our individual strengths, Papagirltribe plans buys the breakfast food and I pick the location. We go somewhere that we haven’t been before or haven’t been to in a while, usually within maximum 30 minutes from home. And it’s working really well… most of the time.

Granted, today wasn’t one of those days. It wasn’t perfect at all, actually. Beans talked, whined or cried the entire journey there and then on the way back she verbally stimmed really loudly which set off Wilding in the backseat who responded by screaming the entire way home. Oh and Beans also got her feet sandy and wet  which she’s often fine with but today this caused a meltdown, Sno got overstimulated by the sandy playground, Rara pushed boundaries hard and Papagirltribe was fairly sensitive sensory-wise too. And I’m pretty sure I bitched and whined a bit myself purely out of frustration.



But hey. That’s life isn’t it? Can’t always or actually ever plan for perfect so we just gotta take what we can and try and have a laugh when we can and keep loving each other through it all.

I hope that our girls will look back on their childhood and see the effort their parents made to connect with them in a real way, amidst all the other stuff.  And know that despite it never being perfect and even sometimes when it was a complete and utter shitstorm – that we still tried.

Feel free to steal my idea, and let me know where your adventures take you and tag me on Instagram when you go (I’m girl.tribe).




One Big Family, One Tiny House.

About a year ago we moved into a tiny cottage in the bush on a mountain. At the time it was a little daunting – we were moving from a large, lush house with more rooms than people in our family and here we were having to squeeze into this tiny house.

I’m sure my husband thought I was crazy for accepting the offer from the real estate we were to rent through. But then again that isn’t a novel occurrence – I’m often causing my beloved to roll his eyes, but it’s been ten years now so he’s pretty un-shockable after all my antics over the years.


our teeny tiny cupboard

teeny tiny

Six people. Tiny three bedroom house.

He thought it would be daunting – I thought it would be a fun challenge.

And you know what we discovered? We actually prefer to live in a small space.

The key to success has really been to cull, cull, cull. We have probably donated, sold or thrown out about 50% of our belongings since moving here. We have had to get super creative with the placement and arrangement of our belongings. It’s amazing how little stuff kids need, too. They each have a set space to store their toys, we have two box-shelves in our tiny living area and if the toys don’t fit then they don’t get to stay.

At the end of the day the main things our girls play with are: Lego, magna-tiles, Schleich animals, books, craft stuff & colouring in (limited to one box) and their outdoor stuff like their scooters, trampoline & trolley boards. That’s it.

We don’t even have a TV anymore. We had no where to fit the one we had so we donated it and we have not missed it.

We don’t even own a couch – we gave it away on Gumtree and have put in in its place a few foam mattresses covered in a tapestry to sit on, instead. After reading about Katy Bowman‘s “furniture free living” concept we figured we’d give it a go, but that’s a different post for another time.

It’s taught me to be really ruthless with the stuff we have. Do we really need it? How often have we used it? Can we do without it?

We don’t own a dishwasher in this house either. So this has meant the older girls do the dishes on a regular basis as part of their daily chores and we also reuse stuff whenever we can, and put dishes away as soon as they’re cleaned because otherwise they clutter space.

So what are the benefits to living in a small space?

Less time of our lives spent cleaning. It takes me about 15 minutes to vacuum and mop the entire house. Housework is so totally boring so I am grateful for this major factor alone.
More space for creativity. Less room for”stuff” means more room to play open-endedly, cook and spend time outside.
Learning how to “make do”. Our girls have learned to appreciate their belongings and enjoy the items they have because they don’t have many and they don’t get overwhelmed with choice.
Less mental clutter. When my house is messy, so is my head. Living in a messy cluttered space stresses me out. Living in a smaller space allows for more mental clarity.
Learning how to get along and accommodate each other in space. We have two decks, two hammock chairs, a dining table and the girls all have their own bed. Sure, on rainy days it can get pretty hard especially if we are all home but that time isn’t prolonged. Generally though, it’s taught us all how to be more considerate of each other’s personal space as well as enabled us to enjoy time together too. We can’t just escape from each other and avoid each other which, isn’t really a healthy regular habit anyway.
More time spent outdoors. Living in a small space has encouraged us to get outdoors more when we are feeling a little claustrophobic. We live in an incredible part of the world, brimming with natural beauty and living in a small space has given us the extra push to get outdoors more and explore and get active.

After having a childhood myself that was rich in “stuff” and not so rich in healthy functional relationships, being a large family living by choice in a small house has concreted to me just where our priorities lie in terms of important things in life.

Stuff is fun, but it isn’t the key to happiness. Stuff and space may be luxurious but if you aren’t all getting along, achieving goals, learning and growing as invididuals and a family in a safe space then it’s not the ultimate.

There is a lot to be gained from less. A whole lot more than we have had before.

If you want to read more about minimalism, check out these links.



My children don’t always have to like me.

Ah man, four kids and two adults. My husband and I are totally outnumbered now and funnily enough it’s taken me this long to realise that it’s unrealistic for me to expect that all four girls of ours will be happy all the time. It’s an insane juggling act at times, semblance akin to stuffing an octopus inside a netted bag – a lot of the times: completely pointless.



Don’t get me wrong, we’ll do our best to provide them with positive experiences, opportunities to learn and grow. They have clothes they need, enough toys to amuse them (but not a lot, either) and they’re safe, in a house that keeps them sheltered and warm. They attend fantastic kindergarten and schools and they have some great friends.

But sometimes life is gonna be hard. Some days are gonna be shit, and they’re not gonna be happy – but that’s OK. Sometimes they’re really not going to like what I have to say. But you know.. That’s life. It isn’t my job to make my girls happy all the time. They need to learn how to form resilience and how to bounce. They need to be okay with feeling sad, frustrated and even mad sometimes – because that’s how they learn.

They need to know that even though they don’t like what I have to say, that I’ll keep loving them through it all.

If I’m pre-empting every single encounter in their lives, buffering every single fall and handing out solutions for every single problem they come across in their lives – they aren’t learning. They aren’t growing, they aren’t developing and maturing. It’s draining and exhausting for me and it’s unhealthy for them.

Because my children are smart. They’re capable, they’re able. They can work some stuff out on their own, through trial and error and they can learn that failing sometimes is just the way it goes. The awesome, important stuff is about picking yourself up, dusting off and giving it another go. It’s about using this experience as a framework of how to do things differently next time.

I’ll be there to guide them and nurture them through it – but I can’t prevent every upset, and I shouldn’t either. Because that’s childhood: growing, learning. And I’m not their friend, I’m their parent.




Ahhh, holidays. Except not.

School holidays may count as a “holiday” from a few things:
A holiday from school & kindy drop off & pick ups
A holiday from washing uniforms
A holiday from… errr…


Nope. That’s all they’re a holiday from.

There’s still lunches to be made otherwise the girls think that being at home gives them free access to the fridge and pantry and they eat us out of house and home in record time. There’s still laundry (oh, the laundry). There’s still dishes to be done and food to be prepped and cooked.

There’s maybe more time spent at the beach. More picnic lunches of takeaway chips at the park. I wish there was more sleep but I’d have to be dreaming.

There’s usually a lot of meltdowns as Sno and Wilding “come down” from a ten-week long intense term of navigating friendships, commitments, learning and managing ongoing sensory challenges. Then there’s other contributing factors to take into account which can be triggering: like sharing space with siblings for extended periods of time, disjointed routines and also the noise that comes from loud little (and big) sisters.

So as a result the first week is usually pretty hard. We’ll hold their space and love them through it because we know it isn’t a choice.  It’s still fucking hard though.

We try and alternate “home days” with “going out days” to provide a little rhythm to the weeks. But it’s no guarantee for anything much.

Then there’s sibling bickering from hyper stimulated or controlling behaviour which is relentless and I’ll try as patiently as I possibly can to help my girls negotiate their (endless) quandaries within their sibling relationships.

I’ll no doubt hide away at times, burying my head into my hands with silent tears streaming because I’ll be wishing I could make things easier for them, for us. My husband will come home, and swoop in and take over from wherever I’m at so that I can breathe a little lighter for a few moments. He gets how hard it is, and I love him so much for that.

Holidays would probably be easier if my girls didn’t have their siblings to take into account. Or, autism. But then again, maybe there’d just be other challenges. So who knows. It’s hard not to wonder though..

So, whatever. We’ll muddle through. At the very least we will enjoy not rushing out the door with everything needing to be done by 8am. And thankfully we have awesome family willing and offering to help, which will gratefully take them up on.

We’ll be thankful for likeminded friends and folk  who get it. And living in a beautiful place to keep us grounded.

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