Posted in Writing

To My Boy

I wrote this some years ago, yet it is still relevant to me today…

All Of Me


Nicole Martin

There are so many things that mums and dads should say

But sometimes, we fail to say them in the way you need us to.

When your little heart broke today, I felt it too-like breaking glass, I shattered, helpless, as the pieces fell.

It hit me in spectacular fashion, that sometimes, I don’t have all the answers, and sometimes, I can’t fix it.

So I did the only thing I could do.

I lay with you.

I lay down with you on your little bed, and welcomed silence as I stroked your tear sodden cheek.

So soft it was, I didn’t realise how so,  you, my little man, are but a babe in arms, your virgin soul, newly challenged by the devastation of disappointment.

There were no words- they felt weightless and empty in comparison to the energy that transpired in this moment.

The clock…

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Posted in Writing

“He screamed, watch out..it’s over there, in the bushes”

It makes it really difficult to keep still when the Mosquitos are biting into every ounce of flesh that is exposed-and that’s a fair bit because I live in Far North Queensland, where shorts and T-shirts are a staple commodity.

They were severe this evening- a mismatch with the serenity. No breeze. Perfect temperature, a view to die for, and a world of quiet, bar the occasional bird song.

What was I doing?

Not really sure. Your guess is as good as mine. I think if I was on a game show and I had to attempt an answer, I would say that I was freezing the world around me with my camera, in aim of reminding myself that it did indeed, in a wonderous capacity, still exist-a stark contrast to  societies political thorns that continue to bite my butt.

Mozzies and politics-both very irritating.

At first glance, it was boring. Nothing much to see, nothing eye catching that hadn’t already caught me a million times before. I snapped regardless. Because that’s what I came here to do- Unwind, clear the head and recharge. Opening and closing the shutter was secondary.

It is amazing what can unfold around you when you don’t give two hoots why or where you are. When you have no solid reason to be wherever you are.  When expectations are low, the little things become much, much more interesting.

I found myself just off the beach, playing in the mudflats with the mudcrabs (burried in their little mudcrab holes) and spying on the seagulls-so what, I hear you say.

The tide was out. Way out. I noticed a man looking in my direction, kind of tallish, 50’s, wearing glasses and a thick head of grey. He had a strong European accent.

“Are you local?” He asked

I hesitated, wondering how he could possibly be lost on the edge of a mudflat. If he was looking for the ocean, he was in the right place.

“Can I help?”

“Well it’s just that I am very concerned you will be eaten by a crocodile any minute now”

It amused me.

“You know, I am local, and I thank you for your concern…but I’m not worried about that”

I immediately jumped as he shrieked,

“It’s behind you, over there in the bushes”

His audible shriek stopped my heart on the spot more than his words of warning, and I turned around and quickly scanned the area.

No croc. Nothing. Not even a mudcrab. Not even a bird, or a dead fish, or a microscopic amoeba. Not surprising.

…what was surprising though, was that the man, who was there right in front of me, only seconds ago, had vanished completely. No sign of him, at all.

…and I’m not joking.











Posted in Writing

Masterpieces are never mess free

‘I write with a pen and paper in one of those hard cover diary books you can buy in the supermarket, and I move from room to room chasing the feelings in my chest that are  killing me, until I have a scrawl that’s so messed up it’s made my flipping day-masterpieces are never mess free.’

‘I need a nice pen, a smooth one that enables me to feel grand when I splash my grievances for all to see and judge’

‘I like scribbling diagonally across a blank page taking my thoughts outside the angle of the lines. It’s dramatic, it’s naughty, and who cares…’

‘Honestly, don’t use the words of others. Don’t write someone else’s story-write yours. Separate yourself from the do’s and don’ts of the English language because that will distract you from what you really want to say, what is real, what is raw. Allow a chaotic flood of wicked messed up thoughts guide you to the brilliance of sharing an honest piece of yourself with those who care to listen-those reading by the way, should consider it a privilege to be given the secret key into your world and kindly respect your vulnerable position. Do not be phased by the haters. There will always be those…oh yes there will, and the literary genius’s of the world…fear not, intimidation is a waste of valuable energy, for you have the benefit of a gift they will never own-Your story’

‘Pardon? What is freedom? …Freedom to me is breathing out and feeling comfortable to stay there for a while.

Freedom is feeling confident enough to share your raw and then indulge in a cuppa with no spiders on your back.


Posted in Writing

A sense of ponder…

I heard this morning that she passed away.

And although she was not known to me-a story owned by others, I found myself staring aimlessly at the floor. A floor strewn with dirty clothes and a families clutter, yet a floor so desperately insignificant.

The chill in the air iced my bare feet and darkened the room. It was quiet. With absolute deliberateness I grabbed a bean bag and a cup of hot tea and headed outside. I wanted to see the world in a different light. I wanted to shake my ponder-Why are some spared when others are drowning in tragedy?

There will never be an answer to that.

I threw the beanbag down on the tiles and collapsed into it. The warmth of the sun ran right through me. It was a comfort not felt for some time, as we are usually escaping the heat in the tropics. The sky was the bluest of blue. The birds were carrying on, and everything was perfect. So spectacularly perfect-and yet not so-you know?

The impossibility of righting the wrongs in this world can be overwhelming yet acceptance and gratitude help us navigate our way through.

Posted in Writing

When our Teenagers don’t want us anymore

Underneath the seemingly impenetrable teenage armour, a needy little human lies Dormant

They need us when they’re babies.

They need the comfort and security of our physical selves. They need to be told that Santa has presents for them if they’ve been good, and that the tooth fairy can carry enough gold coins in its pockets to cater for a whole city of toothless kids.

They need us to tuck them in tight so that the monsters don’t come, and they need us to cheer and cheer to an embarrassing level when they sprint down the 80 m grass running track at the school sports day. They need us to take their temperature and feed them ice cream when they’re sick, and they need us to carry them inside and put them to bed when they fall asleep in the car after a big night out.

They need us to wash their dirty little bodies, and ensure they brush away the 10 packets of wiz fizz they snuck in when you weren’t looking. We brag about them on social media and they don’t even care, and we catch up with their mums and compare teachers and reading levels. We truly believe they are amazingly motivated, special little humans that will never change.

And then one day they do…and then somehow, we feel we need THEM.

We need the comfort and security of seeing them lying safely in their beds and not walking the streets somewhere unhappy.

A hug might be asking a bit much, but we need them to at least make an effort to say goodnight so we feel like they remember who we are.

We  need them to at least pretend they enjoy Christmas for more than the 5 minutes that they’ve unwrapped a new phone, or some type of device that will take them away from us again.

We need them to not be indifferent to our  presence at sports days, and care just enough to at least tell us how they went. We need them to look over at us and wave with a smile, so we remember we are still their parent.

We need them to turn off their computer and say “Should we all do something together?”

To them, we are the person that feeds them, the taxi, the bank, the one who demands they tidy their room and the one who appears to be placed on this earth solely to ruin all their fun.

We need them to do their chores without having to literally put a bomb underneath their backsides every-single- time. They’re not naughty, just oblivious.

We need them to open their mouths and spit out some words that resemble a conversation, so that we can get to know the person they are becoming before they become it.

We are more careful on social media not to offend their sensitive little souls and we try not to like their posts in fear of embarrassing them.

We haven’t seen their mums for years and are not entirely sure who their teachers are.

We are required to learn a new language by the name of ‘Grunt’ if we  have any hope of communicating.

We attempt to feed them but the fridge always seems to be empty as they happily demolish everything you only bought 5 minutes ago…so we run away, again…to the supermarket only to be told when we return that they are “very sorry mum but I drank all the milk when you were out”

We need them to use the manners we spent so many years teaching them just so we know something sank in after all that energy spent, and then they forget, and we almost die in disbelief.

They don’t need us anymore…it would seem.

But they still do though don’t they?

They need us to keep going to their sports days even though they pretend they don’t want us there…because when they’re 40, they’ll wonder why we stopped.

They need us  to pretend that Santa still exists and the Tooth fairy is alive and well, and that the Easter bunny is as present as ever-even if they’re 15 and too grown up for it..because if we don’t do it, nobody will, and all connection with their childhood  magic will be gone from their lives. They need to see us sneaking around hiding eggs and putting out carrots even if they are clueless as to why we still do it, so that they know we are still in the game with them. So they look back when they’re older and say…”I remember when..”

They need us to continue bragging about them because it makes them feel strong and valued and confident and loved for who they are- The’ll squirm and whinge, but their strength of character will flourish.

We must keep buying them food. They are starving teenagers who will eat their way through all of our  food plans for the week, and force us to drive the country side to feed them more and more. They will still claim they are the most underfed beings on the planet. They love us because we feed them, but they won’t realise that, until they are one day stuck doing it themselves.

We need them to bond with us, but their definition of bonding and ours are totally different, so we both end up feeling we’re on different train tracks. This is when learning  ‘grunt’ proves very helpful.

Their rapid desire for independence makes it feel as if we are the last person they want to spend their time with, but we have to remember they are locked inside a suit of teenage armour, that we as parents will struggle to penetrate, and they as teenagers will struggle to free themselves from.

To them, we are a weird, old person, with no idea about life.

Their rejection is a game they don’t even know they are playing. A red herring, a trap, to see if we’re sticking around.

Our biggest mistake?

Assuming they need us less and withdrawing our attentions.

In actual fact, whether a baby or a teenager,

“…they need the comfort and security of your physical self. They need to be told that Santa has presents for them if they’ve been good, and that the tooth fairy can carry enough gold coins in its pockets to cater for a whole city of toothless kids.

They need you to tuck them in tight so that the monsters don’t come, and they need you to cheer and cheer to an embarrassing level when they sprint down the track at school sports day-They will remember your support of them.

They need you to take their temperature and feed them ice cream when they’re sick, and they need you to look after them when they’re over tired, and a totally disgusting, grumpy grot,  after a big weekend out…”

Baby…Teenager? Not that different really, when one thinks about it.

Posted in blogging, Daily muse, Deep, mindfullness, My mantra's, Writing

When the best thing to do is nothing.

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Sometimes, the only thing to do is nothing.

Park your emotions.

Put them on hold for a bit.

Shove them up on the top shelf until such a time that you can deal with them rationally.

In times of deep upset our ability to see the real story is severely hindered.

The bigger picture, is hidden under a huge pile of rubbish-stress, anger, confusion, resentment, disappointment, sadness and desperation.

This rubbish pile in the early stages is sometimes so heavy that any attempt to shift it will fail.

Each futile attempt to sort through it simply moves rubbish from one pile to another.

So when this happens,

park your emotions and wait.

Wait for the rubbish to slowly decompose, and in time,

it will be dust.

Portion-Small mounds are easier to jump than mountains.