Monday, October 15, 2012

a type of grief

I've been setting up my Squiggly Rainbow website and asked my amazing friend Hannah to write a bio for me.  The only thing I asked her was that is was whatever she felt to write - and it was okay to include Autism and if it could reflect me.  When I read it, I had tears.  Tears that a beautiful friend could know me so well.  Like the ditty "A true friend knows the song in your heart and sings it back to you when you have forgotten the words"

"Squiggly Rainbow is the invention of a most whimsical mind.

That whimsical mind belongs to Rachael; owner, operator, designer and head moss collector at Squiggly Rainbow.
Rachael story goes a little like this:

One day, in cookie cutter suburbia, Rachael was washing the breakfast dishes. She had just given in to her youngest son and allowed him to watch Maisy Mouse for the thousandth time. Rachael must have been confounded by the absence of her child’s voice because she did something very strange. Rachael began to attend to the fleeting thoughts of fancy that flitted through her mind. Ric-rac and willow and floral designs; a bird on a branch and polka-dots too. Rachael removed her hands from the warm and soapy water; neglecting the task that she formally attended so diligently. She dried her hands on her yellow cardigan, walked to a long forgotten wardrobe and pulled out her sewing machine.  This was an extreme act of liberation. She looked at that old Janome for some time. She did not know what she would create, but create she would.

Rachael’s family wasn’t like most families. Sure they were gorgeous and with Rachael’s talent for whimsical artistry so was their home, but what envious passers-by did not know was that Maisy, offered Rachael her only respite. Rachael’s husband, her fabulous Mr Dream Come True and two of her three precious children have Autism Spectrum Disorders. Rachael, the loving mother and wife that she is, went to every length to create a space that her family felt comfortable in. Unfortunately, for the longest time, she forgot to leave room for polka-dots and butter-cream.
On that day; with dishes sitting in tepid water and Maisy adventuring away, Rachael created a space for herself. With the whirring of her sewing machine, her crafty, creative self was given voice and her business was born. Rachael and her children named it Squiggly Rainbow to reflect their family; just like a rainbow they are many different parts moving as one, but more like the rest of us, they’re a little off-beat and squiggly too.
The world of whimsy that Rachael carried in her head now lives in the miniature worlds she creates. Her terrariums, clothing, willow sculptures and many other fantastical feats reflect Rachael’s love for the natural world and her desire for simplicity."

Yesterday we went to church and I was speaking about our move to the hills.  Upon the question of how it is going, I held back tears.  I responded that it is lonely.  Lonely because we are going through a whole transition as a family.  Lonely because all my babes are at school now.  Lonely because I can't have any more.

I met some new mothers there.  The time of playgroup and carting toddlers around seems so long ago.  It's a type of grief.  The grief has many faces.  The grief that bearing more children (unless a miracle occurred - which I do pray for) would most likely see me rocking singing Vincent over and over in my head.  The grief that the connection with my boys is limited and revolves around their Autistic minds.  The grief in analyzing all that grief.

In that loneliness and grief - my Miss G had tears this morning asking if she could be home-schooled.  I don't think I could home-school the boys.  I feel I don't have the know-how to home-school Miss G.  She is so, so bright.  She loves people and I do believe she is at the right place at the blessed school.

I have my new routine and am enjoying that.  The transition is interesting.  Times are changing in our home.  Friends have gone.  New ones to be made.  New rituals and traditions.  It is refreshing, but why am I feeling that grief?

Love Rach xo


  1. What a lovely friend to write such a fabulous bio for you! It's always interesting to read what others think of you.
    I know things must be particularly difficult at times for you, and motherhood is the toughest gig in the world, and we will always have our grief... but I think the best thing is that you are ALWAYS THERE for them, no matter what.
    Keep enjoying your whimsy and fancy Rach, that's there for you. :)
    PS: You are welcome to come for a cuppa next time you're down this way xo

    1. Thank you Lovely xx don't think I could escape that whimsy (maybe that is a blessing in disguise - or not so disguised) xxx

  2. What a wonderful friend. She has really written such a beautiful piece there and you can tell she loves you very much. What an inspiration you are to other Mothers.
    I have always been told that emotions are neither wrong nor right, they just are. And while we can acknowledge our emotions, we don't need to be engulfed by them. I think that is what you are doing. Acknowledging them, examining them and soon they will pass and be replaced. All the best. :)

    1. She is a keeper - a wonderful friend, one I hope I never lose! Thanks for your words Christina xxx

  3. I do love you very much.
    I felt a bit spec when you asked me to write for you.
    One of my aunts told me that parenting is sort of like a constant grief because your always letting go of your children and life is always changing.
    This clip is reminding me of you right now:
    Call you later,

    1. oh my - I love her music! Do you have any albums? I must find more! xxx Love ya xx

  4. Your friend sounds like a keeper!
    Life is full of changes and some times its hard to go with the flow.
    You have some nice folk at the vintage shed who think your a lovely lady and talented to boot!
    Cheers lyn

  5. This is such a beautiful post. Thanks for sharing.

  6. I think this is just perfect Rach...and so important to leave room for polka dots and butter cream...something I am guilty of.



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