Meg Lawton’s Family Focused Blog

He told me while I was in the kitchen. Stirring something, soup maybe, onions or boiling potatoes, doesn’t matter really, whatever it was, my stirring soon became furious.
“They told me I wasn’t really a boy today.” His 12yr old voice tried to remain detached.
“Really” I replied, trying to match his detachment, while searching his eyes for the hidden pain. Trying my hardest not to scream at those who planted it deep within him that day at school.
“Why would they say that?” I question further. My anger now bubbling, sizzling, boiling, burning, My stirring only making a mess. Of things.
“They said I wasn’t really a boy, because I don’t like guns.” Continue Reading »

Show me a girl who meets a boy.

A boy who doesn’t know how to steal a look without being caught.
A boy who can only ever be himself, who hasn’t ever learned how to hide, only seek.
Together they chase the chance to be.
Once caught, they stare at the truth within the other.
And see themselves.

Show me a girl, barely 20, with wide open eyes.
A girl with dreams of what the whole world can be.
Dreams blown up in bubbles floating across maybe skies.
Fantasies of life, love and the stories that follow.
Everybody waving hellos and nice to meet you’s.

Show me a girl who begins the journey
to finding all the bits inside her she never knew she had.
The good shiny and new, the hard and ugly ones too.
Motherhood scratches away to find the lot.
The only idea she has, is in fact that she has no idea at all.
Who let her in without papers, a passport? Continue Reading »

Have you ever bumped into it? You know, the wall?  The one between the mothers who work and the mothers who, well, work…. 
what can’t see tell the difference? Well, let me just point it out to you. One has a whole lot of guilt, and well, the other one has a whole lot of guilt. Yeh, a little tricky to spot at first I admit, but on closer inspection a painful awkwardness trips her up.

“So what do you do?” One mother asks another mother at a party.
”Oh I’m a lawyer/sales rep/teacher/yoga instructor, and what do you do?”
“Oh I’m a stay at home mother.”  (Also known as “CEO of the family business”)

Silence, then guilt. 
”Well nice meeting you.”  Quickly, they both look around for a non-mother type, the one without the guilt dripping off her and leaving a messy trail for others to slip in.

From the moment of conception, mother and guilt become fast friends. You will not find one without the other. While pregnant we will drink in the bitter taste of guilt in a cup of caffeine and spit it out as we send our toddler to their room, and take away the car keys from our teenager. We invite guilt over after every decision we make to help us second guess our way through the next one. We all have guilt’s number on speed dial. Continue Reading »

I’m not the funny one. Oh I can be funny even without a glass of chardonnay in hand. But I’m not the funny one. Put in me in a crowd and I’m rather silly if you catch me in the right mood, yes I’m may have heard a chuckle or two in my presence. It’s true; I can work a crowd on a good day. I enjoy a party, an audience, and even resort to laughing at myself just to get the ball rolling. But still, I’m not the funny one.

Somehow my jokes just don’t seem to translate at home. I used to pull it off, back when they were little. But now I crash, I forget the punch line, stumble over words and just I don’t seem believable anymore. They’re a tough crowd.

So now it’s him. He’s the funny one. He does his thing and they laugh. I don’t even know what he does, it’s his. I’ll watch, take notes and try it later. But I can’t do it, because it’s his. It’s a dad thing. Kids like goofy dads, all the moaning and eye rolling are just a part of their game. He’ll hum a funny way, say a silly word, doesn’t take a lot. He’s our light relief, our breathing space. I was just the warm-up act. Continue Reading »

She breathes, deeply
allowing space
for the tomorrows to meet her
with gentle hands.

In with the maybe’s
Out with the hope not’s
In and out she breathes
while the tomorrows patiently wait.

Choice -a simple breath away,
a thought, a moment, an inhale away.
Tomorrow holds it out
and whispers “Take it, it’s yours.”

She’s brave and believes
that each breath can create
the place for her to choose -
another way, perhaps even a better way. Continue Reading »

In the unlikely event of receiving the “Mother of the Year Award”, I’ve been practicing my acceptance speech only to myself in hushed tones. I know it’s probably unnecessary but a girl needs her dreams.  Today I share this dream with you, it goes something like this-

Firstly, I do NOT trip over my sexy long evening gown on the way up to the podium, and say in a confident yet sincere gentle voice while making the appropriate amount of eye contact and heartfelt pauses ………

“Why thank you, I simply cannot believe this is possible, no truly I cannot believe this and neither can my family, loved ones and just anyone who has been within a 10 mile radius of me for these past 17 years. But while I’m here, I have a few people I’d like to thank, for without them I could not possibly accept this award. Continue Reading »

It will be remembered as the great salad cook-off. A 12 year old boy got up early that day, to chop. To chop vegetables. He and two other friends had decided to have a salad competition at school for lunch. He dug around the vegetable drawer and found mushrooms, mung beans, carrots, capsicum, spinach and perhaps a shriveled head of what I thought might possibly (hopefully) be cauliflower. He chopped.

The salad items and my son went to school. I thought of him at lunch. Eating his mushrooms and dry spinach. He got in the car at the end of the day with a smile. That’s all that really matters don’t you think? For your kid to come home from school with a smile?

“How was your salad?” I asked
“Good” he offered enthusiastically
“How were your friend’s salads?”
“Oh they forgot” he shrugged.
And that was that. Continue Reading »

They practically scream her name the minute she walks in.
The shine, the glitter calling her over. Her little face wide open to the delight before her.
She hadn’t yet imagined this possibility, but now it is right before her.
And she hopes.

Yet, she is pulled in another direction, the one of her mothers.
The adults speak; something about size, colour, season.
Odd things really, she thinks in her little mind now filled with sparkles.

She sits, boxes appear.
Her bare foot ready, poised for dressing.
Dressing up in all the fantasies of a little girl.
Ready to dance and skip and fly. Continue Reading »

They say they know,
But they can’t. Not really.
It’s too big for this space, this moment.

They can only ever hear it with their young ears.
And feel it with their expectant hearts.
As it should be.
“Of course” they casually say.
“But Really” I push.

I can’t help myself; it forces its way to the surface.
Sometimes it’s perfect, just right.
Other times, they’re irritated and brush it to the floor.
Not now. Continue Reading »

They gather things. Together, separately.
Bits. Pieces. All very important.
Often a precious rock (broken asphalt), or a note (on scrap paper).
Sometimes a rainbow (piece of string), or a piece of gold (yellow button).
Now and then, a valuable coin (found in the dust behind the washer)

But always love. Right there on my bedside table.
My little hunters and gatherers going throughout the day,
Leaving me gifts to discover later.
They rest these treasures where they will be safe.
I will take care of them, in my heart. Continue Reading »