West of the mountains.

We hadn't been away for the week-end for a while so we were excited to set off on Friday to go visit our friends Kris and Lian in Bathurst, a regional centre west of the Blue Mountains and about three hours from Sydney.

The drive there was long and we got stuck in traffic a few times. We made it across the mountains and were sitting in front of a delicious risotto by about 7:30pm. Hugo sat on my lap for a bit of dinner, we skipped his bath and got him into bed around 9pm. Then, we were able to sit back, relax and catch up for a couple of hours before our tired bones climbed into bed as well.

Kris and Lian moved to the village of Peel, about 10 minutes out of town, just after Christmas and are renting the kind of house we used to hire for week-ends away. Expecting a baby due at the end of June, they are living a blessed existence out of the city.

The house itself is quirky and fun but also peaceful and warm, built over a long period by an inspired woman. Windows, beams, railings, doors and just about everything else is recycled, up-cycled and re-used in some way. Far from a "dog's breakfast", this one works with separate sleeping areas organised around a large but cosy double-storey living space with a painting mezzanine above.

The house is surrounded by a garden that is designed in the same way as the house: a clear vision with plenty of room for the unexpected too. Some parts of the house and garden have a special pull and we often found ourselves playing, relaxing or chatting in these: the wide veranda that surrounds the living areas, the rug by a large picture window facing the garden, and of course, as these week-ends go, the kitchen/dining area.

We also spent quite a bit of time playing music for Hugo. Kris and Lian are both talented musicians and seem to fill the spaces they inhabit with music and instruments. We played the piano and guitar, with some guest appearances by a drum and a harmonica. Hugo tried his hands at all of them with the guitar and piano being clear favourites.

Bathurst itself is lovely. Having experienced a gold rush sometime towards the end of the 19th century, the town boasts quite a few beautiful old sandstone or brick buildings. It is a fair bit smaller than Newcastle and I didn't feel the trendy edge that has become familiar to us here but the balance of a country lifestyle so close to a reasonable centre could certainly be attractive. In the end, what does one need besides a few cafes, an art gallery, a nice park with ducks to feed, and in their case, a music shop?

It was exciting visiting them there and of course, I can't wait to visit again, most likely when their baby has come to join their beautiful and peaceful haven, just in time for a snuggly winter by the fireplace.

We drove home through the Hunter Valley rather than the mountains. It took more or less the same amount of time but was much more scenic and enjoyable. We went through isolated rural land, lush, green and hilly, perfect grazing territory where I think a lot of Angus beef is bred. Hugo travelled reasonably well and we made it home in time for a quick dip in the ocean and a nice dinner.

12 things at 12 months.

1- You are sleeping through the night! We have waited, waited and waited for this to happen and finally, it has. It has been nothing short of life-changing.

2- You are walking. You have been stumbling around for a few weeks now, looking like you are either drunk or dancing to Michael Jackson's "Thriller" as you attempt to keep your balance. You are getting faster and more stable. You love carrying things around, big things with your arms stretched out in front of you, little things that you scatter around from one room to the other. You are mighty proud of yourself and you should be. A whole new world is opening in front of you.

3- You have one tiny little tooth. After teasing us for weeks on end, waiting just below the surface, your first tooth finally popped out on your birthday. Good timing and no more gummy smiles for you!

4- You are almost weaned and it's all happening very quickly. In less than a month, we have gone from 5-6 breastfeeds in 24hrs to just one in the evenings. We're making it up with cow's milk which you seem to be enjoying just as much. I'm not sure how long we'll keep going with the evening feed and I think it will be more for my benefit than yours if it lasts a little while. Don't make me stop too quickly, I'm still coming to terms with this one.

5- You have a wonderful appetite. You like almost everything and anything we put in front of you. You eat with enthusiasm and have a good appetite, and these days, you barely make a mess.

6- You are little. It surprises people to see you get up and start walking because you look younger than you are. That's alright, you'll grow later.

7- You're not saying any real words yet, besides Dada and the occasional Mama, but you are starting to associate words we say with objects and point at them. That's where it starts and it won't be long before words come tumbling out of your mouth. I am looking forward to it and I wonder what language it will be in.

8- You are learning French. It's hasn't come very naturally but I am forcing myself. I owe it to you to try harder. Growing up in a bilingual and bi-cultural household is a wonderful gift which has opened up many doors for me. I want you to enjoy that.

9- You love to dance. It's incredible how instinctive dancing must be because I really don't think you are imitating me. I'm not much of a dancer but you are. As soon as the music starts, you stop in your tracks and I can see your body intensifying. You straighten up, wave your arms around, shake your head, bounce up and down. You know exactly what to do and I have no idea how.

10- You like to play on your own. There is a gate between our living areas and the kitchen so it's easy for me to go in there and cook or do the dishes when I need to. Once in a while you come and complain but often, you just go off and play with your toys (or our toys). I can hear you tinkering with things in a corner somewhere, focused and content, chatting to yourself or deep in concentration. Sometimes, you bring your toys with you and play with them just behind the gate. I think it's important for you to learn early that I cannot entertain you every minute of every day and that other things need to be done around you. It also means that when you are resting, I can too.

11- You are interested in others. Sea gulls at the beach, small dogs in the park, babies and children at the playgroup. They all interest you. Once something has your attention, you will stare at it for a while, arms outstretched and leaning slightly forward. I often notice you smiling at other children while they play. They just sort of ignore you as they are busy with their own games and even if you barely notice or care, it always makes me feel emotional. Soon, you'll be able to join in but for now, learn by keeping your big brown eyes wide open.

12- You are a thrill seeker. You laugh and wriggle in our arms when we walk down the beach into the ocean, completely unfazed if the top of a wave catches your face. You think swings and hammocks are hilarious. When sitting on the back of our bikes, you just look around taking it all in. More worryingly, you have started climbing objects and furniture, forcing us to update our baby-proofing. I think our role is to let you have the little tumbles and rescue you from the big ones. So far, no harm done...

Hugo's first birthday party.

Hugo's birthday party was a big deal, if to no one else, at least to me. It could have been much simpler, a big hug in the morning, an avalanche of kisses exchanged, a couple "happy birthday!"s for Hugo to be oblivious to. We could have just gone about our day like any other day. Chris might have kept it to that but I didn't want to.

It sort of started with the card. I wanted to organise a gathering and decided that I needed something to invite people with. Dissatisfied with a simple email or facebook invitation, I preferred something more tangible that I could save and put in Hugo's memory box to revisit later.



Making the card, as documented in a short but hilariously fast-paced movie was an adventure in itself but we got there in the end and were pleased with the results. I get these types of cards printed online and the minimum order is 50 prints so I got writing.

I cast a wide net and sent cards to people who I thought were even remotely likely to come (Newcastle, Sydney, Melbourne, Albury...) as well as to people who weren't (Nice, Fortworth, San Diego, Seattle, New York...). Most of those likely to come responded that they would be there and before long, we had a picnic for close to 30 adults (and lots of babies & children) on our hands... so I got cooking.

On the card, it said BYO (bring your own) picnic blanket which meant that we were providing everything else. That sort of thing suits my slightly perfectionist control-freak tendencies. Doing it all meant I could decide exactly what we were doing but it also meant doing it all.

I logged onto Pinterest for the first time in months to get some inspiration. If Chris thought that I was being over the top when planning the party, then he might have imploded seeing what was being done elsewhere. Elaborate decorations, exquisitely iced cupcakes, cakes in the shape of princesses, pirate ships or medieval castles, bombonnieres, paper lanterns, flowers, pinwheels and brightly colored table-settings... The works.

I'm not sure whether I felt inspired or disheartened by what I saw but in any case, I set the bar where it felt natural: nice simple food, a few decorations and a nice setting. Oh, and I wanted to make something that would be recognisable as a birthday cake.

I did most of the preparation in the week beforehand, freezing and baking various things, and on the day before, making salads and preparing all the last minute things. Chris' parents visited us from Albury for the occasion and were the perfect baby-sitters for Hugo while we got busy in the kitchen. Everyone got involved. "Many hands make light (and fun) work."

We arrived at our shelter in Blackbutt reserve shortly before our guests and were greeted by nice weather and hoards of mosquitoes. Seeing our 25 or so friends arrive, mingle, chat comfortably and amicably felt great. "We have arrived, we are home," I thought and we made some really nice friends along the way to boot. A few people came from Sydney, and everyone else was either a friend we made through work, mother's group or yoga. It was a very nice crowd indeed.

Unfortunately, a few friends were also missing but such is life and we will have to make it up soon.

Hugo had a great time, being looked after mostly by his grand-parents but also by the friends he has learnt to know over the year. He ate all sorts of things he doesn't normally have: dips, chips, cake, quiche etc... and received some lovely presents, mainly books, toys and music.

About five hours after we had arrived, mostly everyone had left and we packed up. Hugo fell asleep the minute we turned the engine on and drove off. We both felt satisfied and exhausted, delighted with how it all went and glad to put it all away and go back to normal life.

One week later, we are still going through leftovers. A few bits and pieces are still scattered around struggling to find a place to be stored but life continues with our busy one year old. One day, I will show him some photos of his very first birthday party and I will remember how far we had come, and how far we still had to go.

Thanks to the lovely Rebecca for the photos.

A solo expedition... to the movies.

Last night, I went to the movies by myself and it felt both strange and glorious.

The last few weeks have been long. Chris has been working overtime and I have hardly had one moment to myself so when I saw that a movie I wanted to see was playing at our local cinema, the urge to go was too strong to resist.

I went to see "Tracks", an Australian movie based on the true story of Robyn Davidson who set off on a solo journey walking across almost 2000 miles of the West Australian desert, from Alice Springs to the Indian Ocean, with a black dog and 4 camels as her only companions.

On a Sunday night at our floundering cinema, I wasn't surprised to be almost the only person in the room, besides just one other person there. We each had plenty of space to get lost with Robyn in the vastness of the great outback and her own physical and emotional loneliness.

A loner by nature, Robyn just wanted to be by herself. She reminded me of Grenouille in Suskind's Perfume who, to escape the smell of humans, climbs to the most isolated mountain peak he is able to find, where finally, his nostrils are free of the nasal pollution of society.

Unwilling to rely on anyone, reluctant to share her journey with another soul, she sets off along her country's long and unwinding dirt tracks, as generations of Afghan cameleers had done before her, taking on the dry dusty desert, the searing sun high in the sky, the sandstorms, the wild camels, the almost total absence of water, and the distance. "Too long way," as some aboriginal elders remark to her along the way. "Too long way."

To that, as to any other suggestion of canceling/shortening/modifying her itinerary, she simply replies with a polite smile, "I'll be fine, thank you."

She survives but was she really "fine"? The general mood is sullen, like she is dragging a burden heavier than the gear strapped to her camels' backs. The intensity of the desert is only rivalled by her own desperation to, on one hand, get away from everything (with more or less success as she becomes something of a celebrity, "The Camel Lady") and, on the other hand, to keep going, to reach something, even if at times, it must have felt like she was heading straight for the end of the world. And then what? Jump?

As the sun rays dig into her cracked skin, she seems to flirt with craziness on a few occasions. Thirsty, exhausted, sunburnt, lonely... Her despair is both inflicted on her by the desert and something she brought along with her, when sadness is like an old companion.

Every few months, Rick Smolan, a photographer from the National Geographic meets up with her as a condition of the magazine sponsoring the trip. Reluctant at first, she eventually carves a little bit of space for him on the journey. At one point, towards the end, she tells him, "I am so alone," to which he replies, "we all are." She then breaks down and says, "I miss her so much."

She is talking about her mother whom she lost to suicide when she was only a child. Her life was inevitably set on a new path from then on but the loss and grieving remained unresolved. Her journey might have been the only way to access that grieving, free of any other distractions or expectations. Maybe being literally alone allowed her to feel that loss more strongly, to get to the source of the pain and gave her permission to miss her mother after a lifetime of keeping on.

There were moments of unbridled joy too and they were beautiful in their simplicity: jumping in a groundwater well for a refreshing swim, playing with her dog, endlessly listening to the animated Mr. Eddie, an aboriginal elder who walked with her through sacred land. In such a harsh environment, these moments of happiness felt like an oasis in the desert.

And eventually, 1700 miles from Alice Springs, she crosses perfectly white sand dunes to arrive at the edge of the Indian Ocean,where she is greeted by Smolan. Robyn leads her camels into the beautiful turquoise waters and plunges in, washing off weeks of dust and maybe, years of sadness.

I have no idea what happens to someone once they finish something like this. She says before setting off that she believes that, "ordinary people can do the impossible." I wonder if it changed her, humbled her, strengthened her - probably all and more. And then, as crazy and surreal as her experience must have been, she probably moved on.

In any case, I'll be ordering her book to hear the story from the horse's mouth... or is it the camel's?