It’s been over a year since I last wrote here. November 2024. That feels both like yesterday and a lifetime ago.
Life has been full …not just busy and hectic – even though it has been that too! My attention to online presence tends to pause when that happens, not because there’s nothing to say, but because there’s almost too much. The words pile up like all the unfolded laundry stacked on our couch, waiting for a moment of attention.
So this is that kind of post. A ramble. A stitching together of moments. No neat lesson at the end. Just a snapshot of what it’s been like living inside the allergy journey, parenting tweens, advocating thoughtfully, building a house that still hasn’t risen, and noticing the little joys in the cracks between it all.
School Camp and Connection Gold
School camp came and with it, the familiar balancing act of letting go while still holding on.
There was the packing — the lists, the food, the backups for the backups. Quiet negotiations with myself about trust, systems, and other people’s vigilance. The reminders to my child that yes, she does know what she’s doing. She’s been doing it her whole life.
And then there was that moment on the bus. Sitting beside a kid who needed connection more than supervision. A real, human moment. No allergies front and centre. Just presence. Listening. Creating a piece of doodling art together. A reminder that connection comes from infinite things – including a piece of paper and a shared pen.
That moment felt like gold. The kind you don’t plan for but carry home carefully.
Graduation Nights and Cake on Balloons
Primary school graduation arrived with all its rituals — pride, relief, nostalgia — and of course, the bring-a-plate.
If you know, you know.
We navigated it the way allergy families often do: prepared, separate, smiling anyway. Safe food packed. Conversations rehearsed. And then… cake. On balloons. More flying egg. It seems to be a thing for us. A visit to a beachside pub comes to mind. The wind picked up and tiny little cardboard containers filled with mayo and tarter sauce started flying around. Good times… sure. I can laugh now, but in the moment is another story!
There it was again. Allergens. Not on plates. Not clearly labelled. Just hovering there, sweet and communal and absolutely not an option.
It’s a strange kind of awareness, these moments. Small, yet significant. You don’t want to make a fuss, but you also don’t want your child learning that exclusion is just something to swallow quietly.
So we did what we always do — adapted, explained, stayed present.
Transitioning to High School: Advocating on Repeat
Advocacy has been front of mind as we prepare for high school.
Questions that never really end:
Where will the adrenaline pens live?
Who is trained?
What happens in Home Economics?
What about science experiments that assume everyone can touch, smell, crack?
It’s not that schools don’t care. Many do. Deeply.
It’s that allergy safety lives in the details — the planning before the experiment, not after the reaction. And those details still often fall to parents to raise, again and again.
I find myself walking that familiar line: advocating firmly while trusting that systems, teachers, and my child’s growing responsibility are part of the solution.
The Bracelet on the Footpath
My tween doesn’t want to wear her MedicAlert bracelet anymore.
I see her take it off as she walks away from me.
That moment — small, ordinary, powerful — has stayed with me.
Because I get it. She wants to feel normal in a world that keeps reminding her she isn’t.
And I also see the risk. The scenarios my brain runs through. But I remind myself: part of growing is learning responsibility. Part of parenting is trusting that process.
This is the invisible work of allergy parenting: holding awareness without passing fear down, teaching responsibility without wrapping it in panic.
The Worry We Carry
People sometimes ask if it gets easier.
The truth? It gets different.
The logistics become second nature. Emotional awareness deepens. The worry doesn’t disappear — it shifts, becomes a quieter presence that lives alongside all the things.
Books, Creativity, and a Third Release
Somewhere in all of this, I am on the doorstep of releasing the third book in my allergy resource series.
Even writing that sentence feels strange.
Because it didn’t come with fanfare or fireworks. It arrived gently, alongside moments of doubt and curiosity. Alongside questions about sustainability, energy, and whether I still have the capacity to keep creating in the ways I once did.
And yet — it exists. Another offering for kids, families, schools. Another piece of advocacy disguised as resource.
That matters. Even if quietly.
Directionless Doodles and Unexpected Bliss
The Etsy shop hasn’t happened.
No roadmap. No glimmer. Just blank space.
And yet — I’ve been doodling. Wood burning. Playing with colour and composition. Creating without outcome. Without strategy. Without needing it to be anything.
There have been moments of pure bliss in that. The kind that remind me why creativity matters, even when it doesn’t make sense or money or momentum.
Maybe that’s enough for now.
A House Still at Floor Level
The house build mirrors so much of this season.
Still at floor level.
Slow.
Testing patience.
Systems making it very loud and clear they do not support owner builders who actually build themselves. The dollar bucks for bureaucracy are tiresome but there. At every turn. And for now, we manage them. That acceptance that it has to be.
The timber frames and trusses are on the way. Saying the floor up to this stage has been labor intensive is an under statement. These frames and trusses are going to mentally stimulate us though as the impact with (hopefully!!) minimal effort will be huge.
Progress you can’t yet see, but can feel coming.
Where I’m At
This post doesn’t tie itself up neatly.
It’s just where I am. Where we are as a family.
Living with awareness. Holding joy, and responsibility in the same hands. Creating in fits and starts. Advocating when needed. Finding connection in random places. Watching kids grow braver and more independent — even when that surprises me.
I don’t feel exhausted. I feel full. Gratefully so.