{9::365} watch with glittering eyes


The crispness of early morning still hangs in the air as we fill our water bottles and load up the daypack. Slowly we wind our way up, from our river-side camp at the bottom of the valley, to the ridge wishing across the top of the Great Dividing Range. Air conditioner off, windows down, the whoo-hoop of the whip birds echoing above the chatter of our small explorers as we find the start point of our walk. Binoculars, part of a well-chosen Christmas gift, rotate between the two big boys, and then land around the neck of Miss Four. Her freshly minted role of lookout is taken very seriously, a little call of “mummy! Wait!” halting my progress every few steps, followed by a scrabble of little feet against the gravel, and a hand against my elbow, as she steadies herself. She stares intently through the lenses, along the path, then to each side, before pointing them straight down, and then, letting them drop, she looks up at me with those big brown eyes. ” ‘sok, mummy, there’s no snakes,” and we are off again, for a few steps at least, until another snake check is interrupted by a rock catching her eye, and we hang back while daddy & the boys walk ahead. She investigates, as I revel in the joy of seeing the world through her eyes, where everything is magical and full of wonder, where even the most ordinary rock is worth a closer look.

1:365 ~ a new year, a new project

dayone copy

Slowly, I am pulled from sleep, into disorienting half-consciousness. The children are still sleeping, the last light eking from the glowsticks hung from the ends of bed, and I look around, trying to work out what disturbed me, when I hear it again. Several low thuds in quick succession, before a nearby dog barks. More thuds. A quick check of my phone & I realise 2015 is upon us.

A new year, fresh & open before us, waiting for us to write our stories on it. A new year full of moments to cherish & memories to make. Welcome to my 2015.

day 3

The fog eases as we come off the bottom of the mountain, but the cloud remains, and tracks us all the way to the beach. We unfold ourselves from the car, and shake the travel from our limbs as we attempt to keep the children in check and pull bags and baskets from the boot, pretending to ignore the breeze that at times borders on chilly. “Look! Mummy! The beach!” and then we are off, across the grass, down the path and onto the beach. Bags of spades upended, damp sand clinging to hands applying sunscreen, waves crashing in and begging to be paddled in. The clouds part, the sun emerges. The day warms rapidly. A brief break for fish and chips, and back to the sand to build volcanoes and draw cactuses and paddle in warm waves rolling in near our feet. The breeze is no longer chilly, but the only thing keeping the day from becoming stifling. Reluctantly, three small people submit their sand-caked feet to the tap, clamber into their seats, and despite their protests, are asleep before the highway.

2:365 :: art sprint


An offhand comment, a challenge issued, a time stated. At 3.30, the alloted half hour, I set two small people up with paper and paint, as Master 6 read with his daddy. I pulled out the canvases, tucked in the back of the drawer, and ferreted through my paint box for the four tubes I had in mind. A squeeze, and a snake of colour spread over the paper. Not quite right, and I start mixing. Still, it could be better, but it’s all I have. Not quite right, versus not done. I loaded the brush and started laying in colour, wiping away the stark whiteness of a fresh canvas, replacing it with colour. Yellow. Lime. Turquoise. Set to one side, I pullup files on my computer, find what I’m looking for, and hit print. The children become restless, start running in and out of the room. What’s this mummy? Look at me! Can I…? The time is up, the stop button is hit. Twenty minutes, a virtual paint in with friends. Enough.



The house is still, and almost silent. The small girl is asleep in her bed. The boys are sprawled on the lounge, watching a movie and pretending they aren’t tired. The freshness of the dawn of a new day and a new year has given way to the heat of a typical summer day, and it is draining us of the motivation to do much at all. I grab my book and lay down,slowly flicking the pages as the words start dancing on the page, and my eyes grow heavy. The moment passes, and my reading picks up pace, and I find myself at the end of the chapter. Reluctantly, I slip in my bookmark, and close the book, ready to enjoy an afternoon by the pool with my three precious small people.





An afternoon snack of home-made raspberry sorbet on a hot day = lots of mummy brownie points. A handful of frozen raspberries, a dollop of yoghurt, a couple of blocks of ice. Blended together, served in small tubs, somehow almost as much ended up on the seats and patio tiles as it did in the children’s mouths. Two weeks, and several moppings, later, and the red marks on cream tiles are just about faded away. Lesson learnt – next time, we eat on the lawn.


{and please excuse the typo in the tag line, it’s actually the photo 320}

bookworms {235::366}

Walking in to preschool, a table filled with books greeted us, and a sign announced the book fair as part of book week. Master Three raced over, and right on top, lay a Dinosaur Hot Wheels book, quickly snatched up into eager young hands and cuddled against his chest. “I has the Dinothaur book, pwease, mummy? I LOVE dinothaurs!!”, the big blue eyes looked into mine, pleading. Reluctantly, he lay it back on the table, not convinced that the book would still be waiting for him tomorrow when we came again, and mummy would come prepared with some money and buy it for him. Leaving in the afternoon, he gazed longingly at the table, and then, as we passed another family at the gate, the tears started. Those people were going to buy that dinosaur book, he was sure of it. Upon our return, of course, there was no dinosaur book, but thankfully, right at the bottom of the spare box inside, we found the last copy, and he grinned all the way home, his brand new book not leaving his hand for a minute. Of course, Mater Five and Little Miss needed books too. Just like their mama, all threee are bookworms, and as soon as we arrived home, all three scattered, and were soon absorbed in the stories, the silence broken only by the whisper of turning pages.


{joining in this week with Thankful Thursday, because I am so thankful to have such wonderful children, and that they love nothing better than a story. Or ten.}

wordless wednesday

Alternately titled, Where Did My Baby Go? Little Miss thinks she’s big enough to walk like her brothers on the school run.

the one where the boys tidy the toy room.


Arriving home in the dark, I dump my bags on the bed, and sneak down the hallway to softly kiss my babies as they slept. Leaning over Master Five, little arms sneak around my neck and he pulls me close, telling me how he missed me. Master Three stirs, and begs me to lay with him, just for a moment, he’s having trouble sleeping, though the sleepiness in his voice and the steady breathing as I’d entered the room gave the lie to his ruse. But still, I lay with him, snuggling in close. I kiss him goodnight, and tiptoe into Little Miss’s room, and leave a whisper of a kiss on her cheek, willing her not to wake. I make my way back to the loungeroom, and passing the toyroom, can’t help but be impressed at the incredibly clean floor. Then I walk into the room…