Bench Monday :: getting my quilt on edition

Master Three has asked for a new quilt, an orange one. And so the pile of orange fabric on my desk grew larger and larger, and with the final pieces arriving from a friend, I was ready to start cutting. Every day, he looks and checks if the pile has grown, and is very anxiously awaiting the next stage. This is going to be one bright quilt, get your sunglasses ready!


i’ll remember

“Pway twains, mama?” a small boy would ask, and so I’d get down, and we’d set up the track, and around and around we’d go. The boy grew, the fmaily grew, and the train collection grew. Then the house grew, and suddenly the train set that had become a summer toy, while the only room to play it was on the deck, suddenly became an all-year-round-take-up-the-toyroom toy. Four years since that first set, and that small toddler is now a tall lanky kindergarten boy, and yet, he still turns those big brown eyes at me, engine in hand, “Would you please come and play trains with me, mummy? Because you make GREAT tracks!”

I know, in years to come, when I’m old and doddery, and my memory starts failing, these are the moments I will cling to. Of a small boy or two on my lap, and a multitude of tracks, trying to cuddle and build at the same time. Of a tiny girl coming running through the door, and the boys grabbing their trains, and laying on the tracks “HOLD ON TO YOUR TRAINS, HERE COMES THE ELSA STORM!!!”. Moments upon moments, built as steadily and logically as one track piece after another.



Like so many nights before, a child’s cry pierces the darkness, and drags me from my bed. I go to our daughter, and pull her up to me, as her arms wind around my neck, and together we make our way up the hallway. We sit on the lounge, and just like before, she curls around my body, cheek to chest, listening as my heart beat soothes her back to sleep. Sucking her thumb, instead of nursing as she once did, but the comfort of her mama’s closeness is enough to soothe her. Her breathing slows, sleep creeps in, and she fights, murmuring to me, and then, as she always did when she nursed, and contentment overtook her, her tiny hand reaches up, lays against my cheek, and starts stroking, as sleep wins the battle.



{well, if you’d been up all night chatting to mama, you’d need a post-breakfast nap too!}



photo walk :: texture

The first day of term was a pupil free for my biggest boy, and it was lovely hanging out with him. Master Three was at preschool, and when we found ourselves ready for pick up slightly earlier than usual, we grabbed out cameras and went for a photo walk. Our theme for the walk was “texture”.










And Master Five’s photos. These were all completely his own work. I didn’t crop or straigten in any, and only did a quick edit comparable to mine of similar set ups:


{for those interested – I was shooting a D700 w/Nikon 24-70/2.8 in manual mode, he was shooting a D90 w/Nikon 18-55/3.5-5.6(kit) in aperture priority}

wordless wednesday :: day 206

I am trying hard to get back into blogging here, but the days are slipping away so quickly! I’m still plodding along with my project366 – this photo is yesterday’s, a little snap of what I found in the children’s shower when I went to clean the bathroom!


Meet Albert (pictured here with James my pop’s box brownie).



Unloading the car after school, I sent Master Five off to the mailbox as I unclipped Little Miss and get her sorted. He bounded up as I unlocked the front door, and held out the express post satchel. My mind whirred, what had I ordered now? Nothing sprang to mind, and I flipped it over, looking for a return address. There it is…Oh, yes! A message a week or too back, from a friend. Her mum had an “old school light meter thingy” and would I like it? Having been looking on ebay for a meter, I jumped at the chance. And now here it was. Oh what fun I’d have this weekend, I thought, as I pulled it from the package, and unwound the bubble wrap. And then my jaw dropped. When she said old school, she meant not just a light meter, but an OLD light meter. And he still works. I have the loveliest letter from my friend’s mum, recounting her memories of slideshows with her dad, from whom the meter had originated. In excellent condition, complete with well kept instruction manuals, Albert is the perfect addition to the collection. And every time I see him I smile, for the kindness of almost-strangers, and also, for the power of the internet and the wonderful friendships it can launch. To B & P, thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for allowing me to share in this little piece of your family’s history. Albert is already well loved, and will be very well cared for. (Don’t he and James just look made for each other?)


pause. please.

Before, I could never have imagined how fast six months could go. Even with three children growing up before my eyes, nothing prepared me for the speed with which the school year disappears. From the moment my eyes open, and I’m sucked in the vortex of the morning rush, to the clatter of shoes and bags as the layers of the day are removed and we swing into the reader/homework/dinner/bed shift, our world seems to have been consumed by school. Are the uniforms clean? Is there something for lunch tomorrow? How long until pickup? Is the reader ticked off? How long until holidays?

He thrives on learning. Always has done. He’s a bookworm, gifted with a thirst for understanding. Why? Why? Even when, at 3, mummy had reached her quota of whys for the day, he managed to skip straight ahead of me. But, mummy? How come? And now, the real fun begins. Projects. The note came home with instructions for the optional project, on farm animals. And so with a piece of paper each, and a box of textas beside us, we sat down, and we all did our “projects” together. Mummy joined in the cow party, but Master Three was lost in a world of doodling, and as I watched, he felt my eyes upon him, and turned to me. “I dwawing a PTERANODON, mama!” as he proudly holds up his paper. I look at him and smile, thinking it’s not just our big boy who has changed since the start of the school year, but also this little boy, suddenly bereft of a playmate he has depended on his whole life, now a “big boy” with his own ideas of what he wants and how things should be. Six months. And it feels like a moment.

the dream

I sit on the old sofa, and watch as the children play in what was once my rumpus room. Everywhere I look, memories assail me. Favourite books. A plaque on the wall I put up there helping dad with some running repairs at one point, the fibro bent where in my teenage years I was embarrassed by the playfulness of my younger self. The cupboard that still makes me smile when I think of how very nearly it didn’t fit. Puzzles that fill my heart with memories. Of rainy afternoons with the four of us piecing. Of the “Impossible”, unedged puzzle attempted once and relegated to the shelf in disgust. And of a very special puzzle addict, still greatly missed five years since we last saw him.

Then they pull at a door. The smell assails me, and as I glance inside, it combines with a glimpse of a hat box, covered in tropical birds, and suddenly I am taken back, and I’m a small girl again, and Christmas sees that very same box appearing under the tree, in duplicate. One for me, one for my sister. Inside, a trove of craft supplies. The contents of the box changed and shifted over the years, depending on what hobby we were experimenting with, but they remained a constant fixture in our space.

Today, I looked at the pile of parcels being sent out. A painting I did for a friend, in oil. A handbound journal for another friend. A custom bracelet, commissioned by the lovely Meg of tea&brie fame. A disc of photos. I glanced at the studio, surrounded by offcuts of paper, half finished projects, scraps where Little Miss has been playing, the boys textas and drawings, photos of my little family, and it struck me. I’m not rich, or famous, or doing anything amazing. I’m mothering, I’m wife-ing, and I’m creating. Nothing spectacular. But my heart is full and my soul is singing. I’ve made it. I’m living the dream.



{want to know more about my crafty life? My craft blog can be found here.}

life as a soccer mum