Sometimes contentment looks less like a mountaineer’s milestone, Or an earmarked achievement dressed up in your best new clothes, The end result of all the things you thought you ever wanted…. And more like a secondhand curbside-found round table And a last-minute late lunch on a cloudy Sydney wintry afternoon And sometimes a couple
I’ve always thought of myself as more of a Mary than a Martha. You may be familiar with the biblical story. Jesus comes to visit a couple of M named sisters. Martha plays the dutiful host behind the scenes, buries herself in the kitchen, taking care of stuff. Sure, there are no scan pans, or
‘That’s what we do. We make mess. We’re a messy family.’ Five year old E sums it up with characteristic bare-to-the bone directness as we stand side by side and watch our freshly washed floor endure a new littering of crumbs, toys, unknown sticky substances, and yes…yet more spilled-milk. Four year-old W, king of the witty one-liner, intrepid word-explorer, encapsulates it even
Autumn has come late to Sydney. An almost-winter purity sidles quietly in amongst the bustle and grit of the inner-city suburbs. And even as the air crispens to cold nights, the days continue to be lit by a wealth of golden sunlight I’m sure we rarely appreciate as we should. We read about leaves —my newly minted
We made a decision this week. Parents have to do that. Make decisions. From the moment your child breaks forth into the world, with wails and flails and celebration, you are looking up information, filling out forms, viewing everything through over-alert, keen-to-do-right, protective parent eyes. Even before your little person or people arrive you begin the process. I know