And now she’s four
And now she’s four, Our good-news-gift-girl, And yesterday she brought her little brother in from the wet and cold and cared for him.
From the Blog
And now she’s four, Our good-news-gift-girl, And yesterday she brought her little brother in from the wet and cold and cared for him.
Confession: I might not look like it, but inside I’m a thief. Countless moments a day I catch myself trying to steal something. Snatch it. Hold it close. To own that which isn’t my own…
That’s what she asked us, the stranger on the street, her eyes darting us over like she was watching some sort of curious circus performance. Us and our three young children, our bounty of blankets and snacks, and enough miscellaneous mess to fill some minimalist’s living rooms. Us and our dishevelled hair, food still on our face and clothes from dinner (and that’s just Dr M and myself!) With our two prams, one of them a double-decker, one child perched on top riding high, the other closeted below like a surprise hidden layer in a rainbow cake.
Sometime through the monotony of my mid-morning, an email came into my inbox. It was from Dr M. The message title simply read, ‘Lord help me to live beautifully in this season.’ The content of the message is written below. I hope it helps others as it did me.
Yesterday the night came early. Everyone inside, cheeks brushed red from play. Late June. Time is passing. This new year already mid-way through. I know the house now. It’s pleasures, and idiocyncracies. I know how to walk in the night hours to avoid the weak floorboards. How the light looks at dawn, as it filters through the stain glass windows of the doorway.
So, the other weekend, spontaneously, as he does, and as I like it when he does, Dr M suggested we go and see something of the ‘Vivid’ lights. For those unfamiliar with it, ‘Vivid’ is a city-wide Sydney festival of light and sound taking place in May-June. It’s been described as the world’s largest outdoor gallery. Nice! But while I’ve seen photos, and heard of friends going on ‘Vivid cruises’ around the harbour (sounds oh so very romantic), we’d never been.
That this could feel so unimaginably good, and so hard. That it’s a long distance race as well as a sprint, and that the time goes achingly slow just as it goes achingly fast.
Last night was a busy night.Biscuit-busy. That’s right. I’m
In the late afternoon at our place a breeze comes through the garden, touching every living thing, including us, with tenderness. Dinner time is almost here. The intense sun has run its course for the day. No need for anymore sunscreen, and hats can finally be abandoned – if desired. We inhabit the garden freely.
When I look back over what I have written so far, I see that I have been doing a lot of keyboard-chattering about my children and their exploits, and how they are driving us to delirium. And they have been. And they are (I won’t even go into the details here of how yesterday morning Willem plugged the sink with toilet paper and created a Niagra falls effect in our small bathroom).
And now she’s four, Our good-news-gift-girl, And yesterday she brought her little brother in from the wet and cold and cared for him.
Confession: I might not look like it, but inside I’m a thief. Countless moments a day I catch myself trying to steal something. Snatch it. Hold it close. To own that which isn’t my own…
That’s what she asked us, the stranger on the street, her eyes darting us over like she was watching some sort of curious circus performance. Us and our three young children, our bounty of blankets and snacks, and enough miscellaneous mess to fill some minimalist’s living rooms. Us and our dishevelled hair, food still on our face and clothes from dinner (and that’s just Dr M and myself!) With our two prams, one of them a double-decker, one child perched on top riding high, the other closeted below like a surprise hidden layer in a rainbow cake.
Sometime through the monotony of my mid-morning, an email came into my inbox. It was from Dr M. The message title simply read, ‘Lord help me to live beautifully in this season.’ The content of the message is written below. I hope it helps others as it did me.
Yesterday the night came early. Everyone inside, cheeks brushed red from play. Late June. Time is passing. This new year already mid-way through. I know the house now. It’s pleasures, and idiocyncracies. I know how to walk in the night hours to avoid the weak floorboards. How the light looks at dawn, as it filters through the stain glass windows of the doorway.
So, the other weekend, spontaneously, as he does, and as I like it when he does, Dr M suggested we go and see something of the ‘Vivid’ lights. For those unfamiliar with it, ‘Vivid’ is a city-wide Sydney festival of light and sound taking place in May-June. It’s been described as the world’s largest outdoor gallery. Nice! But while I’ve seen photos, and heard of friends going on ‘Vivid cruises’ around the harbour (sounds oh so very romantic), we’d never been.
That this could feel so unimaginably good, and so hard. That it’s a long distance race as well as a sprint, and that the time goes achingly slow just as it goes achingly fast.
Last night was a busy night.Biscuit-busy. That’s right. I’m measuring time and output in a new metric these days. Biscuit consumption. A heavy night’s work
In the late afternoon at our place a breeze comes through the garden, touching every living thing, including us, with tenderness. Dinner time is almost here. The intense sun has run its course for the day. No need for anymore sunscreen, and hats can finally be abandoned – if desired. We inhabit the garden freely.
When I look back over what I have written so far, I see that I have been doing a lot of keyboard-chattering about my children and their exploits, and how they are driving us to delirium. And they have been. And they are (I won’t even go into the details here of how yesterday morning Willem plugged the sink with toilet paper and created a Niagra falls effect in our small bathroom).
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