Author: annamurray

The Thing About Summer Holidays

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Dear parents of before,

I get it now. I’m sorry.

That is all. Except my remorseful self needs to vent and explain.

When I was a kid, I was quiet. Like, really quiet. The sort of quiet that always gets “She’s really quiet” and “When will you come out of your shell” comments. Holidays for me meant as much staying in my room and reading as possible. I remember getting all enthusiastic about violin practice, and would sometimes set a goal of learning a particular work over the holidays. I didn’t fight much with my brothers because I wasn’t interacting with them. We would usually go away somewhere for a week or so, which meant I just had a different place to read a book. There would be a day of stationery shopping and then the delight of covering books without any bubbles in the contact. In short, I don’t remember there being much happening that my parents had to be involved with and it was all pretty quiet.

Fast forward to being an adult and hearing the moaning about school holidays. Moaning about school holidays which would come hot on the heels of moaning about school terms and busyness. I was one of those child-free adults who wondered, don’t you like your kids? Isn’t it nice to have them around more and not having to worry about lunches and drop-offs and friendship struggles and homework and assignments and teachers and events and sports? Why do you complain about all those things when they’re on and then complain about the absence of all those things when they’re not? 

Fast forward some more to the summer just before C started school, where we screamed at each other I think every day in January. Only near the very end did I realise she was nervous about school, even though she was saying she was really excited. Once she’d started school, her summer holidays had a bit more sister time, as work is mostly suspended for me so I reduced the daycare days for E and S. It was stressful having them all around more because of the fighting and the bickering and the constant need to make sure they are active enough so that they don’t fight so much and so that they will sleep. Hahahahaha.

Fast forward to this summer. Deep breaths. It’s been a challenge. Thankfully, one for which I was marginally more prepared and financially better able to cope. That is a factor not at all to be underestimated. Money can’t buy you love, but it can buy craft supplies, and that’s priceless. This has been a summer that has brought me inspiration in the form of a desire to write a handbook for summer. Yes, mostly so that I can do better next time and also, crucially, have more skills for the following summer when S will be about to start school.

There were two main elements for this summer for us. One was that I felt I actually had to get ready for school. The other was all the up-in-the-air-ness and not-usual-ness and change of the situation of having E finishing daycare and starting school.

Getting ready for school didn’t mean just going stationery shopping and covering books. In fact, the school made that rather easy by having a supply levy for prep-2 and by sending a booklist for year 3 for us to do online ordering and then it was delivered and I had to stick name stickers (ordered last year) on and that was it. Other things that weren’t so obvious but necessary were things like actually delivering the stationery supplies to the school last week. Buying proper school shoes. Wearing in said school shoes. Practising wearing the uniform and hat. Haircuts. Getting a lower railing for the wardrobe so that uniforms can hang there and be accessible by girls. Reminding them of drop-off and pickup routines. Packing lunches – I mean, starting weeks ago – for lunchbox practice and also what on earth will E eat at school?! Baking. Trying new products to see if they work or don’t work for lunchboxes. Paying all the dancing fees. Practising morning routines and hairstyles. Naming all E’s things and all C’s new things.

Although a lot more involved than what I remembered from being a kid, that bit was easy. It had to be done. It was done. Yes, I was sticking name labels on lunch containers after 10pm Monday, but it was all done. My To Do List was nicely filled with green ticks.

Then there was the other side. The other side that had me going ohhhhh I get it now. The side that is dealing with two personalities. It’s not so much the two people thing, but two conflicting personalities. Needs quiet. Likes loud. Can sit on her bunk and imagine things for hours on end. Will lie on her bunk and delight in annoying her sister by pushing her toes up against the upper mattress. The side that is dealing with the emotions of however many children are at home and everything that is in the moment and therefore crucially important as well as everything that is to come and all the worries and fears and insecurities that brings. The side that feels the guilt for letting girls be on screens for hours on end so that I can do some work and earn some money. 

The side that, as the home parent, means no break not at all no none. This mental image of lazy summer days just is not true for the parent at home with the kids, the one doing all the upfront parenting. This might be possible in a few years but it decidedly is not the case just yet. And this miss, that expectation of relaxation and the possibility of doing other things that is then not realised, is so incredibly frustrating. Like watching the Relaxation Train go by. I really desperately want to be on it, and yet… there it goes, chugging away while I cradle a child on my lap to calm her after a sister fight or to talk through the what-ifs of school or as I work on what do I actually need to do this year in order for our family to function and try to declutter which also I can’t do because even though I want this immensely and our family needs this immensely I can’t seem to get to do it because children either play with what I’m trying to sort through or they kick off with yet another fight.

The side that is so draining that I am a blob at the end of each day, the “end” of each day really meaning when all three girls are all finally asleep, so sometimes 8.30, sometimes 10.30. So draining that I can’t muster energy to contact the people I love, the grownups and the support network who reach out even when they get nothing back. So draining that I can’t organise playdates or catchups or anything that will probably actually help the whole situation. So draining that the end of the day becomes precious, as I am determined to do something for me every evening, even if that means staying up past 11 cutting out bits of felt or material while watching snippets of a show that doesn’t require concentration on a plot line, sacrificing sleep for some insistence that I am still me and still deserve something for me.

I get it now, parents. I get it.

What We Read This Week (25/01/2026)

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This has been an emotional week. It started with the big, big emotions of when will this holiday ever end will I ever get back to school and the nerves of E as she faces a big wall of unknown that is actually fairly recognisable and familiar but it still carries the weight of new and different. Not to mention that there were a couple of things that we had said we would do but could not do due to illness. I was screamed at a lot for that. As I suspected, though, a lot of E’s big emotions were from the unknown and it being a long time since prep transition days. Thursday, we had a big day of playing at the park then having hair cuts (E has a fringe now!) and buying proper school shoes then dropping off C’s school supplies and showing daddy E’s classroom. E’s teacher spotted her and we had a chat and then there was more park play where we met a classmate of E’s and then S pickup and E actually fell asleep at a normal sort of time without getting physically violent with me. Phew.

There have been a few books that have helped with all this emotional weight. The usuals. Children’s Bible Stories. Ruby Red Shoes. A new frequent pick for E is Maisy Goes to the Cinema, which I find ok but it is not my favourite. It feels like what is probably a Peppa Pig episode but with different animals. One that is very flat and two-dimensional and has the underlying purpose of “Let’s tell children what to expect when they go to the cinema”. Nothing at all like the Bluey episode called Movies with all its humour and relatability and parenting.

A recent library pick for E was two Claris in Paris books. I had pointed these out to at least one girl while book shopping in Kmart a while ago and was met with glazed eyes. I did not press it. Now, though, these are up there with favourite books. They have even been placed on our bookshelves instead of in the library book pile so I see a furtive library trip in my future. One of the books borrowed is a hide and seek book, as my girls call them. As it turns out, my girls love this style of book, which is a fantastic calming tool for them. The other is more of a mystery book with a missing Fabergé egg. And beautiful colours. And acts of selfless kindness. Beautiful.

C has been reading her way through the library’s animal chapter books. Anything by Holly Webb is snaffled by her, as well as a series called Zoe’s Rescue Zoo. All girls have still been enjoying Miss Rita, Mystery Reader and C is still devouring Good Night Stories for Rebel Girls. That one has prompted many conversations about all sorts of things. Cue random questions at random times resulting in me swallowing a few times and wondering what is actually age-appropriate for dealing with topics like totalitarian regimes and occupations of a military kind and how do people recover from diarrhoea and how long does it take to recover from any sickness and how to stop wars forever. Goodness.

Lamingtons

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Australia Day. It’s a bit of a fraught occasion, and understandably so. But until the powers that be come up with an alternative day that doesn’t have the issues the current date does, January 26 is going to be the day we celebrate the good things about being Aussie. Healthcare. Education. Low gun crime. Breathtakingly beautiful landscape. Venomous creatures galore. Creatures found here but nowhere else in the world. And our food! Vegemite, Milo and Tim Tams abound in lists of typically Aussie foods and are packed carefully for overseas trips to share with expats and the curious. 

Today, though, I wanted to make a staple sweet that is on offer at every decent gathering. One that is doused in coconut and so eaten by me in a combination of duress and national pride: the lamington. As it was invented just up the road from where I lived in high school, I feel a duty to like it and bring up my girls knowing this delight of sponge and chocolate and coconut that gets stuck in your throat and demands you take a swig of your beverage of choice. Even though I am decidedly not a fan of coconut, lamingtons are impossible without it, and also if anyone comes in and says “I thought I’d change it up a bit and use crushed almonds/chopped pistachios/extra cocoa powder/chopped cranberries” or anything else then my eyebrows will go down and my eyes will narrow and I will lament the way of the world. Lamingtons are very simple. Don’t stuff it up. Here goes.

Oh. This is the easy way. The achievable way. The “I’ll just make lamingtons” way. Not the way of making your own sponge and making your own jam and milking your own cows to make the cream. Not here. 

You will need:

Bought sponge cake, preferably the double rectangular variety. 

Chocolate topping or syrup that is not too thick. If it looks like it’s set to be a science experiment in viscosity, skip it. Or buy it and water it down a bit.

Optional: cream for whipping, and strawberry or raspberry jam. The sort of jam you would have found in the 70s, none of this 100% fruit business.

Desiccated coconut. Sigh. On the upside, it uses a lot so I currently have not much left.

What you do:

Whip out your baking paper or reusable baking paper. Cover a couple of trays with the paper.

Cut your sponges into bits. How big is up to you. I don’t think there’s a standard lamington size. I went with rows about 2cm wide then cut them into three, so about 4-5cm long.

If you are doing optional filling, whip some cream. It does’t have to be stiff peaks or anything, just a bit stiffer than dolloping out of the tub. I didn’t want to do all the lamingtons filled so I started with about 1/3 cup which was too much.

Prepare yourself. I move left to right, so I recommend sponge, jam, cream, tray. The bottom of each pair of sponges gets a bit of jam on its top. The top of each pair gets some cream on its bottom. If you have a helper, you may end up with jam on both bits. This is fine. We’re not entering these in a country fair or anything. Only a scraping of jam and cream is needed. Once spread, pop them together so jam and cream are touching and corners align, and put them on a tray. 

When you have all the filled bits that you want on a tray, put that tray in the freezer for about 15 minutes.

If not filling the lamingtons, just cut as above and proceed. The next left-right work station is sponge, a bowl for the topping, a bowl for the coconut, lined trays.

Squirt a generous amount of topping into the topping bowl. Pour a generous amount of desiccated coconut into the coconut bowl. Both of these will need top-ups as you go. 

Put a piece of sponge into the topping and flop it around using a fork or something. You just need a thin layer of topping on each side. Once coated, use the fork, Luke, to lift it into the coconut. Heap coconut onto each side and flop it around. The right amount of coconut will stay on the topping. Lift your lamington onto a tray. Done! Repeat the process with the remaining sponge bits and the filled bits from the freezer.

Because this is summer in Brisbane and the humidity is real, I put the trays in the fridge. This helps the topping stay put and not melt down the sides in a fit of ennui. If there are any left in an hour, probably transfer them to a container and probably keep them in the fridge. 

Best eaten with a cup of milk or a milky tea to save you from choking on the coconut.

Corporal Musings

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You know how babies have a presence to them? Even though their body is small, they have a weight to them that is just heavy and comforting and endearing and so, so precious. I mean, they ARE supremely precious, and because we are often holding them, there is a presence that carries through the memory, a memory of a small being that is not heavy but heavy. And this baby body carries through toddlerhood and then at some point you notice that your little baby is much more of a child now, with knees sticking out and not such chubby fingers and a chin and jawline that are that of a child.

But when does this change take place? It slips over so silently, so sneakily, so unassumingly. One day you can pick up a child and carry her to the bathroom, and the next thing you know, picking up this same child is a feat of engineering as you try to hold her upper body as well as some part of her legs and then manoeuvre her down the hallway without knocking her head off on the wall or cracking a knee on the corner.

I am here to let you know that it is sometime between age nearly-three-and-a-half and nearly five. How do I know this? We have spent a good proportion of our summer at parks and playgrounds. My arms are far more toned because I have pushed children on swings for much of the time we have spent at the park. And helping a child onto a swing or up a climbing wall, you notice things. E, at nearly five, is now long and gangly and still a little bit of a little girl but also so very much a big girl. S still has this weight to her, this strong but chubby body that still recalls contact naps and sofa cuddles and being lifted into places. She is still a little girl, barrelling towards preschool yet still … not.

That said, as I mused on this, I recalled C at that age. Well, before that age. A really standout (in the sense of being a day that I recall the day and the date and the weather) time for us was just after E was born and I had the accident with her and we ended up in the world of the Children’s Hospital for a few days which felt like months, but was also, thankfully, not the actual real life months that the other people in the ward were living through. C was not even a month past her third birthday, and she was definitely not in the holding-onto-toddler-body zone. For her, I would say she still had that at just over two and a half, and excuse me while I check photos from that Christmas when she was two and three quarters and … yes. Just. Definitely in the looking like a grown up girl zone, but still with the chin and yes. I spotted elbow dimples. 

It goes so fast. It’s still hard to believe that E is still four. Just four. When she turns five in less than a month, that’s still only five. Hardly anything. It feels like S has lived an enormous amount already at not even three and a half. C is such a grownup girl at not even eight. If you told me she was eleven, I would believe that. Of course, I will most likely be musing on how grownup they feel in a year, and five years, and in ten years I will be lamenting the little girls they are now as they will really be on the cusp of adulthood. It really is a “big ball of wibbly wobbly, timey-wimey stuff”, as Doctor Who said. For now, I am leaning into the cuddles and the swing-pushing and the lifting and the strong chubby bodies. And trying not to lose my cool with all the demands and tantrums and shouting at me for things that they want that I cannot give them. Like tights that are in the winter clothing tub, never mind that it’s 35 degrees and ridiculously humid. Or going to the art gallery NOW when it is serving dinner time. It won’t be like this for long.

What We Read This Week (18/01/2026)

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Whenever I slack off in the reading report, a little part of me worries that whoever reads this (Hi!) maybe suspects that we haven’t been reading. Rest assured, we have been reading.

So much reading.

Nearly nightly Bible stories from the My First Children’s Bible Story Book that my little brother had as a kid in the 80s. It is well-worn and adorned with Bible verse stickers and has a not-quite-intact spine. E has been asking for a Bible story nearly every night for [checks book] nearly six weeks now. Religion is not something I want to be too religious about as I have seen too many times what that can do to people. On the other hand, these stories are important. They are a part of us. They are a part of our story. And, much bigger picture, it is good to have this knowledge. Glenn and I first met at a trivia game. General knowledge is important.

Ruby Red Shoes and her world have been in high demand lately, too. They are such calming books. We were delighted in a spontaneous library visit to find the Ruby Alphabet Book. The original, and feelings, and London and Paris have all been on high rotation. I know this for sure as whenever we are in the ohmygoodnessme will this child ever sleep but no she’s just asked for another story and how on earth are you still awake child – you know, that stage of the evening, I can put my hand out in any direction and find a Ruby book. They are the best.

Speaking of library visits. On a recent trip, I found Goodnight Stories for Rebel Girls and showed it to C. She was entirely underwhelmed. That said, I borrowed it anyway. I do, after all, have three girls to raise. In an eye-rolling fit of boredom a few days later, C started reading it and I kind of regret borrowing it. “Time to put your shoes on. We’re about to go”. Said three times before I realise she’s reading this book and just wants to read just another story and yes she totally wants to go but she wants to read the book more. Insert all the life situations you can think of here, and we are delayed by C reading this book. 

Whenever I let E loose in the library, I am glad I am not a restrictive parent. I am glad of libraries! It frightens me when I hear of reading being restricted. Ideas are – well. I could write a whole post on it. A whole series of posts. Back to the point here, though, which is that E will find all sorts of books. Some parents would discourage a child from reading some of these. For example, we’re Anglican Christians, so when E wanted to borrow a book celebrating Eid, I know some parents would say no. We’re Anglo for the most part, so books about Aboriginal Dreamtime stories and how the culture is woven into Aboriginal lives could be accidentally-on-purpose not borrowed. 

But. But. But. Before I had kids, I did go through a big “I really want kids. Why am I being so selfish? Kids drain the earth’s resources. Think of the future. Think of all the other kids”. But I wanted my kids to make a difference in the world, to be kids who grew up to change the world for good. That’s not going to happen after age 15 if it hasn’t started age early. Books open doors to other worlds as well as explaining our world and creating pathways for processing. 

So E’s latest choice from the library, which has been quite popular with all my girls, is about a child and a dad, and the dad is … sparkly. Miss Rita, Mystery Reader (Sam Donovan and Kristen Wixted, illustrated by Violet Tobacco), is a lovely exposure to blokes who wear fancy sparkly glittery garb. Simply explained. Simply put. That’s it.

Isn’t it nice to just let them be. Kids, I mean, but also just the rest of the world. 

Keeping Mum

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Instructions for motherhood. Eat plenty of healthy foods while pregnant. No, not that much. Exercise regularly during pregnancy. No, not that way. And not that much. Be consistent in your everything. But also, you need to be flexible and recognise that everything changes all the time. Talk to your baby as much as possible. This is how they learn language. Don’t use so many words when talking to your child. They can’t take it in. It overwhelms their brain. 

It’s this last one that I have been working on lately. Maybe a month before Christmas, I stopped. Not entirely, of course. But my verbal output has drastically reduced. Here’s why and what I have noticed as a result.

The why. Have you seen the episode of Bluey (yes, there’s an episode for everything) called Show and Tell? Well, that’s why, in a nutshell. Grownups talk too much. Kids can’t take in all those words. Minimise the words to maximise the understanding. Well, not so much understanding as engagement and connection. They have better things to do, and even if their body is trained to stay still and listen and say an appropriately-timed “Okay” or “Yes” or “Sorry”, their brain has really moved on.

Further to the why, though, is the why for me now. I mean, I’ve been a huge fan of Bluey since C started watching it during lockdown. And I have been reading parenting posts on social media for quite some time now in order to glean all the helpful tips I can without going the next step of enrolling in a child psychology course. I thought I was fulfilling the “talk but not too much” criterion of parenting. I was still, though, frequently saying (please don’t judge me I’m still learning) phrases like, “Am I talking to myself here?”, and “Is anybody listening to me?” Bonus, E is in the 4-year-old girl phase of super chatty combined with the lack of impulse control from E and S that means that I am interrupted allllllll the time. Reducing my output has reduced my frustration at being interrupted and at not being heard 

Also in the why for me now category is volume control. I am trying soooooo hard to reduce my shouting. Yelling. Raising my voice. For a huge number of reasons, most of which I think will be bleedingly obvious so I won’t waste anyone’s time here, but also, C is super sensitive to loud sounds so any shouting just upsets her and doesn’t have any other effect, and also, shouting has no effect. Kids don’t magically listen if the volume is raised. Kids don’t instantly stop doing the thing that made the shout happen. Often, they just keep going but now think it’s a game and isn’t that fun. My number one job of keeping them safe needed a better way.

I took inspiration from Mrs March in Little Women. Hold it in. Keep mum. Purse those lips. If necessary, do something else with my body, like rage washing or rage cleaning or rage sorting. She doesn’t call it that, of course, but the result is the same. 

There was also the What If making me still talk a lot of What if they are about to do something that will hurt them or another? But you know what? We are into the learn by doing stage. It has other names, too, but I’m not going to type them here for my mum to read (Hi mum!). The general idea is, do what you can to keep your kids safe but there will come a time when they’re just going to do what they want anyway and then they can find out for themselves why it was a not recommended course of action. Like, if you climb on those rocks, cool, but when you fall off (which you will because I know you don’t have that much rock climbing experience or balance capability just yet) then you’re going to fall into that big mud puddle there and being muddy isn’t a sensory experience you enjoy. Oh look at that. You fell. You’re muddy. You’re screaming about being muddy. The Old Me would have then given the lecture. The, “See? This is why I said not to climb on the rocks. I could see” – and honestly, I’m bored by myself. Poor kids. New Me: “Yep. You’re muddy. Shall we try to clean you up here or head home now?”

This approach of minimal talking has become most apparent at bedtimes. Bedtimes, when I am still on and haven’t been able to do much of anything for me or on my own since a walk (ideally) around 6am. Bedtimes, when I have been trying so hard all day to be thoughtful and caring and curious about what on earth led them to do that thing that ended up with everyone in tears. Bedtimes, when I’m actually just wanting to curl up in bed myself because it’s actually really hard to function every day on an average of less than five hours’ sleep a night for years. 

Keeping mum started out for me as a little experiment. Did it make a difference. Did it reduce my shouting. Did it reduce my stress. Did it reduce my guilt. Did it make bedtimes easier. The answer? A resounding “yes” to all of these. Especially yes to reducing the guilt. That may sound strange, but when you talk more, you say more, and if you’re at the end of your tether, it’s easier to let words slip out that are regrettable, that you hope were words that were ignored like so many other words but you can never tell, can you. Three years from now you may have a kid saying, “Remember that time when I was four and a half and you said you wanted to run away and join the circus because at least animals go to sleep when they’re tired”. Not that I’ve ever said that, but you get the idea. Children don’t hear a word that you want them to hear. Children hear things when you think they’re not listening.

I feel I should spell out, though, that this hasn’t meant I have stopped talking altogether. In fact, I don’t think anyone has even actually noticed my reduction in wordiness except for me. More importantly, though, the important things are definitely still said on a daily basis. I love you. I’m so glad you’re with us. I’m so glad I get to be your mummy. 

There are newer snippets that I am trying to work in, too, thanks to my parenting gurus on social media. I’m feeling very frustrated right now so I’m going to do some deep breaths and try to push the wall away. I got so worked up earlier today, but you helped me so much by just being calm next to me so I could take deep breaths and calm down, too. 

And my new personal favourite (from Nurtured First) because I don’t think I’ve been explicit enough in sharing with my girls that I can handle all their emotions (because, to be brutally honest with myself, I don’t deal very well with the bigger emotions) and that I love them always and forever, no matter what: 

I love you when you’re happy. I love you when you’re mad. I love you when you’re silly. I love you when you’re sad.

Baking Across America – Bing Bars

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One of the things that will always make me feel like a kitchen goddess or just a half decent mum is if I bake something in the morning, before people are up for breakfast. We had a plan for Saturday and I imagined baking these Bing bars, breakfasting, then being able to take photos on our picnic blanket in the botanic gardens with dappled summer sun and warm blue skies and butterflies and green grass and happy children and … and life happened, instead. I prepped the night before (the virtue! the smug!), and was very glad I did because, if you haven’t tried this, pitting and chopping cherries to get 450g of them takes a long, long time. And then it was a Bad Night, where I was ditched from bed by E before midnight and she was awake and coughing and S was awake and awake and awake and Glenn wasn’t feeling great and I slept on the sofa and while it’s not such a problem it was also not very comfortable. 

Having been a Bad Night, though, meant that E and S both had significant sleep-ins, so I could get on with baking this without endless “Mummyyyyyyy” interruptions. Extra kitchen goddess points for simultaneously making scrambled eggs for breakfasts as well as Biscoff toast and juices and cups of tea and sourdough toast and oh look at that more scrambled eggs. As the cherries took a while to cook down into jammy goodness, I also tackled some of Washing Mountain and felt extra smug. 

This recipe was definitely not next on my list of what to bake from this book (Baking Across America by B. Dylan Hollis). I was planning on trying one of the northeast cookies, I think, but my mind just kept coming back to these. I mean, what even are Bing cherries? As it turns out, they’re cherries. Normal cherries. And Australian cherries are just sold as Australian Cherries, but Bing is one of the varieties grown and sold – Google has been my friend – so instead of resisting the urge and baking something else, I caved. We have abundant cherries at present so I didn’t even buy frozen, but risked buying two punnets and pitting and chopping them myself. Next time – and there will definitely be a next time as this was definitely a winner and has been definitely requested for lunch boxes – I will use frozen. 

I am not one for selfies, but if I were, you would have seen my face in various stages of delight to worried to concerned to wide-eyed to panicked to blissed out to shocked to satisfied. What a ride. I think I possibly cooked the cherries down a little further than the recipe intended, because when it came time to transfer the mix onto the base, it turned out to be toffee. Pro tip: make somebody else wait to do what they want in the kitchen so that they clean out that tough sticky mess for you. Ahem.

Maybe it’s my Scottish heritage, but rubbing cold butter into oats and flour and sugar just makes things right. It settles me. Makes me feel connected to generations of Scots bakers before me, even if the butter isn’t really cold because this is Brisbane in summer and nothing is staying cold for more than two minutes out of the fridge. I had a slight moment when it came to the egg wash, as I drizzled it on as instructed and in the moment it took me to pick up my pastry brush, all the egg was soaked into the topping. A valiant effort was made to no avail, so one portion of the slice is impressively tan while the remainder looks ordinary but bland.

One thing I appreciate about this book is the absence of serving numbers. Who’s to say if a cake will serve 24, 12, 3 or 1? Exactly. I cut this slice into 16 squares which is a perfect amount for sating the sweet tooth but not going sugar crazy. Girls, as mentioned, loved it. Glenn is not much of a sweet tooth so had a half piece – see, it could serve 32 if it was just Glenn eating it – and seemed to enjoy it.

I was determined to take some photos outdoors, so when I took the girls outside in the afternoon we also took out the picnic blanket. What a thrill! We were just in time for late afternoon sunshine. Girls were mighty disappointed to be not eating the rest of the slice, but did their best to sneak bites anyway. We clearly left some crumbs around because every dog out for an afternoon walk was very excited, and one owner even brought her dog right into our garden. Wild.

Change Is Afoot

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In the midst of children just not sleeping, and behaviour going all which ways, and my girls just seeming to be not themselves, I finally, after nearly eight years of parenting, remembered to think about the bigger picture. What was going on here?

Well, lots, as it turns out.

Before Christmas, Glenn had some time off his day job in order to play two shows. What was really five straight days of rehearsals and performances felt like two weeks. The girls, being young and adaptable, were quickly in the zone of “Where’s daddy?” “PLAYING A SHOW”. Even though I am the bedtime parent, he is an important part of bedtime for goodnights and cuddles and playfulness and any Doctor Daddy that arises. And, lately, Drawing Daddy. He is excellent at drawing and when I’m not around to print out endless colouring in pages, Glenn will draw a garden or a space scene or a rhino beetle for colouring in. 

Christmas is always an excitement, too, with lots of different around. Decorations. Traditions. Music. Anticipation. The weirdness of me not working over Christmas and New Year. Christmas is also school holiday time, so I haven’t been baking as much (or, as I’m telling myself, making sure we get through what’s in the freezer so we have a fresh start).

E is starting school in a few weeks (eek!) so she finished daycare/preschool on Christmas Eve. That’s a huge change for her. She started when she was 9 months old so we’re talking four years of this routine and these carers and this environment.

E stopping daycare means that C has gone from being the only one around when I’m working or just during the day (so plenty of opportunity for quiet time) to having to be around someone else. Someone else who is acting out their starting school anxiety and their change unsettledness and their different routine unsettledness. E is loud and out there. C doesn’t like loud or sudden or out there. I am finding this tricky.

C stopping daycare means that S is now the only one going to daycare. Thank goodness we had the prep transition days for E so S could also get used to being the only one going in at daycare. Yes. I am getting a bit emotional over this. How did you know? It really pulls at my heartstrings to see only one child running up to the outside door and leaning out and waving hello to her friends. Only one child to sign in. Only one child not with me during the day. It feels like I miss S now that it’s just her at daycare much more than I ever missed C or E. Is that because she’s the youngest? Is that because I’m realising it won’t feel like long before she, too, is a big girl going to big school? Is it because, even though having three girls all around is TOUGH and it feels like they just bicker and physically hurt each other the entire time, it also needs to be three of them to feel whole?

All this change has meant jangled. All this change has meant changes, especially at bedtime. It used to be dinner then a merry-go-round of girls doing toilet, bath, teeth, goodnight with daddy, into bed. Except C wouldn’t go straight to bed. She would be allowed to do Duolingo and then, if other girls were still awake (so, most nights), certain iPad games. C would get to bed and have some reading with me once E was asleep. 

But from Christmas Day onwards, C has been actually tired. Like, falling asleep at dinnertime kind of tired. So it’s been usually a three sister bath (specially requested every night by S) then all out and doing teeth and saying goodnight to daddy then their preferred method of getting to the bedroom and into bed. Preferred methods are piggy-back or horsey ride or high jumps, where I hold onto their hands and they face forward and I help them jump as high as possible while being told “Higher! HIGHER!” For nearly a week, this worked, and I would have S asleep fairly quickly and I would read a bible story to E and C then maybe another story which was usually a Ruby Red Shoes book and then it wouldn’t be long before E was asleep and also C was asleep. 

Of course, such a winning bedtime routine couldn’t last. As I said, about a week. Now we have the first elements – tired, three sister bath, teeth, goodnight… and then E goes nuts. Any time I am trying to settle S, or paying any attention to anybody who isn’t E, E is rolling around or murmuring “Ma-ma”, or deliberately rolling out of her bunk, or taking selfies on my phone, or opening her new music box, or telling me hilarious jokes. Not. Helpful.

Yes, I am losing my mind. Yes, this really really really depletes my Me Time, which is absolutely crucial to me being able to parent and not hate myself. So we are changing bedtime. Two nights in, so far, where I have let E do colouring in while S settles and so far I am not convinced. I will give it maybe two more nights then try to find a new plan. Sigh. It is such a fine balance trying to accommodate all of them, each with their own needs. Will I ever get into a good zone? Who knows. Right now I am just trying to remember that we are going through big changes, and big changes can be tough and be felt deeper than you expect, and try try try try try try to be curious first. 

Baking Across America – Peach Cobbler

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“Mummy, whatever you’re baking in here, it smells *awfully* good”. With that ringing endorsement from C, here beginneth the journey of Baking Across America and a peach cobbler from Georgia. That is, as close as one can get when one lives in Brisbane and has zero access to Georgia peaches. However it is that they differ from Alabama peaches or Queensland peaches.

One of my Christmas presents from Glenn was B. Dylan Hollis’ book, Baking Across America. I have been devouring it whenever I can ever since. With books like this, I love to then make the recipes – I mean, duh. But in a methodical fashion, rather like Julie and Julia but without the stress. Being me, I would normally start at the beginning and be orderly about it. However, each area contains recipes with summer fruits and recipes without, and I know if I went through systematically I would give up fairly quickly from dejectedness over lack of ingredients. As it is, I have already sent my husband out searching for fresh cranberries without success and I will be taking girls with me for a full-on excursion in quest of them at some point. Peach cobbler was chosen because peaches and Brisbane summer seemed quite doable.

I ordered a box of imperfect peaches and let them ripen a tad, which meant that some of them did that weird thing of having foul spots while still being hard. Still, I washed eight instead of the instructed five and was glad I did. One was wonky on the inside, and two of them were tiny, so I figured this amounted to about the amount of five Georgia peaches. With girls watching Nightmare Before Christmas and Glenn relaxing on his sofa, I set to work and was instantly in a happy place. It has been a long time since I baked a dessert, or baked anything from a recipe book that was not for the purpose of lunchbox snacks or freezer snacks. Methodically slicing peaches and removing the flesh from the stone and transferring to a saucepan and repeating the process, knowing that this would turn into a tasty dessert, was an instant endorphin rush. I must do so more often.

This turned out to be a “trust the process”, er, process. I should probably point out here that I think I have both made and eaten cobbler once in my life before, and not any time recently. So my knowledge of cobbler process is limited and vague and reaching back a long, long way into my memory. Still, I expected peaches then batter, instead of melted butter then batter then peaches and juices then sugar, in a process that looked shockingly wrong and rather unphotogenic. Trust the process. Because, as I was fairly confident would happen, what looked entirely ugly and as if I had most definitely read the instructions entirely incorrectly, turned out to be exactly what it ought to be. A peach cobbler. Lovely soft cinnamon sugar peaches amid blobs of sweet batter. 

A surprise, though, was the ultimate in jammy goodness hiding in sporadic pockets beneath the dough. We’re talking not just scooping out as much as possible for the next serving, but letting out an actual gasp of delighted surprise followed by furtive side eyes so as to sneak more of it. It was almost black, and it was camouflaged with the spots of stickiness that had to be worked to the extent that I felt my arms had earned another serve, and it was amazing. 

Furthermore, this was one of those desserts that seemed to be a new creation the following day. I let the girls have a serve (with ice cream!) for morning tea. When cleaning up, I had a morsel of peach and ohmygoodnessme it had caramelised and gooeyfied and … I just can’t. It was glorious. 

2025 Review

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It’s that time of year, isn’t it? In all the haze of Christmas that follows fast on the heels of the end of school year frenzy, there is that week of limbo when most things slow down or stop and there is time to reflect and time to consider and plan and contemplate. What just happened here. Is that who I am. How do I want my life to be, or my self to be, or my family to be, or my anything. 

When I look back at a year ago, I am amazed at how far we have come, how far I have come, how my family has changed. It is so satisfying looking at what my aims were for this year and seeing what was achieved and how it made an impact. Here are a few.

On a family level, we went from one girl in school and two in daycare to about to be two girls in school and one in daycare. I also finished paying off my massive childcare debt which was immensely satisfying and empowering. There was so much pre-school for E but we managed it all and she is so prepared for big school. 

We went from having three girls doing swimming lessons and one doing Irish dancing, to no girls doing swimming lessons (officially), one doing Irish dancing (and danced in her first competition), and one doing ballet and jazz and tap (and danced in her first concert). Next year, all girls will have at least one dance class a week and I am a bit gobsmacked that I must now be a Dance Mum. By the end of term 1, I anticipate we will have two pairs of Irish dancing shoes, two pairs of ballet shoes, one pair of tap shoes, and maybe some barefoot dancing going on, too. This was unexpected.

We went from two girls in nappies overnight to, quite suddenly, no girls in nappies overnight. Except when an accident happens, but they all start off without. We went from plastic tablecloths that got ratty and disgusting and cut up and spilled on and drawn on, to cloth tablecloths … that get picked at and spilled on and drawn on and washed. It’s a big improvement. 

C can now roller-skate up and down the garden path. She is learning to ride a bike. She reads well beyond her age and is still doing maths things when she can on the iPad. E can write her name and all the letters and numbers and can tell me basic addition and also tell me two numbers and what it is – like, a house number that is 4, 2, so forty-two. S can write some letters and tell me most of them. She is still so little but also comes out with sentences that amaze me from their use of vocabulary as well as the emotional intelligence behind it.

We went from mostly daily grocery shopping to the occasional in-person top-up, but mostly delivered. One Funky Food box a fortnight with gloriously wacky fruit and veg, and two grocery shop deliveries a week. My stress is greatly reduced (and I mean, by a huge amount), as is our food bill. We don’t waste as much food as we used to, either.

For me, this blog has been so, so good to get back to. And not all that I write for it gets posted. There are many, many posts just written and not shared, but they have helped me by writing it. My brain has been reminded of how useful it is to get words out. My inner child has been reminded of its dream of being a writer. Maybe this year, even more will come of this.

Speaking of this year and goals, I have a few. I’m not a big one for sharing them, but hey. Why not. These are my dreams and aspirations and ideas, and unlike my usual way of getting to about 9.30pm on 31 December and thinking, oh, I should probably think of a goal for the new year, this year I actually started putting these in my notes on Boxing Day. Waaaaay ahead of schedule. So. 

Get back to starting the day with 10 sit ups, 10 push ups, 10 something else (mix it up!). Use the kettle bell at least twice a week. Be able to do the monkey bars at the gym park (that’s a big one for me to do for my girls). Get back to eating mostly vegetarian and whole foods. Use the freezer more wisely. More consistent/regular blogging. Profitable side business. Make a small doll. Embroider more. Try to sew something – as in, finish something – each week. Write. Bake something from Baking Across America (a Christmas present that I am devouring by reading before devouring by eating) at least once a month. Remove the baby things from the household. Teach the girls to swim.

That seems like a lot. It also seems like a largely January plan, and if that’s what it turns out to be for the most part, I’m fine with that. 

Happy new year!