reflection

Tradition!

/ annamurray / Leave a comment

In the last few months, we have started doing “Favourite Thing” at the start of dinner. This started because of about 70% wanting to delay the “Can we watch something?”, and 30% wanting to hear more about their days and what they remembered about good things. Well, those are very vague percentages because while writing this I also remembered that part of it was to get them to start going back over their days and pick out positive things. A bit like practising gratitude. Note to self:  introduce a gratitude element.

Sunday night, before Favourite Thing, I reminded them of what had happened that day. It had been huge. It was Glenn’s first day back at work after some leave, and I had already decided train to church for us because of potential traffic delays and sitting practically still on a bus when you can literally see your destination but can’t get out of the bus at all and you have three girls who just want to be off the bus and seeing their friends or doing anything other than just sitting moderately quietly on a bus is not an experience I would like to revisit thank you very much. So we all caught the train in to the city. Then church itself was very different because it was Palm Sunday, which meant very much out of the ordinary and I’ll get to it later. Once home, the girls had edamame (“enamummy”, “emadahmah”, “enadummy”) for lunch which is their second favourite food, plus I let them watch Despicable Me 2 while eating. Outside later in the afternoon, C did roller skating all by herself for the first time outside while the other two played this and that and climbed on the wall and played ice cream shop at the letter boxes. So. Much. Happened.

C’s favourite thing was catching the train with daddy in the morning. E’s favourite thing was seeing her favourite person at church. S’s favourite thing was catching the train holding on the stroller. Glenn’s favourite thing was catching the train with all of his girls. 

My favourite thing was being part of, and having my girls be part of, the Palm Sunday traditions and experience. Religious ceremony that is centuries old. Religious traditions that happen every year, all around the world, in some way or another, that people have been doing, repeating, for hundreds of years, and my girls are now able to live that and be part of something much, much bigger than themselves. All of those elements are, I think, very important. They are important to me – for my soul, for my being, for my mental health – and as someone tasked with raising children, I see it as an important element to have as part of their lives. 

The words that keep coming to me are words like “duty” and “due diligence” and “responsibility”. These words are close but wrong. Those are the words that I hear in court cases and hearings and so forth. Those are the words that come when love isn’t enough. 

I love my girls. I want, and need, them growing up in as many circles of love and care as possible. I want them to have places to turn that are safe, places and people who are safe and comfort and love, who love them because they exist and not for what they can do or what they look like or what they say. Extracurricular activities help with that, as well as practising those resilience muscles and persistence and practice and determination skills. School is also providing an extra circle of care and a wide variety of backgrounds and culture and language. All those are good to have, and I am conscious that we are so, so fortunate to have great (such an understatement there) daycare and an excellent school, as well as the funds to have the girls do swimming for now and for C to do Irish dancing. Church, which often feels like an added extra and sometimes just too much, is just as vital to their wellbeing. And honestly, when E asks “Where are we going when we wake up?” – as she does every single day, sometimes as early as morning tea – if the answer is “Church, so long as everyone is well”, it gets the biggest cheer.

There is a whole mountain of reasons why church – the building, the people, the ceremony – is important. Why I was determined to get the girls to church when we could from when S was three months old. Trying to organise the reasons in my head and new reasons keep emerging. I will try, and I will try to keep it organised so this isn’t a flood. (Posting this later than I wanted because clearly that was harder than I anticipated!)

At the very surface, it is an outing. A Thing to Do. Something that gets us out, family energy out, and stops (or at the very least, reduces) bickering that happens from staying home. When public transport fares were at the past rates, sometimes this was just too expensive but 50c fares, with free travel for kids on weekends, make this much more available. Kids have a children’s area with space and toys and craft. Kids are part of the service, while not having to be too quiet or sit still or kneel or anything, or even be part of anything if they don’t want to. Kids are given a snack during the service because at some point, someone realised that the service really went through morning tea time for kids and 20 hangry kids is not something anybody wants in their life. 

Kids who are there because they have a parent or sibling or both or more involved in the service are just as welcome and included as kids who are there because their parents are there under slight duress to make a good appearance at the baptism of their niece or nephew when really their part of the family is atheist. Kids are welcome to listen to anything the person in charge talks about (this is the bit closest to the Sunday School of my childhood) and to participate in the relevant activity, but also if they just want to keep going building the most amazing train track they’ve ever built, that’s fine too. It is such a safe space for children.

A safe space for children, which means a space I can take them and then sit or stand by myself. I can watch them, with some space between us. I can watch them interacting with others. I can watch how and what and who they choose to play with. I can even now get a cup of coffee at morning tea and have a conversation with an adult – like, a real other grownup! – and not have children hanging off me to do so. Church is for me, too.

Church also provides that extra circle. Not that they are needing it now, but if we don’t do this now then when they do need it it will be much less strong. And this circle has so much variety. A big factor for me was to have them know as wide a variety of people as possible. They play with kids aged 1-11 and coo over any babies that are brought around to the children’s area. They play with kids of a variety of ethnicities, a range of neurotypes, a range of wealth, a range of family types. This is both normal for them, as well as developing their inclusion muscles and their flexibility muscles. It’s also, if I’m honest, developing my parenting skills. If one of my girls is rejected or slighted at the park, I can just whisk my girl away and have a few words about the situation, whatever it was. At church I am more inclined to see what the kids do to work it out themselves, and find out the why of the other kid’s behaviour. I won’t go into any of the “why’s” here, but it’s enough to stop any assumptions in their tracks and to practice kindness first.

Tradition. My tradition, of growing up with church. Remembering that often there was a feeling of “but why???” Knowing now that that questioning is healthy (as it was treated when I was young, too). Knowing now that sometimes the answer is too huge to explain but sometimes it is as small as being the tradition. Tradition is important. It gives a sense of security. It grounds us. The comfort and familiarity get me every time. Tradition!

Old Me/New Me

/ annamurray / Leave a comment

When C was a baby – not a little tiny baby but rather, hurtling toward her first birthday – I was chatting with one of my best friends, Michelle. Michelle has 3 kids – a boy, and twin girls – who were (doing some mental calculations here) um 7 and 5 at this time. I think. They were all in early primary school, anyway. The point is, Michelle asked me, “Do you feel like you’re not a real person anymore? You’re no longer Anna. You’re a mum. You’re C’s Mum, and that’s who you are and how you’re seen now?” And even now I remember this gasping realisation of oh my goodness me that’s it! That’s a perfect encapsulation of how I feel I am now. 

I mean, there are a few things to explain here. The early weeks of motherhood were a wild ride but  I didn’t experience that exhaustion that I was told to expect (ha – like sooooo many other things) because I was so happy doing these things for this little bub. But then as the newborn phase waned and it became clear that I had a baby who didn’t sleep, things changed. And then she turned out to be an enthusiastic but small eater. But because she was such a poor sleeper and my advice from everywhere was that if she has more solids then she will sleep better – well. I felt like I spent most of her baby time trying to get her to sleep and trying to get her to eat. 

And I know it is perfectly natural for other children – and parents (me included here; I’m not judging this AT ALL) – to refer to other parents by reference to a child’s name. I am C’s mum, or E’s mum, or S’s mum, or sometimes the mum with the three girls, depending on who I’m talking to. And there is all of the mental work that goes into caring for children. Like thinking ahead for the basics like clean clothes, and change of season clothing, and next size up shoes, and swimming lessons and daycare and school and homework and play dates and lunches and snacks and how to go grocery shopping with young children.

But eventually there is the realisation that all that is not enough. “You can’t pour from an empty cup” is a phrase that is thrown around a lot in parenting forums, but I don’t feel it’s apt for what I am trying to describe. It doesn’t describe the feeling of being scraped out with just the shell remaining. I need to do all that, be all that, and more. I needed to be Anna again. Still Anna with the three girls, but also Anna who does… things to be Anna.

Before kids, when I was still a violin teacher, a mother of three girls asked me what I DO with my time? I remember wondering, How do YOU fit everything in? She had three girls. They all did violin, with lessons and practice and ensembles. They each did either ballet or gymnastics. They all went to a private school. The mum worked a full-time job but also managed to ferry the girls to violin and ballet and gymnastics. Like, was there some secret pocket of bonus time that opened up for some people? I’m still wondering that, actually, but in the meantime I have started to work it out. 

If something is important enough, work out how to make it happen.

My health is important to me. Admittedly, partly for vanity. I don’t want to cringe when I look at photos of myself, and I don’t want to avoid being in photos. I know they are important. So I worked out actually when I could exercise, committed to it, and now it happens every morning. Writing this blog is important to me. I know if I abandon it and don’t make any record other than photos of our family life, then in five years I will be very sad with Now Me. Writing happens when I can get up earlier than exercise. Yes, it feels like I hardly sleep. In fact, my watch confirms that I hardly sleep, but I’m working on going to bed earlier. Promise.

There are other things that I used to do that I didn’t even think about as being Anna Things. Wearing jewellery. Making jewellery. Well, that was very much an Anna Thing but I didn’t anticipate how hard that would be with kids. Beading is therapeutic and so relaxing until a small child accidentally tips your box of beads or findings and then you don’t quite know how many small swallowing hazards you are suddenly looking for on the ground in amongst all the other detritus that comes with Living With Small Children. 

Having a food box delivered. This had started with an organic fruit and veg box, then extended to milk and meat and dairy, but when I moved in with Glenn that felt a little redundant. We live right next to a shopping centre, and Glenn likes to shop to cook, and one of the delivery companies went bust, and we just stopped. Fast forward more than 7 years, and I saw a picture of a funny strawberry on Facebook. As it turns out, there are a few companies that deliver supermarket rejects. We picked one company, and now have a medium box of wonky fruit and veg delivered every fortnight. Not surprisingly, this is very much looked forward to by everyone in the family. Glenn loves seeing what is delivered and then planning meals around that. The girls love inspecting our funky food and marvelling at the bananas as long as their arms or the 4.5 kg watermelon or the tiny pears the size of S’s fists. I love not having to shop with children, not having to plan, and working within the parameters of the delivery. Right up my alley.

One thing that is not an Old Me thing but if it had been around, it would have been. Recycling. I’m not talking your standard paper/cardboard/glass type of thing. I’m talking containers. It used to be that containers would taunt those of us not in South Australia with the label along the lines of “10c refund at participating depots in South Australia”. I legit was super excited to go to South Australia for the container refunds, but it turned out they weren’t lauding it over the rest of the country and this wasn’t obvious at all. Fast forward to that week between Christmas and New Year, and I saw a Containers for Change ad offering to come and collect if you had 100 containers. Challenge accepted. Now we have a special tub for containers, and I have a page of container labels to print. My process is getting better. The tub has a bin bag in it. Every eligible container that goes in gets a tally mark on a piece of paper on the fridge. When the bag is full (about 35 containers), it gets tied up and a label stuck on it, then taken to the garage. New bin bag in. Heavier glass bottles go in paper shopping bags, and once they have 8 bottles, same deal. Container label stuck on and then to the garage. Every few weeks, we organise collection and it’s just… easy. I love it. 

There are still some Old Anna things that I am really missing and yearning to bring back into my life. Some things I feel are the frugal Scottish side of me coming through, or maybe it’s a very strong sense of independence or getting back to making it yourself so you know what’s inside. Making yoghurt. I tried recently, and you know what stopped me? Not the lack of time or available bench space or available milk. No. I couldn’t find one of the containers and any of the lids. How could you lose them, Anna? Old Anna asks me. Pre-kids Anna asks me. If I explain to you that the containers (originally with their lids) live/d in the cupboard next to the fridge and so girls have loved to play with things in that cupboard – sanctioned, thankfully – but occasionally have major imaginative play scenarios requiring removal of said things to other play areas, does that explain it? I have since found a lid in a toy hamper and another in the craft department so there is hope. 

Baking bread is another thing I am getting the urge to do again. As my preferred bread is a spelt bread that used to take 2 hours for me to make I really should just remember to buy spelt flour, shouldn’t I. Hm.

Photography is a big part of who I used to be. Art photography, that is, not just of my girls. I have little flurries of photographic activity but I really haven’t been as inspired most of the time lately. Having scenery dotted with cranes is really not helping. Having children who are either impatient to be where they want to be or willing to be distracted and not get going when I need them to after the photo is really not helping. Only wanting to take photos of my children sleeping in funny or endearing poses doesn’t help the artier side, either.

I am also very keen to get back into playing violin. I said this last year, but when daylight savings ends and my work hours go back to starting at 10am instead of 9am, I am hoping hoping hoping that even a little bit of music making can come back into my life. These last two things – aspects of me that I haven’t gone back to after having kids – are two big things that drew Glenn and me together. I need them back. Not from anything that he has said, mind you, but I don’t want to lose ME and the person he met and married. I don’t want to look back on this time and regret things that actually are doable and regret this being the time of life when something stopped. 

If something is important enough, work out how to make it happen.

A Teaser Letter

/ annamurray / Leave a comment

Dear New Mum of 7 Years Ago,

Would you like a little teaser? See what this beautiful baby of yours is like at 7 years of age? Yeah, I know. It’s wild. 7! So those times coming up when you will just randomly wake up and check that she is breathing – I mean, still do that, but she makes it to 7. 

What’s she like? Amazing. Mind blowing. Ohhhh there’s so much but she also pushes your buttons like it’s her super power. Let’s see.

You are soon to discover sleep (the absence of). She will be a feed-to-sleep baby and, just like the professionals say, this is linked to making it tricky for her to go to sleep. Don’t change anything, of course. That’s not the point of this letter. More like, heads up. Sleep and naps will be a battle until she is almost 2, when she drops her lunchtime nap entirely and you will have a couple of glorious months before she adapts and then you are back to sleep struggles. The light at the end of the tunnel is that she does eventually sleep through. After the age of 3. But by then you will have another bub waking you up and then another so when she turns 7 you still don’t sleep through the night most nights. Also, one of the few things she inherits from you is the inability to fall asleep. Oops. Once she can read chapter books, she MIGHT be asleep before 9… or it might be approaching 11. Yes. 11pm for a newly-7-year-old to go to sleep on a school night after she has been at school and Irish dancing. 

Sadly, Glenn’s mum is not much longer for this world. She will have nearly a year with C, and see her personality developing and watch her being a cheeky monkey around her bed and see enough of C that you know that she knows her. Sioban’s presence will still be felt and she will not be at all forgotten. In fact, after C stops looking quite so much like Glenn, she starts to look like Sioban before starting – at about 2 weeks before she turns 7 – to show glimmers of you. 

At 7, C is tall (about the 80th percentile) and skinny (about 25th… 20th percentile). She is strong, and keen on healthy food – especially after your GP wanted to check her iron levels which involved a blood test and the screams oh my but it showed she was on the lower end of iron levels – but if she is sick, whether by actual gastro or by anxiety, then she gets to that gaunt stage. She is just losing the chin that you will come to adore soon, that little baby element you notice when her head is tilted back and apparently unrelated to her jaw or neck. Her nose is like yours, at least for now, and her eyes are light green like Nana Sioban and your Grandma Ruth. Her hair has gone from dark to light with reddish cradle cap, making you think she would be a redhead. It darkens as she ages and there is no more hint of red in C. Unlike many blondes, she loves that her hair is darkening and she would much rather you say she had brown – dark brown – hair that is nearly black, even though it is a long way from being black. There are curly phases, and it is on the sparse side when she is a toddler, but normalises by the start of school. At 7, she has a pixie cut that you did yourself and is growing but maybe will get a trim in the next holidays.

She is usually wanting friends to play with. If other kids rock up at the park, she is overjoyed and usually approaching them within a minute to see if they want to play. Some of your best mum friends have come from C wanting to play with a new-to-her kid at the park. At home, she will sometimes play with her sisters. Although there are games they play together, like cubbies that take over the entire living room, and families where all the roles are reversed, and kittens and mermaids and fairies and the list goes on, usually she wants to be on her own at home. You still live in the same space – a 2-bedroom apartment – with the now-5 of you. As C is very much against throwing away ANYTHING, it is starting to feel a bit crowded, to say the least, and you are trying to find ways to ditch things that won’t devastate her. We’re talking, you know, not just toys that she hasn’t played with in about 5 years, but also the rolled-up flyer from a birthday party that she says is a magic wand and an empty tissue box that you must not touch because THAT is the one that actually is a fairy house even though it … just looks like a tissue box.

C loves art, and will spend hours mixing paint to get just the right shade of peach skin tone. She also loves crafts – which you must NEVER throw away – and is an enthusiastic recycler of packaging and scraps and whatever she can imagine a use for. She spends hours reading, mostly at night when she is trying to go to sleep. She wasn’t so keen on maths at the start of prep, but by the second half of that year was starting to excel. That has continued, and she even asked for a plus sign for her birthday cake this year. Skip counting is one of her favourite things, and it will come in handy for calming her in stressful situations.

Free time is spent on the iPad when you let her. She might sing along to the theme tune – although she doesn’t always sing so well in tune, this still warms your heart – and sometimes E will sing along, too. Sometimes they have a blast singing theme songs together, and sometimes C will growl – yes, she growls – at E to stop. Fairies have overtaken unicorns and mermaids as the magical creatures of choice. Dragons are a thing from a series of chapter books about dragon girls, so you have made a set of cardboard dragon wings for her, too. Go, you crafty mum.

She is a fiddler. A fidgeter. Fidget toys soon become something you are aware of and then … they’re everywhere. She gets distracted by anything very easily. And if you take away all distractions so, for example, she can eat a meal, then she will manage to fiddle with whatever is left, like the tablecloth or the curtain. It is infuriating. But fidgets also help her brain to calm down. She is excellent at describing things, too, and seems to be unusually perceptive about emotions. C does NOT like being tickled and will usually do the St Vitus Dance if anything just brushes her and sets her off. She also does not like loud sounds and can get very overwhelmed with too much volume. 

In fact, especially just writing it all out here which makes it seem really obvious, just before Christmas when she is 6, you have a ping of realisation that she is neurodivergent. By 7, she is seeing a psychologist who is helping enormously. You still feel like a terrible mum most of the time, but now there is a little glimmer of maybe it’s not all you being a terrible mum and partly it’s that you have an exceptional child with needs outside of the standard operating procedure. Fortunately, some of those quirks – like not being able to eat anything else in her lunchbox until she has finished her sandwich – you recognise very clearly from yourself, and that makes it much, much easier to understand and love.

As I said at the start, she is excellent at pushing your buttons. Try to remember that a lot of this, as one of her prep teachers reminded you (they are the most excellent prep teachers, by the way – absolute gems and the best start for school that you could hope for) – this button pushing and doing the meltdowns for you while being an angel for everyone else – is because YOU are her safe person. This is often hard to take, but try to remember that. You are her safe person.

And your child is amazing.

With love,

You in 7 years

This Time of Year

/ annamurray / Leave a comment

That time of year. This time of year. Is this time of year my favourite? It may well be.

This time of year, when the sun is rising that little bit later so that a morning walk comes with less being blinded by the sun and more “Ooh, look at that bootiful sunrise” if E or S is with me. That later rising of the sun reminding us that summer in Brisbane does pass for a time. 

This time of year, when the weather starts tipping to autumn with shorter days and dryer days and nights below 20C and a slight crispness at the beginnings and ends of the days. This tipping to autumn that reminds me of when C was born and all that went on with the much-awaited birth of a firstborn.

This time of year, when there is even a slight chill some mornings and the weather forecast shows highs in the upper 20s instead of relentlessly in the 30s. This slight and occasional chill that has children suddenly chilly. This chill that reminds me that they can’t live in short sleeves all year, and winter clothes should be organised soon, preferably the soon that comes before the cold weather.

This time of year, when a trip to the garage for the winter clothing happens. 

I love this changeover of the seasons. Going through the old clothes. Smiling with each memory that emerges with them. Noticing all the holes. Noticing all the holes that I used to think would be frustrating, that something needs mending or is unusable, but actually noticing the holes and seeing how well-loved it was, or how much time playing kittens this pair of leggings saw, or remembering the stack that needed bandaids on that knee for a week, or just how much it was worn and therefore value for money. 

Noticing the sizes available and realising what is missing due to growth spurts and school starting and physical clothing preferences. Thinking about what sizes will be required this year by which child. Reminiscing to C’s babyhood, when she was fairly easily in the size for the age but always outgrew them about a month early, and the sadness felt every time I realised there was no way she was fitting into that size again and therefore maybe I wouldn’t even see a baby in these clothes again because who knew if we would have any more babies? Then – ha! – we sure did have more babies, but some of those clothes could hardly be worn anyway as E and S grew faster than imaginable. 

Grew? Grow. E, at just 4, is needing size 5 separates but dresses are size 6, but clearly not for much longer. S, 2 and a half, is a comfy size 3 in separates but can work with size 4s and needing size 4 dresses and snuck a pair of C’s size 6 leggings the other day and wore them without issues the whole afternoon. C is also a bit ahead in sizing, being almost – practically – 7 and needing size 7s and 8s. With a weight percentile much, much lower than her height percentile she can get away with wearing smaller sizes in warmer months but really needs the length back for the cooler weather.

Noticing the deficits in our supply and planning a trip for winter clothes shopping with the girls. Planning how to make it fair while still getting the start, at least, of what they actually need and attempting to find out what suits their particular wants and needs. “Let’s go shopping for winter clothes!” starts in my mind as a fun thing to do with the girls on the weekend but turns into a balancing act harder than Christmas presents. 

We did this on Saturday. It was the worst shopping trip of my life, I think.

Everyone will want a dress. Every girl gets a winter dress. E quickly found an Elsa dress. It was available in sizes 2 – far too small for S – and 8. Foreseeing 2 winters of wear from E, I let her choose the size 8. There was no similar dress for S. S had a tantrum. C consented to a pink dress with frilly hems. S refused the green dress and as she was too far gone, really, in her Elsa dress tantrum, I picked a navy floral number for her.

Everyone will need at least one pair of leggings. C will need a pair that is vaguely navy so she can wear them at school. C goes for every other option and goes all sad sack on me when I say no. Every. Time. S is still tantrumming about the Elsa dress. I pick out a pair for her then realise she doesn’t know anything that is happening and figure she will actually be fine in size 4s and we have enough in size 3 and 4 to get us going. E is still on a high with her Elsa dress so I pick out 2 pairs of size 6 leggings for her. She is 4. She goes to preschool. Those knees aren’t going to last.

Everyone will need at least one long sleeved top. The long sleeved tops are on the same table as the short sleeved tops, distinguished by writing on the front sticker. Every top C picks is short sleeved. I point out where to find short or long, and she finds 2 options. One of these is a leopard print on a pale coffee colour. She looks ill when she holds it up but is determined to have it. I refuse. I suggest an alternative (we use a plain white tee from home and do an iron-on transfer) which is only just barely considered. I still refuse to buy her something that makes her look like she is about to vomit. She puts it back, slowly and sadly.  E is still on a high with her Elsa dress but has enough presence of mind to shout “NO” at me when I show her a few options that I thought she would love. Unsurprisingly, back at the first option again gets a resounding “YES”. A very sweet top is found for S which pulls her out of a tantrum for about 80 seconds.  

C will need pyjamas. I veto the flannel pair as I am hoping hoping hoping that her size 6 flannel pair will fit for at least the first really cold night. She accepts the lighter weight, heart print with ruffle sleeve pair as acceptable. E doesn’t wear pyjamas so I’m not buying any for her. Except, having made that decision on Saturday, guess who has worn pjs every night since. Of course. Thankfully, C’s size 5 Frozen pyjamas will work out until I can gauge if this wearing pyjamas thing is going to last. S has one and a half pairs of pyjamas that should fit so fingers crossed I find the other bit and then maybe have another rummage in the garage – that’s right, I am no longer organised in the garage department – for size 3 clothing. And my jeans. I am really really really hoping they will be too big but I’m not going to buy another pair if they do actually still fit. 

So that was our winter shopping trip. The hardest thing I have done in a long time, which is really saying something considering the NEAR CYCLONE we just had with 3 SICK GIRLS so that gives you an indication of how horrible it was and how poorly I cope with grumpy and tantrums and stubborn. All that aside, they all love their new clothes. I can’t wait for cooler cooler weather.

In The Wake Of Alfred

/ annamurray / Leave a comment

There’s been a lot of drama lately. A lot of angst, anxiety, fear, worry. A lot of preparation. 

In the end, for us it turned out to be for a whole lot of rain and a bit of wind. E would call Alfred a Drama Prince.

We got lucky. Super duper ultra lucky, and there are hundreds of thousands of people who suffered and are still suffering. We did not lose power. We did not have any disruption to our water supply. We didn’t flood. We didn’t have a tree come down anywhere near us, certainly not crushing a car or roof or whole entire house.

What we did have felt like a mini lockdown, akin to what it would have been five years ago but with an end in sight. I take my hat off to families that had to do COVID lockdowns with multiple children and no clear end.

We made it through. Life is returning to normal. Monday, daycare was still closed and school was open only for supervision of children of essential workers. By Monday lunchtime, I was turning myself into a pretzel crossing fingers and toes and whatever possible that they would be able to be back to normal on Tuesday. We were outside on Monday afternoon with girls splashing in the backyard pool and blowing bubbles when two emails came through – bam, bam – within a minute of each other. School would be open for all students. Daycare would be reopening, but please pack food as their food service is out of action this week. Can. Do.

Having made it through this Alfred Experience, I feel I have some people to thank. The usual, of course. Glenn – a rock. Unphased in the areas that matter, like shopping in a panic-ridden shopping centre and finding all that we needed and being able to plan meals and make meals and be around to give girls cuddles and have Siri play Kiss and have mini rock concerts with whoever (E, mostly) needed them.

Auntie J, who shopped for us when I had planned to pick up essentials for our emergency kit but then had 3 girls home sick so we weren’t going anywhere. She offered. I sent her a list. She delivered. I transferred her money. I breathed a little easier.

Prime Video. The girls watched about 39 hours a day… okay, that’s a slight exaggeration. But really, doing some quick calculations here, 8-9 hours a day. Up to 9 hours a day of watching mostly Prime Video. I’ll move on. It was a lot.

Bubbles. Bubbles are the best, aren’t they? Thank goodness I had restocked our big bubble mix the Friday before this all started. Thank goodness I had splurged and gone for the big 2 litre bottle. Bubbles for years. Well, months. That said, with twice-daily usage for 7 days, we used about a fifth of the bottle. A couple of Christmases ago, E was given a bubble set which has a little dish and 4 different blowers. This was the best thing ever during this time. I didn’t have to keep a hold on the massive store of bubble mix to prevent the inevitable major spill. Each girl could blow and chase and spin and pop and come back for more. On the very windy days, we could just hold the blower out and let the wind take the bubbles. And one of my favourite videos is of all girls doing “cyclone bubbles”, holding a blower out and twirling in a midst of circling bubbles. Beautiful.

Julia Donaldson and Axel Scheffler. Thank you. What a duo. Not a day went by that I didn’t read a Donaldson/Scheffler book. That’s such an understatement. Multiple times a day. And having S and E reciting parts of a book while turning the pages… well. That makes my heart sing. And having such interesting illustrations that girls can get lost in them, spotting connections and little details, was enormously important. There were some other books read, too, but this duo was at the forefront.

AirPods. Oh my. I only cottoned on to this in the last little while but they help so much. Anyone else tried it? Sensory overwhelm in the form of too much noise is starting to take place. AirPods in on noise cancelling, and it takes the edge off. I was hoping for the screaming children level to be reduced but no. It doesn’t really make a difference to that. But if you are having to listen to an annoying children’s show and don’t have the mental energy to switch, or are in the middle of a rock and roll party or Wicked playlist and just have too much doomscrolling to do, then this really helps.

Shelley Husband. Don’t know who she is? Spincushions? Australian Crochet Designer of the Year? Well, anyway, she is my crochet guru idol person. Her granny square patterns are *beautiful* and elevate crochet squares to art. Last year, I realised a shawl would be a good addition to my winter workwear, and I planned it out and bought the yarn. I don’t usually have the urge to crochet in summer, but I couldn’t wait to get started on it in January. It has accompanied me to swimming lessons and psychologist appointments and been my general go-to Me Time when it’s too late to start sewing. Even one side of a round helps my calm. And wowsers, did I ever need it during this time. Admittedly, there were a couple of rounds that were frogged and then frogged again and for one round, frogged a third time before I had it right, but it was the calmness of repetition with the satisfaction of seeing a growing square of beauty take shape in my hands that was essential for my mental health. (Today, with a server issue at work so no work, I finished this square. Two more to go, and then some border squares I think. This is, fittingly, the Hope square from Granny Square Patchwork in 4-ply Luxury in Amazon Green from Bendigo Woollen Mills.)

Emergency services. Not for us in particular, thank goodness, but their social media presence, keeping us informed. Emergency services and weather pages and news channels. I realise it’s a bit in the doomscrolling category but it’s also in the reassurance realm and the awareness and information department. I’d much rather “Well, thank goodness that wasn’t as bad as we feared” over “Why is it so windy today?!”

A pink-handled crochet hook rests on an intricate green crochet granny square, which is slightly rumpled on top of a slightly rumpled grey and white checked quilt cover.

Parenting accounts on social media. Nurtured First has been a favourite lately, but any account – I’m not talking the ones that make me laugh with their representations of what parenting is like in the real world (although a little levity is always a good thing), but the ones that are there to help – accounts that remind me of things that stop me losing it in the face of things that make me lose it. I doubt my neighbourhood appreciates it, but I have noticed a difference in my frustration levels, and a definite rise this week in intentional calmness. I mean, I have a looooooooooooong way to go there, but there were times when I COULD have exploded but I didn’t.

The best of the parenting accounts for me – and “parenting account” is nowhere near the complete picture, but it has been my saviour and well I could go on and on and on and on – is The Occuplaytional Therapist (OPT). Without her and her posts over the years, this whole Alfred thing would have been a markedly different experience for us. Through her, I became more aware of the why of children’s behaviour. Another viewpoint. A better understanding of child development. All of the things. All of the things that meant I could grasp that C needing to have quiet and routine and an active role in preparation was the way she was coping, and that E was letting out big emotions with loud sounds, and to tell her to stop that and be quiet would help C but then stifle E and then we would likely have different problems to deal with. S needing cuddles for hours and hours was her comfort and what a relief that I kind of needed S cuddles too and wasn’t touched out. C apparently bossing E around was not really about being in charge or being in control or better than her, but needing to establish some control when things were feeling out of control. E needing loud – to be loud herself, and to have loud rock music on – was so not helping me, but coming from the understanding that it was her out, combined with those lovely AirPods, made it easier to bear, especially when followed by the amazing handsies we do at bedtime. So the OPT has opened up my sight to the why, which has helped me, you know, not lose my cool at every single thing every single time. Baby steps.

This list is not complete, of course, but these are the people and things I thanked in my head at the time and thought I should really put it out there as part of the stuff of our lives. Thank you.

Expected and Unexpected Milestones

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There have been a few developments this week. That feels like an understatement but see for yourself.

Glenn had a birthday. No matter how many you have had, I always feel a birthday is special. A celebration of life, of that already lived and that which is to come. This one felt extra special, not from being any particularly special age or any celebration that we did, but from family. The girls were all aware that daddy’s birthday was coming up. E made him a card with all the Frozen stickers she was given for her birthday. C was such a lovely helper on our shopping trip to buy daddy’s birthday presents. And S… this was the first year that she really initiated “happy birthday daddy”. Not just copying others, as she often does, but just randomly in the middle of breakfast. And while he was opening presents. And during dinner. We had these very sweet, very lovely, “happy birthday daddy”s punctuating the day.

Speaking of copying, S has upped her copying. For quite some time – I mean, at least a year, possibly 18 months or so – S has been an excellent mimic. Which has contributed to her being a much more understandable speaker, I think (one of the factors, anyway), but also has made some things extra funny. Like, one of the things of our family is Glenn will stand with his feet apart in the hallway or the kitchen entrance and say, in a Big Daddy Voice, “You’re not getting past here”. E and C will either slip to the side or, more likely, drop and go through the daddy tunnel. S, though, copies his stance and then sometimes copies his Big Daddy Voice herself. Copying does often result in screams and shouts and growls of “STOP COPYING ME” from the other girls but they all do it to each other and to me. At the park on the weekend, though, S took it to the next level. I was pushing her in the swing.

S: What’s in the … [other end of the pendulum]

Me: What’s in the what?

S: What’s in the … [other end of the pendulum; looks back at me with a smile. Maybe this is delight at being in the swing]

Me: In the what? The tree?

S: In the what? The tree?

Me: In the tree?

S: In the tree?

Me: The – are you copying me?

S: Are you copying me? [widest possible grin on her face]

Speaking of the park, E can now climb the climbing wall. We hadn’t been to this park for a while. E is cautious by nature. Suddenly, from the swings where I spend most of my park life apparently, I heard big screams. I wasn’t sure if it was the screams of “I’m frustrated” or “I’m hurt”. I got there as fast as I could to hear, “AGH I CAN’T DO IT CAN YOU HELP ME”. Now, I am a big fan of if they can do it, they can do it; if they can’t, let them work out how to do it. That’s great. But also, sometimes, there’s no way they’re going to approach something again if they don’t experience any way of how they can. So I stood behind E and told her I was right there. No good. With her hands and a foot in position, after moving one foot she again screamed, “I CAN’T DO IT”. This time, though – milestone #1 for this experience – I suggested we look at it from below. If you put your hands here and here, then a foot here and a foot here – uh huh – then you could move that foot to there and that foot to there, then— she was at it again. And nailed it. Milestone #2 for this experience. Then she repeated it a bunch of times and I did a Timelapse of her doing it which has S in the background and then she watched the video on repeat for a while and scream-laughed every time but was also SO proud of herself.

Speaking of E, there are a couple of things that switched when she turned four, as she is “A growmup girl now”. Big change #1: no more nighttime nappies. This has not been quite as successful as any of us hoped. Yet she still insists on no nappy, only undies. And she still wakes up during the night (most nights, anyway), very distressed and utterly surprised that she is wet. She must wear a nappy if she is coming into our bed so I put that on over her (fresh, dry) undies. And most mornings, she tells me she has a wee in her nappy, and – oh MAN – wet undies?!?! How did that happen?! Big change #2: no more baths. Showers. Which would be a bit easier for everyone if she wasn’t absolutely terrified of showers. But the first night that she insisted on a shower – so I drained the bath that S had just been in – and then E realised that she is scared of showers so could she have a bath please – and there was no way I was running another bath – quick thinking meant I offered to have a shower with her and now that is what happens every night. Which is, honestly, fantastic. It’s true that I no longer have that few minutes to be on my own and get clean without dodging a slippery child, but having a shower done before 7pm (or so) means that’s another thing ticked off the list of what I have to do. I’m loving it.

Still speaking of E, Glenn took her for a daddy-daughter doctor visit. As in, I wasn’t involved at all, except for booking the appointment. Previously, I’ve always taken them and Glenn has come sometimes and not other times. This worked beautifully! E is such a daddy’s girl right now so needed his comfort when she had her 4-year-old stabs.

Speaking of… Nope. No link for this one, but it is the most grey-hair-inducing. I was walking home with E and S after daycare on Tuesday. In the midst of the most dangerous section – big driveways for big buildings with impatient drivers – S was suddenly climbing out of the pram. She had been securely buckled in. She was no longer securely buckled in. I strapped her back in – which was hilarious, apparently – and tried to keep walking while watching her unbuckle herself again. I gave up. E apparently had tired legs, so she was allowed to get in the pram while S held the pram and walked with me. Wednesday I took her in the stroller (smaller, no storage areas, much harder to push) because I don’t think she has mastered unbuckling that one just yet. She was allowed out to do some walking, and to be fair, she is pretty good at holding on and staying on the side I tell her to stay on. E and C quite enjoy getting a free ride (although they have to take turns) when S is walking, but goodness me the weight difference is noticeable when I’m pushing a nearly-7-year-old up a hill.

And Now She Is Four

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For at least a month before her birthday on the weekend, E would wake up and ask, “Am I four now?” The more often she asked – the closer it got to her birthday – the more dramatic her response to “No, not yet”. A slightly disappointed “Aww I want to be four!” progressed to a slightly angry “BUT I WANT TO BE FOUR NOW” which progressed to dramatic facepalms and “STILL?!?!” I assured her that I had wanted her to be born well before now, too, but her birthday would come along eventually. I don’t think that helped AT ALL but what can you do? I even tried showing her on a calendar and that just made it worse.

It finally, finally was her birthday. Her whole-body reaction of delight and relief and happiness when I could say “Yes” to her sleepy question – well, it made my day. We made her day as special as we could, with croissants for breakfast (family tradition passed along from my side); church (where the girls – the drama! – missed out on the usual post-church ice cream because somebody ELSE who was NOT turning four was actually celebrating being ordained for 40 years and put on a barbecue but thank goodness the girls’ favourite person – a lovely girl who is nearly 10 – was there and made a lovely fuss over E); seeing a favourite honorary Auntie at the play cafe for a babycino and treats and a big play; her request for dinner (sausages); and her choice of cake. 

Whenever I asked what sort of cake she wanted for the party, she gave me a different answer. For the cake for on her actual birthday to have with family, she wanted “a chocolate cake and strawberry cake”. When we went to Woollies on Saturday and were up to the cake department, she put on her fastest feet ever, zoomed over and pointed to the pavlova with strawberries on it. Ohhhhh. Phew. Easy. I love making cakes for my family for celebrations, but also, there was a lot on over the weekend and not having to add “make and decorate a cake for family” made me just that little bit less stressed.

Last year I had decreed that birthday parties could only happen every second year. If you turn an even number, you get a birthday party (which, admittedly, didn’t work out for S last year turning two.  Oops). E was looking forward to her mermaid birthday party in the park for over a year. Unfortunately, she is a summer baby and the weather often gets in the way. In the planning stages, we could see that the weather for the week leading up to her birthday weekend was set to be raining, so any parks in our area would be sodden messes. This would make for the best day ever in her whole entire life but I just couldn’t do it. Thankfully, daycare was quite happy to put on a little party this week. We sent in cake, balloons, party hats and party bags, and let them deal with it all. Win.

Well, almost win. When I was decorating the cake (a 5-layer rainbow cake with ‘violet’ icing and Frozen snowflake sprinkles, and panicking that I didn’t know if the icing was looking enough like violet to satisfy this all-shades-of-purple aficionado), I was a little bit sad that I wouldn’t be there celebrating her party with her. I wouldn’t get to see her excitement. I wouldn’t get to see her face. I wouldn’t get to see her put as much of a slice of cake as is humanly possible in her mouth and kind of sit with it for a while before, to my amazement, managing to chew and swallow before finishing off the rest of her slice. I wouldn’t get to wipe ‘violet’ icing off her cheeks or fingers. I would only be able to imagine her face as “Happy Birthday” was sung to her around a cake with candles alight, seeing her eyes down and eyebrows raised far up in such an E expression and the widest and most delighted smile on her face as she took in all this joy for her. All this joy because E finally turned four and we love her.

Are The Voices In My Head Bothering You?

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There is so much. So much noise, clamouring noise in my head of what needs to be done. Do I seem quiet? Distracted? Step inside and take a peek at what’s going on. This is an example from Sunday night as I was lying on the girls’ bedroom floor while C tried to go to sleep and I tried to stay awake.

“Finish prepping daycare bags. S, spare top. E, spare top and bottom. Do I take out any undies from – no. S probably needs four pairs spare. Remember that daycare teacher from long ago who scolded you for not having enough pairs of spare undies when C was toilet training. Lunchbox for C. Yes you need to do it tonight. Just because on Thursday morning you managed to pack her lunch in about 23 seconds doesn’t mean that’s a good way to go about things. Sandwich. Tomatoes for vitamin C. Cookies. Fruit break should I give her pineapple or apple I think apple. Haven’t sorted the washing. Does everyone have clothing close enough to the top of the mountain of washing? Yes I think so. Don’t worry about that tonight then. But really, you need to do it. Like, soon. Maybe in the morning before people wake up. 

“Why did E fall asleep so late. She was so tired. Hope she’s not coming down with something. What was that song she sang for me. Something about a frog that she acted out on her bunk. It was quite impressive. How can I afford to send her to ballet lessons. Dancing. C has a catchup Irish dancing lesson tomorrow. Is that a good idea. Out of routine and she will hate it. She needs new dancing shoes. Sigh. Will G be okay getting daycare girls home and having dinner OH Monday. Parent information night at the school. That’s not going to work out. Timings and exhaustion levels and cranky children levels and nope we can’t do the dancing catchup. Remember to let the teacher know. How soon can you pay the Irish dancing term fees. It’s due this week and will your pay cover it. I think it should but can there be any daycare payment then too. Maybe. Hopefully. Stupid clerical error meaning I wasn’t paid last week and check the accounts to look for the possible dishonour fee for that payment and then it would have been overdrawn too so is there another fee for that stupid stupid stupid pay thank goodness for managers stepping in.

“Money this week. Heart payment on Wednesday will be covered by pay. Irish dancing due Friday. Should be enough available for that and then Centrelink comes in so phew. We can breathe again. E’s birthday presents. What will it be. Can we manage a full Elsa costume probably not. Why did her friend get the whole Elsa hair? Ugh. How can we do that birthday party. Must email daycare about it. Preferably tonight. How do I include the friend who hasn’t moved up to preschool yet. Maybe I message her mum and we meet up elsewhere? Or can I ask daycare staff to sort that?

“Is C’s friend experience right now a start of the year thing, or because she had 3 days off school last week and everyone else got on with their lives, or is it continuing from last year but worsening? Should I talk to anyone about this. How can I make it easier for her. I just want to give her big cuddles. Please be a better week. Can the psychologist help with this. Does the psychologist believe me about her. When’s the next psychologist appointment. I don’t think it’s this week. How will I cover the gap. Dentist. Everyone needs to see a dentist. Should I start C on OT now or later. How do I start her on OT. I said I would take her to the ceramic painting class this week. Hm. If I’m working then I don’t want to be stopping working because it means I will be stopping earning. I hate this time of year from the financial viewpoint.

“How does everyone get to be supported and validated while learning to respect each other and the others’ boundaries? When is Ash Wednesday. Ah. March 5. Which means yeah that girl’s birthday party can’t be on the Sunday. She said the 3rd which is the Monday. She must mean the 2nd. Dr Seuss’ birthday. Green eggs that day for breakfast. Baked goods. Are there enough in the freezer and the cookie jar for this week. Freezer stocks are running low but I think the cookie jar will cover us for a few days. Must buy more spinach. I can’t believe I ran out of spinach. When is G working this week. Have to organise with myself when a strength workout will happen. Remember to pick up C on Monday because J is away. Ooh but G can pick her up Tuesday because he has a bonus day off. How can I remove things from our play zone without having indignant children. Washing machine just finished.”

I had heard it said before, but yeah. Mums have quite the mental load. And it’s not because the dads are useless or uninterested or unable to organise themselves out of a paper bag. (Admittedly, sometimes I think that might be the case but it’s not the case here or for many of our friends.) We didn’t really discuss it, but G and I each have our roles in the family and household. I love doing all of this. It’s just that, sometimes, the voices in my head remind me of that scene in Scrubs when Elliot has her brain opened up and it’s like the universe roars out.

School’s Back!

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Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh

Bye, darling girl! I love you! Have a wonderful day!

School is back, and holidays are done. Holidays that went better than last summer and better than feared but still … still had that feeling of gritted teeth. We’re getting through it. How much longer now? Grr.

Morning walking. Walking for physical health but also to find some space in the day, to carve it out for myself, to have the morning sun in my eyes, to breathe fresh air and not have to answer five questions fired at me from multiple sources all at once every ten seconds. Walking because looking after me in this way helps me reset and look after everybody else. 

Taking myself to the bedroom for a break so that I don’t explode. Breathe. Be interrupted during that minute – that one tiny minute of 60 seconds – because sometimes girls can’t even last that long or I have left my breathing space mental break cool down time too late and then I am rushing back out to nurse the injured child or to remind girls of something like we don’t hurt others to get our own way or that sometimes it’s okay to let others do their thing and let me deal with them.

Two girls going to daycare two days a week. The pre-holiday financial stress of knowing there may be zero income to cover this but also the holiday family stress of having three girls together for all the other days so balancing it out to be two days a week of daycare and then five long and tricky days where they’re all together. The relief – such relief! – when I actually was allocated work for every single day that they were at daycare and I could work and earn just that little bit of money that meant that I didn’t have to use up my entire savings to get through the holidays.

Having that little bit of money meant having freedom to buy girls things like an ice cream on a day out, or buy sushi for them for lunch, or buy craft supplies, or buy replacement sandals when one child just stepped into a pond and when I hauled her out immediately there was only one sandal on one foot and the other was lost at the bottom of a pond and there were so many tears but she didn’t have to go home barefoot. Money that meant I could buy C black school shoes, which are not essential for this school but still a nice thing that she asked for and I knew it would help her feel Proper. Buying school shoes and realising that school socks will be better than her multicoloured rainbow unicorn socks so being able to say yes to school socks. I know this doesn’t sound like much but if you’ve been there, you know. Money that meant I could take her to the uniform shop when it opened last week and buy her uniforms, all secondhand, but not stressing that if there was nothing in her size secondhand then I would be buying new. 

Big Days Out. People hearing about these massive outings and saying how amazing I am but me knowing inside that this is just because I am so far from amazing that this is the only way I can keep girls from fighting with each other all day because when they are out they are so beautifully behaved and just seem to get on better. Big Days Out that wear them out but it’s still a balancing act of Big and not so Big that they are actually worn out and get sick from exhaustion then have to stay home from playgrounds and daycare and then we implode.

Big Days Out this summer that included the trip to Bluey’s World and the day at the City Botanic Gardens playground and the trip to my brother and sister-in-law’s new place on Boxing Day where we also saw my parents and my sister-in-law’s parents and brother and it was a huge day that had girls falling asleep on the way home. There was a Big Day Out to the shopping centre to beat the heat and have girls playing in the shopping centre play areas for three or four hours. There was a mummy-daughter shopping trip that was promising to be a wonderful pre-Christmas shopping trip but ended prematurely when the heat and the sunlight and the people and the noise and the noise and the noise and the noise caused poor C to be so overwhelmed she was nearly vomiting. 

There was mummy cooking more. This makes me happy but also oh my goodness the stress of trying to prep dinner just before taking girls outside when it is shady enough but they are definitely at the point of the day when they need to be outside it is real, this stress, and I finally worked out the need to prep dinner way, way earlier, like at lunchtime sort of earlier and then we managed to have maybe three nights at the end of the holidays where it was not so stressful. 

Baking, both together and partially together and managing to do some on my own as girls were doing their own thing. Relishing this together time while also simultaneously finding the stress of having girls fight over the ladder and the step stool and whose turn it is to tip or stir or taste and that moment when you realise you need an ingredient which requires you to leave the preparation area because you don’t have extendable arms so there will be at least one child unsupervised next to uncontained ingredients and stove knobs.

Craft. Not as much as there could be because the mess is a big factor. Also not as much as there could be because then once they have finished gluing coloured pasta shapes to cardboard or gluing cotton wool to a plastic bottle with fairy lights inside it or making glass jars into tea light holders (actually those are quite lovely) then we have all those things in our place needing places to live because of course they cannot ever be thrown away or repurposed. They are Special. 

There were regular trips to the library. I had neglected it somewhat because I feel libraries are a place of calm, for order, for quiet, and this is all the things my girls are not. Plus the lack of cooperation when I say it’s time to go meant it was a very stressful place and experience for me. However, the last few months I gave it another go and it is such a hit. The children’s area with its pretend cafe and its wall games and big armchairs and ‘doctor computer’. New and colourful and attractive and enticing books. Row upon row of chapter books for C. Indoor drinking fountains. The rituals of borrowing books and returning books.

“Hey Siri, play rock and roll music.” “Hey. Siri. Play … STOP! HEY. SIRI!!!!! PLAY. ROCK. AND ROLL. MU. SIC.” As it turns out, I have three rocking rock chicks. Especially E. They love Kiss and Queen and ABBA. All girls can now activate Siri on the HomePod. They are expert at requesting movie soundtracks and have been practising other options like Mamma Mia and I Was Made For Loving You Baby and Rock And Roll All Night. The HomePod is now unplugged as turn taking took a dive and there are only so many times I can listen to children shouting at Siri and then listening to We Will Rock You (much as I love it).

New indoor climbing equipment and balloons and outside time with balloons and scooter and tricycle and ride-on car and playing mermaids and jumping in the massive swimming pool puddle that forms when it rains a lot and the mud oh my goodness the mud that I have had to clean up because when it’s available it is the most favourite thing for the girls ever in their lives.

Even though this feels like it is over, it’s also not really over. All these things will still happen, will still be happening, for the next little while. Weekends still exist. Sick days still happen. We just have all the added extras of school and lunches and activities and girls not having to be in each other’s faces most of the time. 

Annnnd breathe. 

A Snapshot of S Aged 2 Years and Nearly 5 Months

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At the front of our place, there is a wall. It is one of those walls that is there to denote the edge of the property before it becomes council property. It is low – knee height sort of territory – and has four stepped sections as the land slopes towards the train line and the shops and the street at the end. As I use our outside area for outside playtime for girls when I need to – which lately, it seems, is more often than not – I have spent much time on and around that wall. 

Someone doing a longterm time-lapse from the other side of the street would have seen me sitting on the high end, learning how to play with my girls, being pregnant and not pregnant and pregnant and not pregnant and then holding new babies. Walking beside toddlers holding their hands as they brave walking along the wall and then walking beside them just to be there if they took a misstep as they did it “all my byself”.  There have been countless games of ring-a-ring-a-rosy just inside the wall. Millions of bubbles. Girls have learnt how to roll down hills there. I have been a doctor and a patient and a burger shop customer and an ice cream customer and an ice cream store helper. Princess parties happen there. Pretend ambulances blare their sirens as a team of pint-sized paramedics and doctors and nurses attend the apparently-suddenly-injured, fixing broken legs with bandaids and upsets with lollipops. Mermaids swim down the hill. Girls have learnt to scoot. All three girls now race a scooter, a Minnie Mouse ride-on car and a flamingo tricycle down the path then haul their current vehicle back up the top to do it again.

S is in the phase now of wanting to walk on the wall. If I take out my phone to catch a memory of her rainbow sparkly headband matching her rainbow sparkly sandals, or the tiny hairs framing her face being set off in the afternoon sun, or a curl escaping from its hairband, or her little hand holding mine tight, she points her left hand with all the force of an exorcist and growls “NO PHOTOS” so I am forced to take mental snapshots and write down what I can.

“Mummy, help!” “Mummy, hol’ my hand”. “Mummy, BIN MEEEE” (catch me as I jump off and spin me around and around as I look up at you with glee and laughing eyes until you put me down all dizzy). “I walk”. “Mummy, come on!” “I got you”.

Walking confidently, holding my hand. Confidently, yet clutching me tight. Looking for the moon and pointing with excitement when it’s spotted. Brushing hair out of her eyes. Watching trains trundle by or whizz by. Doggies. Waving at most people who are walking past. Making most people who are walking past smile, changing them from downcast, everyday drudgery faces to lighter, happier faces who often smile and say “hello” in return and sometimes even stay for a chat. Approaching each stepped edge of the wall cautiously, left hand coming across to clutch my top as she gingerly steps down and breathes out as she is safe and releases her grip. Arriving at the end of the wall and jumping off, sticking the landing. Looking up at me, half-laughing, as she says, “Mummy, come on!” Laughing to the point of almost falling over as we both run up the hill to do it all again.

S is so, so independent. She is so sure of herself, and advocates for herself and those around her admirably. “I don’t want to eat that”, “Nuh-uh”, “That’s not fair”, “THAT’S MINE”, “My turn”, “You turn”, and so many more phrases, are all heard on a regular basis. She also still apparently feels that, despite her advanced language skills, she often has to stick up for herself by scratching and biting. That aspect I find incredibly challenging to deal with, and E – the usual victim – is getting jack of it. On the upside, though, through her grins in the aftermath she will say sorry, then “You okay? You need ice pack?” So there’s hope yet.

I know she will outgrow the biting and scratching. I hope she does not outgrow sticking up for herself and others. I know she will outgrow elbow dimples and toddler shoulder muscles and plump cheeks and tumbling hair and cautious steps and needing to hold my hand and needing me at all, really, so I am here for all of it, and enjoying the cuddles and the beautiful strong personality that promises to be as forceful as a river.