writing

How Lucky Am I

/ annamurray / Leave a comment

E starts big school next year and had her ‘get to know you’ meeting earlier this month and I can’t help thinking how lucky am I. 

How lucky am I that my girls can be educated. Not just can be, but are expected to be educated. How lucky am I that there is a valid option of free (mostly free) education here. Not just the free of a school that you use as a threat while you do what you have to and scrounge to send your kid to the not-horrible private school, but a state school that you don’t want to move away from, a state school that people move countries to be able to send their kids to. That’s our local. How lucky are we?!

This school has such a smooth entry into prep that my very anxious, only did daycare and preschool 2 days a week, did I mention very anxious? – C just sailed right on in without any dramas. Phew. E had a lovely getting to know you meeting with the guidance counsellor who has known us for, you know, well over two years and who has seen E grow from being two years old and strapped in a pram to being able to say she is four and a half and her favourite story (right now) from the Ultimate Disney Princess Treasury that she made me lug in as her favourite book is Aurora and Aurora’s story is at the back and here she’s getting a smoochy kiss from the prince to wake her up and she was asleep because she didn’t know what a spinning wheel looked like and it hurt her finger and Maleficent (said very clearly and carefully) was the bad fairy and there she is. 

As lovely as this interview was, I was also calmed by knowing that this was not an interview to see if they would consider E as a student. I didn’t have to promote her or coach her beforehand or direct her. There was a box of things in front of her, and she played with the doll a bit then attached building structures together and lined up and sorted little figurines then went to play with the blocks that were set up where she joined all the blue together and kept skipping back to check in and take off her sparkly shoes and pick up the doll again. Meanwhile, the grownups talked openly about neurodiversity and support options and brains and development and stimming. I’m fairly sure at least one, maybe five, members of our family fall into the neurodiverse brain category. Being able to talk about the way E is, not knowing where her brain lies in this, and be offered support and avenues and all with the hue of the more we know, the more we can help/accommodate/support a child, was a relief. A blessing. A comfort. How lucky am I that this didn’t come with any negativity or judgment or pursed lips or we need a diagnosis before anything or sorry. Just acceptance with a view to making it work out the best for everyone. 

How lucky am I that I can look forward to the start of school for her knowing that she will have supportive teachers. Knowing that she will know a few kids – kids from daycare who are also coming, kids from the park – and her best (same age) friend will be with her. How lucky am I that she has been practising with her lunchbox since last summer and that she has a big sister who is VERY keen for her to be with her at school and is telling her all about bits of school like playgrounds and classroom expectations and assembly. 

How lucky am I that I can send her off to school every day from next year knowing that I will see her again in the afternoon. How lucky am I that I can work without fear of a news broadcast while my children are at school. How lucky am I that I will worry, yes, and probably quite a bit, too, about all sorts of things with my E starting school, about behaviour and friends and regulation and friends and following rules and friends and playground dangers but none of those things at all ends with me running to school with no shoes on in fear of what I will find. None of those things ends with me crying with relief that it wasn’t my child or with devastation and heartbreak that it was my child. None of those things ends with me breaking devastating news to anyone, or holding one or more of my children close as we grieve together. None of those things.

How lucky am I that I can hold E close at bedtime and mention that I think she might be a bit nervous about big school and find out, yes, she is, because of one boy in the playground last year who made a rude face at her. How lucky am I that all the problems I foresee – about roughhousing boys and picky girls and teacher expectations – are all things I can predict and talk about and plan around. How lucky am I that fire drills and lockdown drills are going to be “storybooked” for her first, and highly unlikely to happen for real life unless it’s a science experiment gone wrong or a bit of weather. 

There is so much for which I am thankful as we stand at the cusp of this new era. As I look at it as an outsider might, I am astonished – where did these three girls come from? Are they all – mine?! And one of them is already at school and the second one is about to start are you for real?!?! I am amazed and delighted, even though this also comes with a hefty dose of worn out, but I feel I can tell my 20- and 30-year-old selves that THIS is coming up. This chaotic joyful bubbliness that is this life. It happens. It’s here. It’s tremendously hard, yet it fills me to overflowing with happiness and gratitude and delight. 

Book Week 2025

/ annamurray / Leave a comment

In my Catching Up post I promised a more expansive recounting of Book Week 2025, so here it is. First up I will mention that this only covers the younger two, as C’s school does the parade in fourth term, and I love that the school has recognised that Book Week is big and also when it falls – in the middle of term 3, right after Science Week and the Brisbane show holiday which is around when the school fair also happens, plus it’s the end of winter – might overload some kids or make Book Week and the love of reading just another thing to tick off the list in the middle of a busy term. 

Last year, I was probing Book Week ideas from about May. E was, after all, wanting Room on the Broom every single night from about then. She didn’t waver, and I made her a skirt and a cape for her to be the witch. Which, happily, doubled up for her Halloween costume later in the year. Win. S was tricky last year, but she did have a tendency to pick the Bob Bilby book, so having made beautiful items for E, I hemmed a length of light purple (lavender? Lilac?) material, cut a hole for the head, attached a pink panel, and sewed up a bit of each side while C helped me put bilby ears on a head band. Very simple and quick and didn’t quite make it through the day but that’s ok.

This year, I only started thinking about this in late June, early July. Just a question here or there when I’ve read the same story multiple times AND can see how I might manage a costume for a character. This year, I was sure I would be sending a princess along. E’s choice for a little while was Belle from Beauty and The Beast. The village Belle? (Which I can totally manage, no problem). No. Yellow Belle. The ballgown Belle. Ah. Not so simple. Pausing on that idea. Then I started asking S. Are you Slinky Malinki? NO, I’M S! Are you a princess? NO, I’M S! (Put that on repeat for maybe another five characters). Are you… Anna? (Pause, in which I see her straighten her back and feel E change next to me). YES I’M ANNA! E: mummy?    Mummy? I’ve changed my mind I want to be Elsa.

Rewind a few years, to C’s first Book Week at daycare, aged about 17 months, I guess. A parade of movie characters had me rolling my eyes and internally raging against dress up events and reading losing its meaning, yada yada yada. My kid would always go as a real book character. I’ll pause while you have a good chuckle.

In my defence, we already had a very simple Frozen book, “I Am Elsa”, but I had a look in Kmart for any others. “The big Frozen book”, as it’s called in our family, was found and bought and has been read most days. Yes, Anna and Elsa are movie characters. But also yes, they are also in books that are thoroughly enjoyed by my girls so who’s to get snooty about it? Ahem. 

In any event, before I had started any sewing, E did another “Mummy, wait. I changed my mind. I want to be a ballerina for Book Week”. Okay… we’ll have to find a book with a ballerina in it, then. “Yes. Can you write me one please”. Hahahahahahaha no. As we already had ballet costumes ready to go, this choice was a relief. We’ve borrowed books from the library with ballerinas in them so I wasn’t going to argue or fight over this one.

Last Friday, armed with a screenshot of a Frozen cake topper, I took E and S to Spotlight to find fabrics. They were quite wonderful in finding material to match the colours of the skirt, the bodice, the bag – wait. The bag? Anna has a bag in that cake topper so mummy can make a bag for the costume. We also found a ribbon to edge the bodice and pom pom trim for the cape. Exciting. Extra information, I had been allocated more than my stated capacity for extra work (you know, in my paid job), and taking on definitely one sewing project, maybe two or three rather heightened my stress level but also my organisational level but also entirely reduced my capacity to do basic household tasks like sorting washing. 

Daycare does two dress-up days for Book Week, as not every kid is enrolled every day. This year, dressing up could be, if they wished, Wednesday or Thursday. With the sewing I was doing, Thursday. Just Thursday. Thursday was great. Tuesday evening, E gets home and tells me with a very serious face – the sort of face I imagine she’ll have when I mess up the school calendar and think the science project is due next week instead of tomorrow – that they had to dress up tomorrow. Wednesday. Noooo. You can dress up Wednesday OR Thursday. OUR TEACHERS TOLD US TOMORROW. Thankfully, the Little Red Riding Hood costume I had bought for C when she was this age – the week that S was born and I caved and bought something instead of making but thank goodness it gets a lot of wear – was clean and wearable and still fitting E. Also thankfully, S didn’t insist on wearing a costume that day, too. Also, I love that we have two Little Red Riding Hood books.

Wednesday night, I finished sewing on the bodice ribbon and sewing the cape together and adding trim and doing buttons. (If you’ve been paying attention, I did not have time to make the bag.) I went to bed just before midnight, thoroughly happy with myself and my creation, and itching to see S’s reaction and wearing it in the morning. First thing in the morning I said, “It’s Book Week dress up today!” S: “I go as Mickey Mouse”. No. Noyoudon’t. When S saw the Anna outfit though, she did a gasp and “Is that my Anna?” One. Happy. Mummy. Getting dressed, and E got into her ballet costume fairly easily on her own while I put S’s dress over her head. S saw E. I tried to do up the snaps on the Anna dress. She refused to let me. “I WANT TO WEAR MY BALLET!” But you’ve been wanting to be Anna for ages! I knew I was tired and more invested in a dress than perhaps I should be so I walked out to take some deep breaths. Glenn came in to save the day with early birthday presents (dinosaur heads with a lollipop inside) and S was then more than happy to wear her Anna dress and cape and look at the love hearts and pockets and IT’S GOT POM POM POM POMS! 

I am happy to report that she was in character for much of our trip to daycare. I managed to get some lovely action-in-nature shots of her. We opened the door to her daycare room and were met with a sea of colourful polyester and I felt even better. One of her birthday presents was a purchased Elsa tutu dress which she wore all of Friday and Sunday but then Sunday evening it came off and she wanted her Anna dress on. And the cape has been worn several times – I mean, who wouldn’t want to wear a pom-pom trimmed cape?! 

There have been many articles this year about Book Week and is it losing its meaning and is it too much stress on parents and kids. In those years when I wasn’t aware when it would be, I always got a surprise – but then managed a costume with what we had around. Looking ahead and finding out when it will be and planning costumes, though, is part of the happiness of parenting for me. One thing I absolutely love about Book Week is talking about books with my girls for weeks or months beforehand, and finding out more about THEM. What style of book are they into. How do they imagine an outfit for this character will look. If we were in that world, what would they have around them. I absolutely love this insight into the brain of each of my girls. Thank you, Book Week.

Catching Up – July/August 2025 Edition

/ annamurray / Leave a comment

I just counted, and I have seven posts begun but not posted. That is, begun recently and not posted. Writing has been hard to do. Checking what I’ve written before I post has been, apparently, very hard to do. I often have a crying S wanting me to give her bum pats from just after 4am, and even though she settles quickly, I am not allowed to *stop* giving her bum pats. Eventually, I am permitted to lie down on the little sofa – you know those little foam ones? – which is proving less and less comfortable. But I take what I can!

A brief highlights reel from the last month or so.

The girls all had haircuts. For S, this was her first time. E and C had previously asked for “Mummy cuts”, and E had been asking (at wildly inopportune times) for another cut for ages. Eventually one weekend we did it. S had been asking for a haircut, too, and as she had masses of curly hair – think Merida from Brave – then I thought it would be wise. Especially as brushing hair was her least favourite time of the day. So she had a haircut, too, and then looked at me reproachfully for a couple of days with “You cut my curly hair”. I can tell how untrained the haircuts are, but as one of their friend’s mums got in touch the other day to ask where we go, maybe they’re not so terrible after all.

I redid the girls’ bedroom. During the school holidays, C led the way in “making a big mess”, as S recounted over the next few weeks. All the clothes were pulled out of the shelving in the wardrobe and all the books brought into the room and all of it was all over the floor along with whatever toys they felt like adding to this mix and, after leaving the scene and doing some kettle bell work (that whole heavy work thing helps so much for me), came back and asked C WTF. I mean, sorry, WHYYYYY. And it turned out that she just didn’t like how they had their clothing in shelves in the wardrobe. As that had been a “We’ll see how we go with this” solution at the time, I agreed to sort out something new. Something new turned out to be the shelving in the wardrobe coming out and holding books in their bedroom, and a new set of drawers in between the bunk beds and the cot. Where my desk used to be. 

So, related, I no longer work in the girls’ room. I currently set myself up at the dining table and pack everything up into our bedroom when not working. No, this is not ideal. However, the payoff has been calmer girls. Their room is less crowded. E’s way of getting into bed is far easier. Having books in their room has meant I often walk past and see all girls reading quietly or playing library. Once one of them is ready in the morning they are more likely to pick books over fighting over the little annoying junky toys which I hate with a passion but keep somehow coming into our household to be fought over. They have a calmer room and they are calmer. It was a tradeoff in my working environment that is well worth it.

I had a birthday. It was absolutely lovely. I mean, it started abruptly at 4.12am with a vomiting S who then was AWAKE but that just meant more birthday to enjoy, right? I had cuddles and snuggles so, yes. I even managed a 15-minute nap on my own! That is to say, I was on my own in bed for about 12 and a half minutes before one girl after another came in and then it was just funny and my favourite photo of the day is one Glenn took of me with my three girls all in the bed together. Glenn made me fantastic food all day and took the girls to the shops for a whole hour and a half and it was bliss.

C started an extra Irish dancing class a week, leading up to maybe doing a competition. Now I have to finish work early on a Monday and take her off to class, which I really enjoy. It makes it a bit tricky with work, but not overly so. Speaking of dancing, I have finally made inquiries about E (and realistically, S) starting ballet. Wow. That is such a big statement for so few words. They are both also really keen for Irish dancing, but logistically I just can’t make that work before they start going to school. E has been proving herself to be – for a long time, this is – a beautiful and enthusiastic dancer. Not just ballet, either, although about a year ago the daycare teachers were just assuming she was having lessons because of the way she would play. She will also just start dancing like she is onstage with a rock band or – yeah it’s usually rock for her, but one of my favourite E quotes from recent times was after C and I had asked Siri to play some Paris Combo. After a bit, E came to me in the kitchen and asked, “Mummy what IS this music? It’s making my bum want to dance”. So I am super hoping that she will be able to start ballet as well as jazz and tap.

This last week has been bonkers. Book Week. S’s birthday. School Fair. I have been feeling like SuperMum all week, which has been nice but also just a teeny bit stressful with getting everything done in order to fee like SuperMum. I was going to give a big Book Week rundown but might save that for another post. (I shared my sewing in my @annalikesmaking Instagram if you’re on the gram and want a peek). But, I sewed a dress and a cape for S to be Anna from Frozen, as well as doing an enormous amount of paid work, as well as S having a birthday (VERY lowkey), as well as baking a slice for the school fair, as well as restocking the freezer with baked oatmeal and brownies and muffins. Then taking the girls to the school fair ON MY OWN because Glenn had a gig for Friday and Saturday. Goodness me. I am finishing this on Sunday morning and I am very, very hopeful I can take the girls to church so they don’t bicker at home and I can get some time for me and talk to some grownups possibly about not-children and not-school and just BE in that space. Our whole family needs it.

How We Shop

/ annamurray / Leave a comment

I think I have mentioned somewhere here that we live right next to the shops. As in, looking out the girls’ bedroom window, you can see into the carpark of the shopping centre. We live on the “wrong” side, though, as we are relegated to a single staircase for entry. No problem before we had kids. Very annoying problem when we used a pram, as we would either carry the pram and child and everything else up or down the stairs, or go the long way which is along the long bit of our street and down the busy road and crossing at the lights and past cafes and shops and around the corner and past all sorts of life and then into the shopping centre via the ramp. Then home again, which is then all uphill and sunny. Ugh. 

Now that we can do no pram and even sometimes no stroller, we can take the girls through the convenient staircase. This has been a wonderful development in our lives. The problem is coming home, though, when we are faced with a descent with minimal rails for holding. For smaller people, this is quite intimidating, and I am often suddenly dealing with a child frozen to a step, refusing to move anything for fear of tumbling down. The number of things I have carried down those steps! The number of kind people who have helped me carry things down those steps!

Then we are on a stretch of road with a wide footpath but girls tend to treat it as a place to fight. Which side of the stroller they are “meant” to be on. How fast they can race even though I’ve asked them not to. Who can scale the wall (the germs!!!) at all, or more than the others. Ugh. And there are just enough cracks and holes in the pavement for it to be necessary for younger ones to still hold onto my hand or a hand or the stroller because guaranteed there will be a trip from at least one child along there.

That’s, of course, after the actual shopping bit. The actual shopping bit has turned horrible lately. Maybe it always was but I could just bear it more easily. Maybe it is actually that girls’ behaviour is becoming more pronounced, more wilful, and more independent which is great, I know this, but I am also aware of other people and I am tired. I’m tired of asking kids to behave one way and being ignored. I’m tired of apologising to people because we are blocking the aisle or one kid is riding the basket and not looking where she’s going or pushing the basket along the floor at high speed. I’m tired of kids being insistent on what we buy and then wailing or screaming when we aren’t buying it. I’m tired of buying 10 yoghurt pouches even after the free fruit for kids because after the fruit girls then want yoghurt and then more yoghurt. I’m tired of being worried that the next person won’t be lovely, because they’re not always. 

A few weeks ago, when we had had an enforced shopping trip because we were out of milk – disaster – I had a think. C had definitely not wanted to go and I am determined to move away from “I’ll buy you x if you come”. S had been a bit on the snotty side so that’s another level of wariness when shopping. No girls had stopped when I asked them to stop. They had some sort of competition that I couldn’t work out but was getting them in the way of other shoppers and preventing them from listening to me at all. Nearly finished, and E was suddenly busting. Sigh. 

Once we were home and unpacked and girls were eating again, I had a think. Why is this so hard? I’m making them do something boring. Even with behaviour expectation reminders, that doesn’t make them suddenly want to do this. Their behaviour is telling me they don’t want to do this so they will do their best to make it fun in their own way which happens to be tricky for me to navigate around unknown entities. Right. How can we change this.

Home delivery. 

I used to think home delivery was for rich people, or rich sick people, or rich lazy people. So. Wrong. (I’m sorry! A thousand apologies!) Yes, it costs us a little bit more to shop this way. But no, not nearly as much as I feared it would be. And I am so willing to pay that small amount to be able to shop this way. From home. Without the dramas of children. 

Said children, by the way, love this. They love having deliveries. They love having a knock at the door. They love looking in a bag and finding something – anything – that I’ve ordered. Apples! Juice boxes! Tissues! CHEESE! And it is much easier to find a willing helper to put something – anything – away. In fact, I usually find myself with helpers before I have even asked. And if not, well, it’s really not hard to put it away myself. Our place is notatall big.

Shopping in an app also brings online only specials and app-only specials. I can see boosted items more easily without trying to work out if the extra points for buying that item instead of another that is cheaper per 100g is worth it while also trying to stop a 2yo from pulling out all the items with green labels or listening to the pleading for something from a 7yo that is being copied by a 4yo then finding the 2yo has dropped half her free banana on the floor and is picking up bits to put in her mouth before I notice. I can add items to the cart whenever. Sudden brain cell just before I go to sleep – ooh, add it to cart. Conversation with Glenn after E and S are asleep – I’ll just find that now and there they are, in the cart. Waiting for files to show up at work – get onto that shopping. 

Another bonus, which I was hoping for but, you know, “home delivery is for rich people” got in the way: limits and saving money. Having shops right next to us has meant convenient shopping. We’re out of milk? Okay, better get some more and also while we’re there… Or, today I feel like sausages for dinner – okay, get over there and buy what you need. When we are well stocked at home, though, this is a luxury in which we have indulged. Now we are getting much more into the zone of, we’re not getting a delivery until Friday and today is Wednesday so what are we going to feed children for dinner? We still have this and this so why don’t we make that into this? Perfect! No more of that popcorn that was only bought because it was a half price special? Oh well. We’ll see if it’s on special next week and then I might (or might not) buy some more. Have a piece of fruit instead if you’re hungry. 

And yes, this has reduced our grocery bill. I didn’t do any official calculations before we started home delivery, but it was around the $350 mark I think, sometimes considerably more if it was a week of buying laundry detergents and olive oil. Now it is hovering around $250-300, a number I like much, much more.

Now, I love a good list, as you may well know. Keeping one on the fridge is no longer an option – our girls are tall and artistic – but we have Apple. We’ve had a “children quotes” shared note for some time now, and I made a shared note for shopping. I call it our master shopping list. Everything we buy, vaguely sorted in sections, goes on the list. If we are running low on something, one of us puts an emoji next to it on the list and when I am doing a shopping order, I look for it. Some things can definitely wait until they are on special so have had an emoji for a couple of weeks now, but some other things make it onto the top-up shop that I order for Monday or Tuesday, depending on when Glenn is working. 

Now please excuse me. I have to finalise a delivery order.

Busy

/ annamurray / Leave a comment

I have been busy. Things I have wanted to maintain have slipped a little. I have five or six posts begun but not continued. Sometimes they are begun and then I don’t get to the checking it stage before it really is too late to post it. Sometimes they are begun and I just don’t get to continue.

There has been a lot more work. This is good. This is also maybe slightly less good. Good because it reduces the financial stress considerably. Pay for me is dependent on how many words I type, so this work is not necessarily necessary but it definitely helps a lot. Pay rate for me is also assessed and reevaluated every four months, and word count is a part of that. As I only work four days, the extra work I’m getting kind of equates to an almost extra day and so bumps up my ranking. 

Extra work is maybe slightly less good, though, because I am now working a lot. C taking foorrrreeevvvvvveerrrrr to go to bed at night makes it harder, and I don’t want to keep saying “I have work to do” for her to be convinced to go to bed. Not that what I want or need makes any difference to her willingness to go to bed, of course, but language is important, and I don’t want the soundtrack of her childhood to be “I have to work”. I’m not keen for “We can’t afford that”, either, but I’ll work on phrases. More work also means less time to think and to write for this blog and to sew and to crochet. Right now the balance is in favour of work in order to relieve the financial stress but it is on the cusp.

Another big factor in reduction of my writing is children. Yes. Children. I wake at 5 for this (or work). S has been waking often just after 4 and insisting I sleep on the floor in their room which is fine but then I wake just before 5 and want to be in my bed for a bit and then I sleep right through the 5am alarm and then there’s the 5.30 alarm and E is then wanting me to hold her hand and then we’re kind of at 6am and I might have made my cup of tea by then but now E is up and wanting to either be on me and help or wanting to watch something which is lovely but distracting and often S is needing something around this time too so I am left with a full cold cup of tea and needing to go on a walk but it now has to be a short walk and should I even bother or should I try for a kettlebell workout later on. If work is due or if I have a lot of it to do, then that will win over any writing or exercise. 

Still, there is always hope. The last two weeks I have not really done any work Thursday night or Friday or Saturday and then Sunday night has been the first for some extra work and then I have slogged it out until Thursday morning. This week will be different. Small portions creates more balance. I plan on having some time not working – Thursday night was free, and Friday morning and most likely Friday night. The weekend, though, will have just a little bit in the mornings and evenings in order to keep this as a bit instead of taking over my life for four days. That’s the hope. 

Right. Where’s that kettlebell.

The Table

/ annamurray / Leave a comment

[Trumpet fanfare]Dooo doo doo DOOOO! As mentioned in the Mother’s Day post, the cloth tablecloth has been reinstated, and placemats introduced.

Thank you.

You may be perceptive enough to realise that this is a big deal for me. For a few years, we have used plastic tablecloths and only an occasional placemat. Plastic tablecloths are fantastic. Spray and wipe clean. Ready craft area. Ready craft material, too, apparently. Girls drawing on the tablecloth? Cool, look at that pattern – and did you just draw a letter? Wow! Girls practising their scissor skills on the tablecloth? Meh, it’s fine. Gee, this tablecloth is looking a bit terrible – that’s okay, let’s chuck it out and buy a new one. 

The environmental impact of us using plastic tablecloths was outweighed by the reduction in my stress levels. It was on the same level as using silicone plates and bowls for small children, and having my hot drink in a metal insulated cup instead of a grownup lovely ceramic cup. Things change when you have kids around. They can change back, but there is a time of life when you want to be surrounded by non-breakable, wipe-clean stuff.

Given the amount of craft and colouring and especially cutting that happens at our table on any given day, it didn’t seem to be such a good idea to move away from the plastic. But. Plastic can only be cleaned so much. It starts to wear out. Cleaning the area near where S sits was getting – well, impossible to clean. And it feels like she is nearly always at least a little bit unwell. Plus, plastic tablecloths are not circular, so the tablecloth would often be pushed around as C would try to get the dangling corner to stop tickling her legs (which I totally understand).

About a month ago, I made the decision. No more. It was time for us to progress – or regress? To ditch the plastic and go back to cloth. Ahhhhh. And I wanted placemats for everyone, to have at least a little protection for the tablecloth. I could have bought some. I could have made boring rectangular ones. But I have this pattern for leaf blankets which comes in different northern European leaf shapes and different sizes. I have made a leaf blanket for each girl, and I thought doing tiny sizes would be a fun placemat idea.

I was right. 

Now we have English Ivy leaves adorning our table. I have used fabric from the extensive stash, including using shorts that Glenn has worn that didn’t last. I am annoyed the shorts didn’t last but I’m so glad I can sew and save the material. Because my plan is to definitely definitely on Sunday evening clear the table and bundle up the tablecloth and the placemats, I knew I needed a second tablecloth and placemat set. Another set of stash-busting ivy leaves were made (slightly differently this time because they’re placemats not actual blankets). A little detail that makes me smile (and C absolutely loves) is that for the first set, I machine-embroidered EAT on the leaf stalks, and on the second set I put MANGE, as C and I are learning French. For the second tablecloth, though, I chose not to get out our lovely linen handprinted wedding present tablecloth. Instead, I bought a checked rectangular tablecloth from Kmart for $10, measured the diameter of our round table, added a bit for overhang and a bit more for hemming, and cut a circle out of the cloth. Bonus: I will be able to cut another circle to fit our table out of this cloth. 

My Sunday evening plan worked. Table cleared. Floor swept. Tablecloth and placemats bundled up and into the laundry for Monday morning washing. New tablecloth and placemats on the table. Monday morning, cereal and hot chocolates with marshmallows for girls… and of course, seeing S about to knock over her hot chocolate, my brain said, “Save the hot chocolate!” Yes. I spilt the hot chocolate all over the fresh everything. Sigh. Everything was washed and dried that day, though, so now we have slightly crumpled ivy leaves on a slightly crumpled, fraying-because-I-haven’t-hemmed-it yet-checked tablecloth. 

abThis has actually been almost ready to post since the middle of the week. I really wanted to take at least one nice photo, but haven’t managed to catch any nice photos of either set. I’m going to put that in the Too Hard (for now) Basket, and promise to share them here as well as on instagram as soon as there are some ready to share. Promise.

Mother’s Day 2025

/ annamurray / Leave a comment

We’ve just had How Was Your Easter. How was your Mother’s Day is really the next event that has a question posed that expects a positive and glowing rundown.  And while Easter has an expectation that the whole family or friendship group has worked together to make it an amazing four days, Mother’s Day … well, it’s different. How was your Mother’s Day expects pampering; expects sweet cards and pictures; expects the whole family to make mum feel special; chocolates and flowers and fluffy slippers and breakfast in bed.

I think it must be that way only in magazines and dysfunctional families. Not the classic dysfunctional family of split parents or addiction abuse. No, the dysfunctional family of a parent being overwhelmingly controlling to the point that everyone does what they say no matter what.

What a start to a post about Mother’s Day. Sorry. What I mean is, there’s what society puts forward as what should happen, and social media presents as amazing, and then there’s the reality of Family Life. One of my new favourite Instagram accounts shared a video to this effect. Paraphrasing a small part: Breakfast in bed, made by the kids, is meant to make me relax? Thanks, but I will be on high alert as you carry hot liquids up the stairs as I have not known you to go anywhere without spilling anything.

A lot of media brings out the old trope of mums can’t relax because they have to still clean everything because the kids and husband are useless and incapable. That’s getting so old and, quite frankly, offensive. I grew up surrounded by males – a dad, two older brothers and a younger brother. Various levels of weight was pulled at different times for all sorts of reasons, but we all are capable of cooking, cleaning and washing. Modelling is important, and this is not just thanks, mum but also thanks, dad. And I married someone later in life who was so used to doing his own cooking, cleaning and washing that both of us were a bit surprised when I moved in that someone else had done the washing or the cooking or the cleaning. We soon settled into our preferred roles within that, but I knew that when I went into hospital to have babies or because of Covid or because of an explosive postpartum infection that he would be able to keep the place and the children together.

But on a deeper level, that old mum can’t relax because the dad is useless thing just – well, yes. I accept that for some or even many relationships it’s like that. Expectations are important, and mental load for each party is important and not talked about enough. I am getting so sidetracked here. The point is, good relationships are built on love. If I love someone, I will do what I can to help them. If someone loves me, they will do what they can to help me. So yes. On Mother’s Day, I may have the option of putting my feet up a bit more, but I’m not going to be happy lounging around all day while everyone else serves me. 

Also in the real world, more and more people can’t have the whole day as a big family unit. Glenn works in retail. The retail world rarely pauses, and Glenn was working on Sunday. A relaxed breakfast would have had to have started at (doing some quick mental calculations here) um maybe 6am or so, and would not have been at all relaxing for him and therefore me if he had had girls helping him. They’re each becoming quite capable and definitely enthusiastic kitchen helpers but all at once – I know from chaotic experience that that is not going to be a relaxing start to anyone’s day. And Glenn doesn’t need any extra stress in his life, and definitely not when he’s trying to make my day a nice day and definitely definitely not before he has to go to work. Instead, he bought my favourite celebration breakfast (croissants) the day before and I organised the heating up and the cups of tea and the hot chocolates while Glenn and E organised the bandanna-wrapping of my presents.

I’m not sure if everyone is aware of just how sweet young kids can be when giving a present to someone. They are bursting out of their skin with excitement, especially if they are unaware of what’s inside, and also very much so if they DO know what’s inside. Little hands holding a gift up to your nose and saying “Happy Mother’s Day”, or in the case of S, “Happy birthday, mummy” is one of life’s sweet pleasures that I know won’t be forever. Glenn had taken the girls shopping on Saturday afternoon and apparently they were not only beautifully behaved, but also very thoughtful when choosing gifts for me. The big joke was that they would give me a hairdryer. S is in a very black and white phase right now. (“Are you a cheeky chops?” “NO! I’M S!”) After they had shopped, Glenn asked her, “Did we buy mummy a hairdryer?” And she looked at him, utterly bewildered, and shook her head. What planet was he on?! “Is it a nice pink hairdryer for Mother’s Day?” Vigorous shaking of the head. No hairdryer for me, but a number of pampering items as well as crafty things and soft slippers. This is one happy mummy.

We are finally in an era where C is old enough and capable enough and thoughtful enough to pamper me. She was rather fixated in her mind about what was going to happen, and I had to steer/direct her away from having all of us doing day spas with our feet in water in the (carpeted) living room, but we could come around to agreement. She and I stuck our fingers in little dipping pots and our feet in bowls of water on towels in the girls’ room and scrubbed and brushed to our heart’s content while having mummy-daughter chats. This is going to happen more. E came in and did a bit of wild 4yo joining in, and S came in for a cuddle. Later on, S did her own personal day spa in the bedroom and was not quite so careful with the water.

C and E helped me make the red velvet mug cake which we then had for morning tea. Girls watched movies and shows and did jigsaw puzzles and water painting and craft and the day travelled along nicely. We had a FaceTime with my mum (and dad) in which girls were lovely, and didn’t get into mischief in the background, and didn’t bicker in the background, and didn’t go crazy, but engaged in conversation with my parents and were their actual delightful selves and no-one jumped on anyone else’s head this time. 

Glenn didn’t have a whole day at work, and after prepping dinner for me, he had a rest while girls played together (I know!) and, it turns out, independently, as S turned on the water filter with no cup underneath the spout and just watched the water and listened to the sound of the water hitting the tiles until the kitchen floor was mostly covered in water before E went in and I heard “S! What are you DOING!” So yay for responsible big sisters and just enough towels in the cupboard to soak up the flood. This is why you can’t go to the toilet or do ANYTHING with a toddler around. Still, once that was dealt with, I could do some quick sewing (I know!). I was going to gush about the sewing project but it is honestly enough for its own post so suffice it to say that I made a set of placemats and we are back to using a cloth tablecloth. I brought out my special chair so we could all eat together at the table for dinner. My special chair was made by my grandfather, who was a carpenter, and it is beautiful. I explained to the girls (who hadn’t really seen or noticed it before) that it was special for me, and that my grandfather made it. At least three times a day since then, S has relayed to me that my grandpa made it for me. This brings happy tears to my eyes every time, especially as she looks most like his wife, my grandma.

So. Was I brought breakfast in bed and pampered and showered in flowers and able to relax on the sofa all day with beautifully behaved children and surrounded by beautiful extended family all celebrating motherhood? No. Would I ever want that? No. My life is not a magazine photo shoot, or a cartoon, or so self-centred that I want everyone to serve me and coddle me while I have no thought to anyone else’s comfort or wellbeing or mental state or their life at all. That’s not what motherhood is about, so a day where that is what it is made to be is simply hypocrisy. I know that next year or the year after, C will most likely have formed the idea that she must make me breakfast in bed and she must have her sisters help her, but it will be a far less stressful experience for everyone then and the idea of working together will be more important than making the day like a magazine shoot. In the long run, what do we want to remember? The stress of hearing everyone fighting over making your life perfect, or running around after you while they get stressed? No. A kitchen flood brought on by a 2yo experiencing something sensory? Yes, please. A gift that “wasn’t good enough”? Absolutely not, not ever. Cards made with love, unprompted, by children for you that you can keep forever? Oh my goodness me all of the yes. 

As a side note, I am about five days late in posting this. Not that I have a deadline or a real schedule, but there is a limit on how much after Mother’s Day one can post about Mother’s Day. The last few weeks have been wild, with at least three sick people in the family on any given day. I had hardly any voice on Saturday and absolutely none on Sunday. Nights have been unsettled, and dealing with sick children at 2am, 3.40am, 4.08am, 4.26am and 4.58am usually means I don’t wake up in time to do anything before exercising, or that I don’t even wake up to exercise before girls need breakfast. I feel a little bit smashed but here’s to getting back on track, at least for a few days.

On Movement and Monsters and Music

/ annamurray / Leave a comment

There have been a few things happening lately that do not seem at all newsworthy. By that I mean, they are not newsworthy. They are not the kind of thing to do a Facebook post about or shout from the balconies or make a note in the diary. The sort of thing, though, that I will tell my mum about. The sort of thing that I will chat about with Glenn in the microseconds of conversation we get these days. The sort of thing that makes up the stuff of our life, that we will look back on in a few months and a few years and many years and reminisce.

Recently, my girls stopped walking. Not entirely, of course, but if they are not keen on something, their feet stop and all their core muscles fail and they are suddenly slumped on my sofa like a Dali painting. This would occur for getting dressed, or being told to go to the toilet for a tactical wee before we head out to do something fun, or having a bath. Fortunately, I also discovered at this time the power of the piggyback and horsey rides and cuddle walks.

Cuddle walks had been around for a while – since C was a toddler, I guess – but she had started to request to be carried like she was a kitten or like she was a baby or like she was a baby bird or like she was a baby unicorn cuddling a mermaid and it was getting wild. And she expected me to remember what every one of these holding positions was. I would have a blank in the heat of the moment. She would get upset with me for doing the bird hold instead of the kitten hold. Bedtime would be ruined. 

I can remember how to do a piggyback each time, though. Once the younger two saw me doing piggybacks for C, they wanted in too. It is much easier doing piggybacks for them. They are more like koalas on my back, warm and compact and solid, and they are not as daredevil so they hang on for dear life as I “go faster” by doing lots of little steps down our rather short hallway to the toilet. S loves having a piggyback to the bath after dinner, which means climbing onto my sofa then climbing onto my back so I can transport her down the hallway to the toilet. Pre-bath wee, bath, get dried and dressed and teeth done, then she will announce in my face “I WANT A PIGGYBACK” and screamlaugh running back down the hallway to the Piggyback Station (formerly known as my sofa arm but here we are) to climb up and onto my back so I can do little steps back along the hallway to her bedroom which is just opposite the bathroom. 

I think C has realised that she is more like a leggy giraffe than a koala and so she likes to do horsey rides on my back instead. Although I much prefer her sitting on my back, often wrapping her lower legs around my midsection and also not hanging on (work that core!), to having her do a piggyback where she doesn’t really hold on with her legs but wraps her arms around my neck. That said, my knees are copping it. I have a much closer view of the carpets. Even though we vacuum daily, it’s not enough. 

Speaking of C and of movement, C was given roller-skates for her birthday. I think they might be her most favourite thing ever in the history of the world. After several afternoons clomp-gliding down the hallway while I was working, punctuated by crashes that were always followed by “I’M OKAY”, on Friday afternoon she had a go outside for the first time. There have been a few more outside skating sessions since then, too, where I hold her hand for the most part and apparently twist her wrists when she is about to fall over and she is skating over my toes. She has a long way to go, but I am so, so impressed by her resilience and persistence. This is something that she is finding difficult to get going and it is not at all coming naturally to her, but her only pouts have been at me for walking too fast or too slow or (inadvertently) twisting an arm.

Moving on to monsters. I mentioned recently that S had had a scary episode one night. The next night, as well as me reading Ruby Red Shoes to her, Glenn gave S an LED tea light and showed her how to brandish it against any monsters. Very sweet voices were soon calling out, “Go away, monster!” These tea lights are perfect. S still uses a dummy – and by using the singular, I really mean she usually has only one in her mouth (sometimes two just to be funny), and preferably 1 or, better yet, 2 in each hand. The tea light is the same kind of size as a dummy and has an interesting feel thanks to the fake flame, so now S prefers one hand to be holding a tea light while she goes to sleep. C likes to have one in her new lantern. E likes to have one next to her on the floor or on the desk. We use a salt lamp in the girls’ bedroom but now we have little spots of extra warmth thanks to monster-repelling tea lights. 

Moving on to music. Glenn and I are both violinists. He still plays and has gigs here and there. I do not. There are so many of my former colleagues who have managed to have kids and still teach and perform and do gigs but it was just not possible for us. I mean, after C was born I went back to teaching and that was fine – “fine” as in, acceptable – but two big things shifted. One was that I just didn’t have the zest for teaching anymore. I am very firmly of the belief that teachers have to really want to be a teacher. If they don’t, they don’t teach as well and students don’t learn as well and then students don’t want to learn at all and teachers might as well drink tea and crochet. I lost the zest and I knew I should stop. The other big shift, when my just-7-year-old was about to be turning 2 – so five years ago – yup. Pandemic. Parenting in a pandemic was hard. Trying to teach in a pandemic was hard. Trying to teach while having a young child at daycare during a pandemic was super ultra hard. So when E was born, I didn’t go back to teaching. Even though I absolutely loved it when I was doing it, this was clearly the right choice as I do not miss it at all. 

Buuuuuut I had C start violin lessons last year, learning with my lovely sister-in-law, Alys. E soon started mini lessons, too. We went for a Saturday morning lesson time. Glenn was either working or getting ready for work or needing to cocoon himself from being at work, so violin lessons were always a mummy and three girl event.  This meant that if one was sick (or two or three or three plus me), then no lessons. This was a frequent situation. Sporadic lessons meant little progress, which meant little enthusiasm, which meant no practice and a frustrated mummy. When Alys and my brother moved to the other side of town, I decided not to keep our spot and just move on.

When we did have good practice weeks though towards the end of last year, I had switched gears. I stopped being a stand-off mum, letting C do the practice as if I knew nothing about violin. I did what I had said to myself at the start that I would not do and I got back into teacher mode. Violin practices turned into lessons. When I’m in violin teacher mode, I am a different person, and I had C laughing and doing what was needed and making progress until one of her sisters dared to come in.

This year had been quite light on in terms of practice. I just wasn’t going to force it. Then, out of the blue, E said that she wanted to play her violin again after dinner. We didn’t do after dinner but after lunch on Saturday. Then S wanted a go, clearly not wanting to miss out on this thing that she could tell that she would definitely be able to have a go at, and then C was really keen to get back into it, too. Violin happened on Saturday and Sunday, with the usual mayhem of three girls and two violins and one xylophone (surprise!). I’m still not sure how to get violin in during the week, but weekends seem to be a good start.

What We Read This Week (30/03/2025)

/ annamurray / Leave a comment

Do you believe in ghosts? If you had asked me 10 years ago, my answer would have been a firm “No”. Absolutely not. Except, of course, for the Holy Ghost if we’re using the 1662 prayer book. Or that time when one of my older brother’s friends died suddenly in a car crash and he says she came to visit him that night. But no. 

And then Glenn’s mum passed away, and even though C was not yet one, I am quite sure that all 3 of us saw Sioban that next night. C wasn’t talking yet, so this isn’t confirmed, of course. But what I saw – Sioban in her near-death skeletal body, but calmer because that battle was over, and dressed in a long swishy skirt with a colourful top – matched what Glenn described he saw. 

Fast forward to a few months later, and C was now in the second bedroom to sleep. She woke up terrified one night, pointing with a look of horror at the wall next to the door. I couldn’t see anything other than what was always there, but she could clearly see something. 

Fast forward even more to Monday night, and S woke up terrified. I got her out of the cot for a cuddle and she did exactly what C did about 6 years ago, but she could articulate “Scary” and “I not going in the cot”. A total of 2 hours sleep for me that night, with S falling asleep on me on the sofa while singing Skidamarink at nearly 4am.

Tuesday night, and I was really apprehensive that I may have S refusing to sleep at all. I brought out the big guns. The secret weapon. I read her Ruby Red Shoes, and then Ruby Red Shoes Goes To Paris. She fell asleep early in Paris (but I kept reading it to E who is now absolutely loving them). The other thing that helped was a little fake tea light that Glenn showed her how to hold up and say, “Go away, Monsters!” So, you know, we’re all set. This evening, though, she did say to me that she isn’t going in her cot because of the ghost so a few mysteries have some sort of – explanation? That doesn’t seem right. I’ll think on it.

So Ruby books are very much back in the favourite pile. Middle of the night wakes, and S wants me to read her “The bunny books”. Sometimes she will tell me to lie down! You need to sleep! And she takes the books from me and sits up with her soft bunny on her lap and reads them to the bunny while I dutifully and exhaustedly lie down. I am so, so glad that C would ask for these books everysinglenight for months on end, because it’s hard reading a book in the dark when all your body wants to do is lie down in your own bed and curl up with closed eyes and sleep, but when your brain gets the cue from the picture and you can just recite the words for that picture, it is easier. I confess, there are often          long   pauses and sometimes I 

might miss a phrase

but thankfully S is not so familiar with these stories just yet so just gives me, I’m sure, a little eyebrow raise, like a teacher who is going to talk with me later about my work.

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.