Coffee or tea?

“Coffee or tea?” she asks and then laughs as she interprets my pause.  Accurately. “It’s okay — we have an espresso machine, I’m not offering you instant.”

coffee or tea

And with that, I accept the coffee. My caffeine-addled brain anticipating the jolt.  Addicted to all the fast, fast, fast — the more, more, more.  Coffee suits my lifestyle. Cramming just a little bit more into each moment than is altogether healthy. Using that shot of espresso to push myself just that tiny bit further.

Tea isn’t like that. Tea is cosy and slow. Tea takes its time. It steeps and deepens and takes its sweet while to achieve full flavour.  You don’t rush tea. It’s not the kind of drink you slam down so that you can get to the next thing.  It’s the kind of drink that you take your time with. It goes well with books, chats, craft and late night television.  Read more

When the silence is actually drowning

when the silence is drowning post natal depression

It’s been a couple of months since you saw each other. She had her third baby a few weeks ago and you have been meaning to visit. You sent a card and some flowers and received a thankful text message with a series of gorgeous photos. You wonder if she’s doing okay and make a mental note to phone.

Then your toddler throws cereal on the floor, your phone buzzes with a message from work and your seven year old reminds you of a project that has to be completed that day. All of your busy crowds out thoughts of your friend and her three tiny children.

A few days later you see a Facebook status update and she looks all happy and glowy with her new baby and you exhale. It’s okay. She’s okay. She doesn’t need you. Read more

An open letter on behalf of my two year old

This is an open letter. A letter to restaurants that say they are child friendly — until children start acting like children. To the people that don’t have children — and think they come with an off switch (hint: they don’t). To the the people who have grown up children — and have completely forgotten what toddlerhood looks like.

This is an open letter to let you know about two year olds. Average, gorgeous, busy, squishable, frustrating, lovable, wonderful two year olds. It’s about my two year old.

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The Emergency Room

the emergency room

It was the coughing that brought me back from the edge of a dream. “Hush, hush little one,” I said softly. Selfishly wishing my two year old back to sleep so that I could return to my own.

But the coughs didn’t subside. They became hoarser and louder.  And then I heard the panic in my baby boy’s cries as he struggled to catch his breath between dry coughs.  Read more

How to turn your camping holiday into a glamping holiday

We are a family who camps over Easter. I’m looking forward to camp fires, quiet days, beautiful surrounds, no internet, starry skies, the chance to put on a jumper and watching the kids get back to being kids. I embrace camping. On a certain level. You see, I prefer my camping on the glamping side.

Turn camping into glamping

Here’s how to make your camping trip into a glamping trip.

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In defence of clutter

 in defence of clutter

During the past few weeks the kerbs in our neighbourhood have been piled high with an assortment of unwanted junk. It’s the days of kerbside collection and slow ute drive-bys. I was tempted by a few items on those piles. Wicker bed heads crying out to be re-purposed. Chairs that could be comfy again with some new upholstery. All the discarded prams, grubby but otherwise perfectly functional. Abandoned, tiny, little bikes with owners that had outgrown them. Hundreds of dollars once spent and now forgotten. I felt a keen sense of wanting to rescue all these things. Then I remembered that my time was limited and anything gleaned from the roadside would probably end up in next year’s kerbside collection.

It got me thinking about clutter. About the very human practice of obtaining things and then seeking freedom from them. Read more