In the spring: September 2022

While colouring in some bees on a Bluey picture, Master E says: “Mum, did you know that one time on Play School they said ‘native bee’?”

This afternoon we made a snap decision to drive up to the top of Memorial Hill in order to get a better view of the storm coming over. The inky blue clouds on the western horizon fast became a misty grey, enveloping the town and us, as we huddled in the car on the hill. With nervous excitement, Master E squealed at the first few cracks of lightening and peels of thunder. But then, instead of the anticipated wild show, it just rained – regular, ordinary, heavy rain.

B and I reclined our seats and pretended to snooze for a few minutes while we listened to the fat drops on our roof. The boys went a bit wild; giggling, climbing in and out of their seats. Nothing else much happened, so we drove home.

The boys rushed inside to watch Dinotrucks, Miss E curled up in her favourite armchair by the window and scrolled on Pintrest and B and I moved the chicken coop out into the yard ahead of our hens expected arrival the next morning. Black slate roofs sparkled across the neighbourhood in the bright post-storm sunlight, stout chimneys reflected in the glistening sheen, and raindrops bounced their way down drain pipes – tap-tap, tap-tap-tap, tap.

One pot roast chicken for dinner with paprika and rosemary. Very simple and very tasty. Miss E set the table with Master E on her back (he was her ‘back-pack’).

At bedtime, Master E declared that he wanted to sleep ‘upside down’. So I tucked him in to the tail end of his bed while he squealed and squeaked with delight: “This is the bestest night of my life ever“.

Woke up feeling panicky again this morning. That has happened a lot this year actually. There’s no specific reason to be panicky. Everything following our move has gone well, mostly well, or well enough at least. But everything still somehow feel tenuous and delicate, like a nest of baby birds: dependant, needy, and not all likely to survive.

Got ready for church this morning thinking – I am just such an ordinary Mum in possession of the ordinary superpower of getting small people dressed, fed, loved and cared for, but sadly not in possession of the extraordinary superpower of always looking immaculate.

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