every ten weeks i wonder why i get like this.
i was going to write a list of everything we've done this year.
stirring, stirring.. roasted aubergines and capsicums and courgettes into a ratatouille, intuitively seeking therapy, a cave, unexpected introvertedness.
the coriander has bolted to seed.
there are two lonely boxes of christmas presents, lovingly wrapped by little people, hefted home from skool, that i cannot begin to negotiate.
two days ago, i birthed a baby.
mum and dad will be here for christmas and dad has written a menu for the week, which is really cool, cos i was about to book us into maccas.
the rhythmic back-and-forth of ironing his new shirts, persuading the return of crispness.
after a twenty five year longing, my yellow volkswagen beetle is here. she is #KTYBUG
tickets to the second hobbit movie, kids ecstatic.
i think my phone needs a de-bug cos it's gone all spelly jelly.
she gifted me scented candle wax that wafts christmas through the entire house. she's now got five piercings, and is planning to leave home in midsummer.
he is taller than me and his hair is curling, just like mine did. at the end of midsummer he's taking his piano and his beautiful sensitivity to the big smoke, following in his brother's footsteps.
it took me a year to cut the apron strings the first time around.. how can two kids leave at once, and how to be a mother now?
he sang and danced onstage a number of times this year, greased lightning enlightening his soul.
a début in the whiskey lounge and daily soundbites of mum, you have to listen to this! you'll love it and guess what? i can now play it!
he got promoted to first clarinet and graduated year seven as proxime accessit. still completely boyish, spends all day writing another chapter and inventing anime with a feather and ink.
we left the bunting up in the classroom, but we stripped the walls bare.
packing, packing.. paraphernalia for a beach-week-hideaway.
i think i'll feel more presenty on the flipside.