small good things: writer girl

My daughter finished her stint as a Youngzine Young Editor a few days ago. She sent in her last essay, attaching it with a smiley face, as she always does. I am so proud of her. And she is so proud of herself!

The last essay, her sixth, was a hard one—she had already written 5 articles in 6 weeks and was pooped. Full-up with words, and all out of words, at the same time. She's only 9 after all—5 essays is a lot of work for a kid!

But we talked about it, and talked some more. Was it worth sticking it out to finish what she'd set out to do? This was the last week and it was only one more essay. We talked about commitments and obligations. Could she do it? If she wanted, she had the choice to write to them and pull out a week early. She did want to, but she didn't at the same time. There were long talks, hours spent researching the final essay and some writing…then more long talks, more researching, and tears. It was so tough, but she was so close.

So she stuck it out.

On Sunday morning (this being the third weekend in a row spent writing articles!) she finished her draft. She was 150 words short. I sat with her and gave her feedback. I asked questions and showed her areas that could use more detail. We looked at sources together. We sat so close on the couch, just two writer girls, working. And at lunchtime…she was done. Done! Wow. She wrote her last email, attached the article, and sent it off.

Huge smile!

We high-fived, and we hugged, and I thought, "How cool is this kid?" The work was as hard as high school, maybe even university. To meet a deadline every week for seven weeks but one—that's a pretty big deal for anyone. And she wrote her butt off, every single time. Worked so hard, learned so much, was so focussed, and she persevered to the end. What an amazing girl. What an inspirational human bean.

Here are my girl's articles. I hope you enjoy reading them as much as I do!

Australia Creates Biggest Marine Park

Mantas: Friendly Giants of the Sea

An Ancient Art Gallery Discovered

Happy Birthday, Gustav Klimt!

Temple of the Night Sun

Friends again: Bottlenose Dolphins Unite

(All photos are courtesy of Youngzine. I really, really like this magazine. It's wonderful, and an awesome resource. Not only are the editors kind, generous and helpful, but at the magazine's heart is the education and empowerment of kids. All of my favourite things!)

5 senses

Things I happened to…

See.

We watched a movie last night. We hardly ever watch movies and we never watch tv. When I say never, I really mean never! The tvs all went to digital this month in Australia. We'd been thinking we needed to get a set-top box to convert our old analog images (little people walking along that high wire, all the way to our house! Where they would put up their little sets and move about inside our box, just for us. We always felt so special), into digital (all those people shrinking, turning into ones and zeros, all saying, 'But wait…wait…'), but we never did.

We never bought the box, much less a new television. Ours is over 10 years old. It's a fossil. Where's it supposed to go now? Is there a play park for defunct things, things like walkmans and the egg beaters you whirr by hand? I imagine our tv shyly entering… 'Hello?' it calls. The other tvs wave shyly back. There's a special corner for them, I imagine. Somewhere they plug themselves in…and in the crackle of nothing, there are the ghosts of the people who used to live there, moving about silently inside. 

We watched a dvd on our new computer. Why? It seemed easier, in the moment, to do it that way. And this is how you make these huge changes in your life. One moment you're in your old life, and then, just like a train being rerouted, a click shifts the tracks, and you head into the new. At some point, maybe years later, you go, "Remember when? When we used to watch tvs, when we listened to CDs, when we warmed up food on the stove, when we washed dishes by hand, when all we had were rocks to make fire and the wolves howled outside?"

It was a movie called Moon, a sci-fi film with Sam Rockwell. I'm not a sci-fi sort of person. I'm not a scary/spooky movie person either. I don't like to be shocked or overly nervous. But I'd heard this movie was great, and I'm a Sam Rockwell fan. It was worth it. It was unnerving in this delicious way, listening to the spooky music, knowing (sort of) and not knowing what's going to happen. There's a man, Sam, who is stuck alone on the dark side of the moon (or IS he? Oooh.). There's the grey of the moonscape and the trundling of the moon rover and the visions Sam starts to have… and then it gets kind of surreal. And kind of sad and kind of beautiful too. I totally went with it—I got hooked. I'm very glad I did.

We stayed up too late watching, of course.

One day, maybe we'll look back and say, "Remember? When we stayed up too late, watching Moon? And we didn't care because then we went to bed and whispered to each other as the children slept, as the night crawled into morning? And the last thing we said before sleep was, 'I love you.' Remember?"

Hear.

I just found a new band. Oh, they are lovely. They make you bounce. They lift you and make you smile. It's easy to love them. Because lift, bounce, smile and love are the things you always hope to have in your day.

Someone commented on this video: "This is what happiness feels like." Don't you agree, now that you've heard and bounced and smiled?

Taste.

This is just some of the vegan yumminess we've been loving recently!

Porridge with pear, apple and banana.

Home-made muesli with flaxseeds, chia seeds, pepitas, slivered almonds, psyllium husk, and oats, served with banana on rice flakes. (served with four milks—we're crazy that way. Almond, rice, soy and oat—all very yummy and all easily available)

Almond banana fritters served with real maple syrup!

Brown rice with lentil bean mix, sliced avocado on the top. 

Sweet potato and cannellini bean soup.

Quesadillas and Nachos and Tacos—all topped with crazy amounts of guacamole!

Pad Thai—my favourite. Unbelievably scrumptious, noodles and veg and tofu with a magic sauce, made by my beautiful husband. 

And a recipe for you (because I know you'll love it)

Vegan Brownies from the very cool, and very funny Vegan Zombie website:

These are insanely, divinely, yummy. They work with gluten free flour too! We dazzled everyone at my son's party with them, and then a family got the recipe and made a batch for their school fete. How cool is that? It made me very happy, to think of all the vegany love spreading outward.

Touch.

Winter is truly upon us. It's cold here, lots of wind blowing, lots of rain outside. Heaters on inside, sitting in ugg boots and jackets inside, many jackets (for me) outside. 

But because we love the sea, and because it wasn't raining one day, we went to the beach to feel the wind. 

It was Glorious. 

Smell.
My children's skin, as I'm cuddling them. When I'm kissing them goodnight and their skin gives off that sweet, sleepy scent. I breathe in and everything is all right with the world.

and See, again.

My children's stories from the Just Image competition!

I love them, and I know I'm biased, but I think you'll love them too.

Frederic Bates, Late lights, 
1963, watercolour, brush and blue ink on paper, 32.4 x 29.1cm

Down Down Down

by my boy

Down down down—it seemed strange that he should fall that fast through water.

Great unfamiliar shapes shot past as he tumbled, head-over-heels, towards the bottom of the sea. The underwater inhabitants watched with curiosity as the alien trespasser fell through their midst.

A stream of bubbles blew out like a cape behind him as he fell. It was like some great monster was hiding in the depths, and with each mighty breath the sailor was sucked further downwards. Like a missile, he sped through the twilight zone into midnight. In the blink of an eye, all sunlight was shut out. Eerie glowing colours swam in and out of his vision.

At that moment, his need for air hit him. It started like a bed of hot coals sitting in his lungs, and grew into a raging inferno. He tried to swim up, up towards the surface, but he knew it was futile.

And then, the light flickered back on again, first as a soft blue-ish glow, then becoming a harsher, colder shade. And with the light came a new sensation, like he was below the monster now, and it was weeping for something lost. Its great silvery tears flowed over his body.

Finally, the need for oxygen became too much. The sailor blacked out. 

•

Slowly, the young man’s eyes swam back into focus. He was lying on a hard, cracked grey surface as great rivers of rain poured down on him from a turbulent sky. Fog swirled and twisted around towering structures, concealing shadowy forms amid its misty folds.

Suddenly, something swooshed past his fallen body, sending a great wave of dirty water crashing down on him. He cleared his eyes just in time to see a sleek black monster shooting through the darkness. Its great red eyes glared back at him before it was swallowed by the night. The sailor shuddered. Then he heard a voice.

“Oh my god! John, come over here!”

The voice was high and female, and had a foreign tinge.

“What is it? Oh my god!”

This new voice was deeper, but had the same foreign sound.

Someone bent over him.

“What’s your name? Where do you live? What happened?”

The sailor groaned.

“Prithee, good sir, I beseech you; where am I?”

He shook, hacked up a great gob of seaweed, and collapsed again into darkness. 

and…

The Dance Of The Brolgas

by my girl

The sky glowed red above the mountain tops. Underneath the setting sun the pool lay, soft and silent in the twilight.  It was still, reflecting the sky and the bunches of stars that poked their heads out into the world, dimly shining as they waited for the last streaks of sunlight to fade.

Then they came.

Dancing and calling came the brolgas. Waving their wings high, they sang. They shook their beaks and lifted their feet, scattering the water that leapt like tiny fish. The brolgas seemed to sing the moon into existence. Their song was powerful in a simple, beautiful way. The stars glimmered, smiling down at the dancing birds.

The brolgas, five of them, beat their wings and took great leaps in a circle, as the shining sphere of the moon rose into the sky, first low, over the mountains, then higher and higher.

One of the birds stretched its long neck, uncurling it to touch the moon, just gently, with its beak. It lifted its wings and brought them down again, letting out a burst of song.

And the other brolgas raised their heads and watched as the bird rose and circled above them.

Then they too beat their wings, once, twice, three times, and followed the brolga into the sky. The birds flew, giving swoops of song that were filled with the delicate power of the stars and the moon they had sung into life.

∞

and that's it…

(for now!)

here's to finding the joy in every moment you can,

with love from me to you.

so much to share

Boy, my last post was long (and sort of a little bit sad) wasn't it? I hope that you read it all the way through and saw things finished better than they began. Which is so often the case, don't you think?
(And if you haven't read it to the end, then…oops. Spoiler alert?)

You might like to know, and I think it's important to say,

that any sad I feel these days, is much smaller than it ever used to be (because I am learning…that sad is a part of happy is a part of breathing is a part of waking up and a part of me).
It passes more quickly (because I fight it less).
And smiles come much, much sooner than they used to (because I know they're on their way).

I am so unbelievably grateful for that.

I actually have even more to write about this journey, about my complicated companion Fear…and all the steps I've taken over the past 6 months to get better. And I am getting better, I am letting fear go. It's been an amazing and beautiful ride, in so many ways.

But I can't write any of that right now, because I have to make some

Very! Important! Announcements! 

instead.

Because that's how life is— isn't it? You sometimes feel all serious and want to address serious issues. Sometimes you get sad and think serious thoughts. Sometimes you have to make important (and serious) decisions. Sometimes you get slapped in the face by sorrow/fear/worry/grief and feel like you want to give up and then you have to get serious about saving your own life.

But in all this seriousness, all this staying focussed, and in all this getting better,

life keeps on happening.

Doesn't it?

Glorious, improbable, extraordinary life.

Filled with crazy goodness. And beauty and wonder and laughter and
surprises (large and little) that make you smile so big you are amazed your face has room.


So that's what's been happening here.

A whole lot of crazy, good life.

For example!

Announcement #1

My daughter has been accepted to be a Young Editor at Youngzine (our all-time favourite online magazine for kids) for the summer (our winter)!

She wrote an essay on being vegan recently and submitted it—Youngzine published her essay, and it generated a huge response from the readers. So then she applied to be one of their summer writers, and they said yes! She's working on her first story right now, and is so pleased (as well as a little nervous, truth be told). I'm so thrilled for her. Wow.

Announcement #2

My son has quietly become a jazz pianist.

He played a gig at a cafe the other day with his jazz combo (getting paid in soy hot chocolate, as all musicians should be, really). When he played his solos, my husband and I were blown away. How'd he learn to play like that?? I've heard him practicing in the playroom, and driven him to rehearsal. I've never really thought about what he was doing; it was his special thing and just a regular part of our lives. Now, possibly for the first time I saw him as a separate person, a musician in his own right. I had never seen him play like that before. Wow.

Announcement #3

Both kids submitted stories into the Just Imagine writing competition* at the city art gallery this year and…

(* wait! More info required! In this competition, you pick an art work to use as a prompt and write a story… it's sort of that simple. The rules state you are supposed to pick an art work in your category—there are four artworks for Grades 5-6, four for 7-8, and so on through high school. Well. Um. We didn't exactly stick to that. My son liked the 9-10 category, and my daughter, who's in Year 4, submitted in the 5-6 category. We did it 'cause we're rebels that way. All of us ninja writers, somersaulting through rules like they're laser lights in a musty museum. Did you see that back flip?!)

…yesterday they had the awards ceremony and

both kids won. Both their stories won "Best Story" for the artwork they picked! Wow. Both kids get their stories published in the paper, get a book voucher as a prize, and will have their stories displayed beside the artwork in the gallery for the next month. Wow. WOW.

Could I be prouder? I don't think so!

All these wonderful happenings (plus reading this great post by Christina) have led me to
another lovely epiphany.

And that is:

My kids are free, this minute, to realise any dream they might have.

They have the time, the support, the space, the resources, the energy

every single day

to be the people they want to be.

They can be journalists. They can be writers. They can be musicians. Right now. This second. Not later. Not when they're grown and done with their school years. Not even after school is finished for the day. Now.

They can be artists and web designers, explorers and Minecraft engineers. They can be vegan advocates and chefs. They can be mathematicians and jugglers and cat cuddlers. They can be beachcombers and cyclists. They can be dreamers and readers and sleeper-inners. They can be in their pyjamas all day, writing novels and playing piano and eating warm pasta at lunch and asking each other, "What would you wish for, if you only had one wish?" every single day, if they like.

They get to live outside boundaries, outside expectation, outside shoulds.

That's their "normal."

Even on the crinkliest, most serious days, this is their life,

our life,

in all its crazy goodness,

wrapped up in surprise and delight.

I'm linking this post to Owlet's beautiful Unschool Mondays

and to Christina's inspiring Interest-Led Learning blog (because her words inspired a comment which is now the central message of this post)  :)

the best story

My boy turned 11 yesterday!

That means he's ELEVEN.

A whole decade, plus a whole year on top of that.

I am the mother of an 11 year old. That means I've been a mother for ELEVEN years.


…When you write it

that many times

it seems kind of BIG, doesn't it?!


And I feel both amazed I've been a mother for so long

and insanely blessed to have had this

person in my life for this many years.


I think he's lovely.

He is the beginning of the best story I've ever written,

the one of Motherhood.


And this excellent, ever-so-fine day marks the beginning,

and the continuation,

of his own best story. My boy's own best Self.

blowing out the 'candles' on his birthday crumble

To commemorate, here's my favourite photo of us,

taken on our three day trip away to the mountains (photos to come!),

where we frolicked and celebrated and cuddled and explored and smiled so BIG.


Here we are, lit from within by fine-ness and joy,

and so much love!

Can you see the light of us? I do,

and it's a ribbon of

   silver.

And for those who wanted to read his wonderful story, a story that got published in the paper on his birthday,

(and thank you so much for the kind & beautiful comments in my last post!)

here

(below the painting that inspired it),

it is:

Paul Ryan
Welcome to the Jungle

SURVIVAL

They knew something was coming, though they did not know what that something was.

The sun had apparently decided it was not going to rise, and that was that. Meanwhile, clouds had taken its place. A roll of thunder shook them, as a long, snaking finger of lightning reached out towards the forest. Rain began to fall heavily, hammering into the ground like machine gun fire. Animals ran for cover, knocking into each other in their mad dash for shelter. The swollen river, once calm, thundered along, rolling and crashing. Lightning flashed and danced against an angry black background.

Suddenly, a bright red flame leapt up amongst the trees. It grabbed at wood and leaves, gobbling them up hungrily. Soon it began to reach for larger logs. The storm growled and tried its hardest to extinguish the fire. But it had no hope. Now, the fire roared, tearing down trees and growing larger with every bite. It smashed through the forest to the river. The fire reared in anger and dove towards the water.

It was not the only thing diving.

A feeble squeak rose from the carnage. A small, forgotten chick sat nestled in the leaves of a burning tree.

The birds had known something was coming. Now it was here, they had only one option. To flee. In the confusion, the little bird had been left behind. The flames climbed up the tree, crawled along the branch, and leapt at the chick. The chick scrambled for cover, and fell.

The cry hit the mother's ears like an audible nightmare. Without the slightest hesitation, she dove back towards the trees.

The chick seemed almost to fall in slow motion, tumbling and turning through the air. The flames extended towards it, waiting to engulf the tiny form.

Through the blinding smoke and blazing flames flew the mother. She extended her claws, ready to catch her child.

So did the fire. It reached out a flickering hand, thinking it had won.

But with a final burst of speed, the mother bird had her chick grasped safely in her claws. She rose back up to join the rest of the birds, and they left the burning forest.

Days later, when people came, they found nothing but a skeleton land, devoid of all life.

The forest was gone.  

at night

I seem to have become a night owl. I seem to be staying up later and later, sliding into the nightquiet like an animal into water.

Night is when stillness happens.

Night is when time opens up.

Sometimes at night I read: blogs, books, the paper. Sometimes but rarely I watch: tv, youtube. Sometimes and often, I listen to my favourite music. Often and almost always, I write my days and dreams down here.

But tonight I've been working on my stories. Writing, changing, planning, thinking, dreaming… Tonight I crawled inside my words and it felt so fine. So good to work on them. So good to write new words too.

When I'm writing it's like I'm inside my truest self. I become aware of everything, all around. My senses come alight and alive and everything—all around and inside me—feels like it fits.

Behind me and through the open window, I can hear the frogs clicking and popping by the pond. Out front, I hear crickets and the scuttle of a possum. The windows are open and a breeze drifts in.

The cat and the kitten rustle and wrestle behind me. They won't leave each other alone. When the tussle becomes too big, I throw a soft pillow. They scramble, tear apart. But minutes later, they're back together. I'm still trying to work out if it's love.

I have left my stories for a long time, let the book-in-the-making wait. Because in all the busy and the beautiful, it feels too hard to fit the "One More Thing" in that is my writing. But tonight, I roused myself. I made myself dig out those words, waiting as they were on a hardly-ever-used computer. I read, altered, added… I mused and created in the nightdark for hours.

And lightness came. And a feeling of clear and clean and true. I thought, Here I am.


.

a (not so) quiet week

A quiet week on this blog can mean so many things…

Like it could mean

my thoughts crept up on me and ambushed me in the night. They chloroformed me and took me to their secret lair where they held me hostage for about 5 days. They stood over me and said words I didn't like. They poked at my dark spaces and made them come out. Then the dark and my doubts hulked over me and said, "So what could you possibly have to say for yourself?"

And I, having become tiny, said, "nothing."

Until…I took myself back to bed this morning and felt the dark wave rising. Then…slowly, and with one hand over the other, I listed the things that were good, about my life and about myself. I listed them and I gave myself permission to look at each and every one. And then…

I believed them.

At which point the dark stopped gleefully rubbing its hands together, and the negative thoughts looked startled and afraid.

And, when I sat up, opened the curtains of my room, and sat to play with the kitten, the dark and the negative and the sad simply

scuttled off.

A quiet week on this blog could ALSO mean

that we were very very very busy!

It could mean that

a boy played music at the mall again,

this time with his latin jazz buddies and his gorgeous dad

 (this man danced through almost the whole concert. Gorgeous)

A quiet week could mean

we had to go on a wonderful excursion to Jumbulla Aboriginal Discovery Centre

where we watched films,

painted dreaming stones (with symbols you can learn more about here),

saw Indigenous art and learned about hunting tools,

pretended to hunt animals with balls, watched a man tell stories about a spooky Hairy Man, drew patterned hands, and

learned how to pull a bush leaf without cutting our hands (and the leaf could then be used to weave baskets. Very cool).

What a great excursion that was!

(and three days later, this wonderful space closed down, 

because it just wasn't getting enough people in to cover costs… 

A huge shame. It was lovely there.)

A quiet blog week could also mean

my boy was busy finishing Life of Fred: Fractions! 

He worked so hard on those final chapters and Bridges. I sat with him the whole time, learning alongside him, helping him through the hard parts, bringing him Gatorade and mopping his brow… (well, okay, maybe not the last two). We were together as he answered the last Bridge question, as I checked over his answers and declared him DONE! and together as we hooted and hollered and whooped. My boy was so, so pleased with himself. That book got HARD at the end!

Then, he rested. And two days later, my boy decided to start the next Life of Fred book! It's Decimals and Percentages. A new workbook was bought, and both workbooks covered (with a hand-drawn copy of the Life of Fred cover). And a new adventure began…

A quiet week could also mean

we had to go to pottery class 

where beading was the order of the day!

these beads prepared earlier 

by our beautiful pottery teacher

And…

we had to go to writers workshop (not just one but three!) 

where kids chatted and shared stories and talked about books and poetry and where they 

wrote.

And…

we had to play all those games …

Doubles Wild 

Menagerie

(plus Zeus on the Loose, and our Family Math games, all of which I forgot to photograph!)

Plus

art and stories 

had to be created

by a girl (at her truly beloved desk)…

And 

a LegoQuest had to be attempted

by a boy who loves his Lego…

(Coral reef, complete with submarine and lost treasure!)

And finally,

music

had to be heard…

performed by Synergy Percussion,

in a hall in our much loved art gallery (which used to be the town hall I think),

and watched from the secret balcony above…

It was a magical show.

So,

a quiet week on this blog might mean 

I have slipped into sad…just a little (and not enough to stop all the doing)…

then found my way back out,

and it might ALSO mean

that our days have been bursting at the seams

with full

and fun

and learning 

…and joy. 

I'm so glad I got to live and breathe and see these overflowing days, 

because every single one of them was, and is, beautiful. 

Seriously. They always are

when you stop and list the good things, 

one by one by one. 

lit

Today I shared a poem I love with my writers workshop companions

on the first workshop of the year


Today I shared a poem and laughed self-consciously

at the fact I

got

goose-bumps all over from

reading it


Today children grinned in a circle as we

talked and shared and read

together


And their whole bodies

seemed alight


like someone had gone and put candles inside them

or glow-in-the-dark stars


And when they smiled

the light shone out


in a clear

straight

line


From them to me.

.

conversation

This morning's conversation with my girl went like this (as we sat on the couch, morning light coming in, birds calling, cuddle time):

My girl (looking at all my books on the shelf): Why are books so big? How can people write so much?

Me: Well, people write every day, for years.

How do people think of the characters and all the ideas?

They just pop into people's heads. Or they see or hear something that's interesting. They keep journals of all their thoughts, and the things they see. I used to do that when I walked to work, or took the bus. I saw lots of things. … pause… I need to write more stories, I think.

Yeah! You should write a picture book. I'll illustrate it.

That sounds like a good idea! You want it to be about cats?

No. It doesn't need to be about cats. I'm just not very good at monkeys. Or people.  

Illustrated by my girl

first day

So what did the first day of a brand-new school year look like in our house?

Well, it started slowly… 

with 

a sleep in (by a boy)

a cuddle with a kitten (by a girl)

and some breakfast.

And then…

the day revved right up. 

With some storywriting by my girl

and illustrations drawn on Paintbrush

and a replica of Mittens the Kitten 

made by my girl with pipecleaners

and many photos taken by my girl for a book she's planning

by which time a slow-waking, book-reading, breakfast munching boy and his very busy sister 

were ready to do some

Maths.

In the form of Life of Fred for my boy

and chatting about numbers for my girl

as well as a few good rounds of Zeus on the Loose for all of us.

The Maths left the kids a little bit wide-eyed and panicky at first. My boy who'd been learning a'plenty the past two months, thought he'd forgotten EVERYTHING about fractions. 

He (who's nearly done with Life of Fred: Fractions) tried the Bridge, panicked, and put himself back 14 whole chapters to revise. Then he took himself to bed. Then he brought himself back to his desk and wept a little. 

And I said, Hey. I think it's going to be okay. You've had a big break and you're feeling rusty. I totally know what that feels like. Wanna do this together? 

Well, the first couple of questions were like starting an engine which hasn't been turned over in a while.

The next few questions had him going, "Oh, yeah, that's right, I remember!"

And then…he was flying. 

I sat with him and we did two Bridges, to confirm he was running well, no engine trouble—all was checked and okay. At the end, he beamed. 

My girl thought the world was ending, just a little, when I asked about numbers bigger than 170.  But we just talked about them, talked our way up to 300 to see how the numbers traveled and how that felt. And we noticed that numbers bigger than 100 don't actually grow two heads then bite yours off. Kind of a relief! 

Zeus on the Loose was fun. Just that. 

Then it was time for 

ASTROMONDAY!

and space journals had to get title pages

and stickers on the front.

And we asked ourselves:  What IS Space? 

And the kids wrote their ideas down and we looked through some books and they wrote some more and we discovered that

Space and the Universe are actually just a little bit different. Who'd've thunk it? :)

And then all the delicious space books from the library had to be pored over for a long while!

THEN

it was time for lunch 

and  

time to swim.

Because it's super HOT here! Summer has come in with a beautiful bang! 

I love love love summer, even the baking days. 

Everyone else in my family sweats and says, "I can't wait for winter." 

I just take in the heat like a snake on a rock. Try to store it up for the cold months ahead. 

We did laps,

we played,

and my girl ate an apple beside the pool side as my boy and I frolicked.

And

THEN?

Well, we went to the library of course!

To research for this week's Fun Writing Challenge 

It was already 3.30 and I said, "Are you sure you want to do this now?"

"YES!" said the kids. "OF COURSE!" said the kids.

The writing challenge is this:

"If you could live anywhere other than Australia, where would you live and why? Do some research and write down some interesting information."

Well, that turned, via my enthusiastic kids, into: 

"I'm going to research Country X, write up my notes in a special notebook that I'll cover and when I'm done with this country, I'm going to do another one!"

Which means "This week's Fun Writing Challenge," may take us an indefinite, glorious, open-ended amount of time. Just as we like it. :)

So we went to the library and I introduced the kids to the Reference Section. The kids picked a country and they bent their heads over their notebooks and they wrote things down, right then and there. My girl is doing the U.K. and my boy, who is addicted to all things Italian, is doing—you guessed it—Italy!

And they were so happy.

… 

Oh,

you thought we were done?

That's crazytalk! Because

THEN

we zipped off to my son's first band practice

where he saw some great friends

and played timpani and the tom-toms 

and 

while my girl and I waited 

there was doodling on the grass with friends

and flying of paper aeroplanes with cats drawn all over them.

AND then,

we went home…

to cuddle kitten and cat, and feed the dog and draw some more, 

and read more and more about space on the couch

and have dinner.

Then a boy and his dad walked the dog  

as the sun set and the crickets and cicadas and buzzy things began to sing

and my girl drew

and I played with a kitten.

And

then…?

It was the end of a first day and an always day. 

A day the kids leapt at with both hands and 

with their whole

hearts.

A day they could dream about as they slept. 

Good night, all. Happy dreams!