I am five kinds of weary.

Here is a tomato from our garden.

(pr. tom-MAH-toe)

Clunk. Zzzzzzzzzz...


Things I am not going to miss:*

My one square foot of kitchen work space.

That's it, folks. That was all we had. For every meal. No matter how many people we were cooking for.

*At least I hope I'm not going to miss it. I am making what I think is a reasonable assumption that the next kitchen will be better. Of course, on my wish list for the next house I have "Large kitchen with loads of cupboard and bench space with a massive central maple-topped kitchen island and a cast iron pot hanger [filled with expensive cooking pots] overhead." I will post a photo of it when we get there.


Things that hurt:

bottom, forearms, hands, backs of the legs, some joints in my feet, a random ache in one thigh, my fingernails, lower back, heart.


That's gardening for you.


*Suburbia is not the place for the Great Panoramas of the World. Yet, this one—this street, fence, stop sign, tree etc.—has accompanied me through some of the big stuff. Becoming a mother being the least of them. I think it deserves a little recognition for services rendered.


Of the many decisions I made today, one was whether the house would be more likely to rent (at the price we want) if I left the glow-in-the-dark trail of stars on the bathroom wall.

A hard one.


We are trying to get through the frozen peas. The Costco-sized packet of peas. All 45kg of them.

Part of Tiny's occasional photographic series "Mummy Picking Stuff Up Around the House."
This is 1/37.

There are probably other more important things to focus on, but under times of duress I tend to set abstract goals. It helps with the rising anxiety of not knowing which list is most important to start ticking off first.

Fridge wisdom. Advice to myself as a young mother.

For the Australian audience, all Costco packets of food, any food, are roughly 45kg and are designed to feed your family of 19 for three weeks.

Kong. Late afternoon.*

We are making steady progress.

(On the packing as well as the peas.)

* I never promised that the photos and the stories would be related in any way.


I often write blog posts in my mind. I'm not sure why, but I do. I feel the tug of this space strongly at the moment. I think it is a way for me to drop anchor when I am feeling adrift.

Thames River, 2014

We are moving. I am moving for the fourth time in seven years. Tiny is moving for the first time in his life. It is all very...well, you know. Very.

Ground hog. Stretch limo.

I am photographing our last month in London. It is a creative project to remind me to pay attention, to stop and breathe amidst the whir. (It is also a little attempt to stop the march of time even though I know it won't make a whit of difference.)

I thought I'd share some of them with you. There is a bit of everything.

We have certainly celebrated the saving graces of Employment in the Nick of Time.

But there is an end of an era-ness that is leading to some eye leakage when defenses are down at the end of the day.

Singing. "Could I have this dance for the rest of my life?"

Oh, life –

you exhaust me.


Me: What would you like Santa to bring you?

Tiny: [Sitting in the large polystyrene box he uses as a canoe] Popsicles, a rocket ship and 142 snacks!

PS: You may be tempted to ask, "What is that dog thinking?"


Merry is everywhere.*

Even in the midst of editing a critical discourse analysis on current health care practice.

*Two points for anyone who can find it.


Two years in and he is still a little in awe of the neighbour's big blow up Santa.

But he's up to the challenge of squeezing Rudolph's nose.

On a related note, this is what blogging everyday does to a woman.