Five Tim-tams
I’ve just polished off five tim-tams in a row. Not depressed - they were blackforest flavour and i think depressed calls for the dark chocolate variety. But there must be something getting at me for FIVE tim-tams. And The Bill hasn’t even started yet.
We’re thinking about moving to New South Wales. While I’m looking forward to this possibility and building a garden, looking out at the trees and the cows and my best friend’s house, i feel something wrenching at me. I think it’s the house.
I was trying hard not to dissolve into a blubbering mess as I picked the tiny bees and ladybeetles off the Squid’s wall as she slept. I put them up not long after she arrived. I chose them so carefully with misguided visions of sticking closely to the ladybeetle/insect theme.
They have remained anchored there as she gnawed her way through her cot, dribbled her milk down the wall, slept in every possible direction in her big bed and was read endless stories leaning up against those insects.
I wondered if she would notice.
She woke the next day cranky and crook with a cold. She lay in an untidy tangle of sweat and hair, and as she flung her hand about, i noticed a tiny ladybeetle stuck to the back of it. She has not yet noticed the rest have flown away.
I think of each of those tim-tams as a memory of our first and my only child who has lived only in this house:
1. Her first day at home. She slept for three hours curled up in her bassinet on the couch. How easy it was going to be, I thought. The first and last time she has ever done that in the daytime.
2. Driving with her in the car for the first time. It was like wearing a new engagement ring. Surely everyone was looking at her. And yes, she was not borrowed, she was mine - ours.
3. The Squid at one, sitting fair in the middle of her toybox reading a book - upside down.
4. The Squid standing on a plastic chair in the paddling pool, not long talking. “Hello trees! Hello sky! Hello Mummy - I love you!” That still chokes me up.
5. Today and everyday. That fat little hand reaching for mine. “Come and see, Mummy! Come and see!”
We’re thinking about moving to New South Wales. While I’m looking forward to this possibility and building a garden, looking out at the trees and the cows and my best friend’s house, i feel something wrenching at me. I think it’s the house.
I was trying hard not to dissolve into a blubbering mess as I picked the tiny bees and ladybeetles off the Squid’s wall as she slept. I put them up not long after she arrived. I chose them so carefully with misguided visions of sticking closely to the ladybeetle/insect theme.
They have remained anchored there as she gnawed her way through her cot, dribbled her milk down the wall, slept in every possible direction in her big bed and was read endless stories leaning up against those insects.
I wondered if she would notice.
She woke the next day cranky and crook with a cold. She lay in an untidy tangle of sweat and hair, and as she flung her hand about, i noticed a tiny ladybeetle stuck to the back of it. She has not yet noticed the rest have flown away.
I think of each of those tim-tams as a memory of our first and my only child who has lived only in this house:
1. Her first day at home. She slept for three hours curled up in her bassinet on the couch. How easy it was going to be, I thought. The first and last time she has ever done that in the daytime.
2. Driving with her in the car for the first time. It was like wearing a new engagement ring. Surely everyone was looking at her. And yes, she was not borrowed, she was mine - ours.
3. The Squid at one, sitting fair in the middle of her toybox reading a book - upside down.
4. The Squid standing on a plastic chair in the paddling pool, not long talking. “Hello trees! Hello sky! Hello Mummy - I love you!” That still chokes me up.
5. Today and everyday. That fat little hand reaching for mine. “Come and see, Mummy! Come and see!”
