Monday, June 26, 2017

Golden-Girl in Fleeting Fields of Gold



In late afternoon light we pass an empty lot of uncut grass on the way home from the beach. A mistake to be fixed, the light turns the grass into a wonderland of gold. Ever one to grab a photo opportunity I ignore Beloved's mutterings about snakes - It's winter, hon, it'll be fine - and we run through the field.




The next day we pass again and the field of gold is nothing but drab grey stubble. The mowers came by in the early morning and decimated it.

Seize the moment! 

Tuesday, June 13, 2017

time-deprived & daylight


In my more optimistic moments I signed up for an online photography course - to use up all my oodles of free time. It wasn't such a crazy move because I did manage an amazing anthropology course that I'm still mulling over.

But the photography course? Good and all. But not brilliant enough to take time from sleep. Possibly if Beloved hadn't got sick for three weeks, while on night shifts for two of them, and the kids didn't also take it in turns to get sick I might have managed module two, and possibly three and four, but hey, c'est la vie. Two more nights of night shift and Beloved hasn't thrown up in a few days. (Yep. night shift while vomiting - only so many sick-days in a year and lots of mouths to feed. Do you not feel safe in your hospital knowing that doctors will turn up unless they physically cannot move and share all their lovely germs with you. Twice Beloved went in to work to be sent home.)

As part of the photography course (okay, I'll admit, the first module) we were advised to take photos in the heart of the day and in the dawn and dusk to study the difference.

The weather in Queensland is currently amazing. I mean truly. I'm not being sarky. It's gorgeous. I haven't had a sweat rivulet in weeks. Sweat moustache - yes. Rivulet - no. We wear robes in the morning. And slippers. I give thanks just about every minute of every day. But to get back on track, all this means it's possible to go out in the middle of the day without girding for battle and preparing to meet your end with heat stroke and all.

So we did. En famille. Go out in the middle in the day. Which is something I don't really recommend in Queensland for most of the year unless you're beside a large body of water, which, unfortunately isn't really practical what with school and work generally not being beside large bodies of water bearing cool breezes.

And photos were taken.

Behold the tribe in the (mostly) harsh light of day.



 Mucking around with shadows - as you do in the heat of the day - he's holding a stick in his mouth but likes to think he looks like he has an arrow through the head.



 Isnt' my girl gorge? I cannot believe how she's grown and how old she is and how old she thinks she is... Sometimes I get glimpses of the woman she's going to be and it amazes me.
 They Cheeky-Monkey. Armed. She is strong and she is dangerous. Do not be fooled. She is a super-villain in the making.


Monday, June 5, 2017

seven months


My wonder girl is seven months old and she is all giggles and cuddles and - surprise - wonder at the amazing of the world. She is crawling - fast. Pulling herself to standing, trying to climb onto things and eating everything in sight. If it'll fit in her mouth she'll try to eat it.

Except the baby food you buy in the supermarket which she believes is poison.

Her favourite foods are roast sweet potato, pumpkin, avocado, banana. And she loves them so much she pushes aside my spoon to use both hands to shovel them in. Oddly, I tend to feed her outside, on the grass.

Her sisters, brother are the most wonderful things in the world - after mummy, the milk and the dog.

She has a laugh like a muppet-machine gun.

Her first tooth has just come through.

And she sings, a gorgeous musical gurgle. I believe she might be the most musical of the girls. The bar is not particularly high.

She has a strong, if unsubtle, sense of humour. Hair-pulling, eye-gouging and nose chomping are all hil.ar.i.ous to the max.

She has recently learnt how to stick her tongue out and make it go pointy.  I asked Beloved about it and if we should take her to the doctor (not him, another one) and he showed me how his tongue can also go pointy. And roll. This is weird. But sort of clever.

Seven month olds are very clever. And pleased with themselves. And the world.

And they have the most radiant, joyous, cheeky smiles in the world.








Wednesday, May 31, 2017

so yesterday...


Baby has big eyes - and they're blue!

After three hazel eyed babies it's still a bit of a shock to see blue eyes looking up at me.  These are ancient photos - taken a whole two months ago and a world away. These were pre-solids. Pre-crawling. Pre-winter. (Or what passes for winter here in Queensland. Today is the first day of winter and it's a balmy 21celsius. My Extravaganza and I were arguing during prayers last night 'Thank you God for this beautiful weather, but a few degrees cooler-' 'Hotter! We want hotter! Much hotter!' 'Cooler. This is good. But a bit more invigorating-' 'Hotter! Hotter!' It was very un-holy.)

Anyway. These were opportunistic photos taken of my little girl at five months. In the midst of doing the washing I looked at the basket, the babe on my hip and the uncut grass and thought 'hmmm'.

Yes. To digress - again - these were not taken in a field. They were, indeed, taken in the back garden. We've mowed it since then. But it's not looking that much different.

My Wonder-Girl was over it.

As you can tell by the lack of giggles. And we were photo-bombed many times by the dog and the older girls. But here - encapsulated for all time - (or at least while computers and internet remains. Beloved and I are preparing for an apocalypse probably announced by tweet when someone in China disses Trumps hair. Water-purifying straw. Check. Parachute rope. Check. Life-time supply of hard-copy books. Hmmm. Maybe a few more -) is our little Wonder -Girl at five months.








Wednesday, May 17, 2017

of flying & jumping

Overhead rosellas squawk - hundreds, thousands, of them, wheeling and swooping, forming groups and then dividing. Rain is starting to fall from a soft grey sky, darkening as night descends.




I'm in wet bathers, babe on my hip, worried about the rain and my camera, but entranced by the cacophony of birds, their swiftness, their freedom, trying to capture the amount of them, their glorious motion, but knowing I'll only get an echo. Only occasionally do I have a glimpse of their bright colours - the light is too dim and they are too high.

It's mother's day and we've driven across the bridge - my favourite bridge - which I'm thinking of renaming Pelican Bridge for the birds that always sit on all the lights - to the island.

It only took us - what, two hours to wait out Adventure Boy while he cavorted on the roof, not wanting to come to the beach with us - despite knowing full well he'd be likely to get both fish and chips and an ice-cream when we got there - unless we caved and gave him the money to buy diamonds for a computer game. Two hours later - after we'd got out the picnic blankets and moved from the car to the front lawn - he finally said yep, I'm ready to go.

And when we arrive of course he loves it, and is so happy playing on the flying fox with his sister, long after night has fallen - that he won't leave...

We wander the shore, jump off the fishing platform into the currents of Pumicestone Passage, scoff fish and chips, build sandcastles and maybe see dolphins (or maybe floating wood).

And then the sun sets behind the delicate formations of the Glasshouse Mountains, the light softened with rain.

Rain. Sea. Island. Birds. Flight.

We drive back in the dark with the gentle falling rain and the heaters on - still in wet bathers, but content. Solace for another hectic week.






 (Giggle Bear ran into the edge of a door frame chasing balloons with her sister. The doorframe won.)


 Wonder-Girl is so proud of her sitting. As yet she's only commando-crawling - fast - but real crawling is so close.