Tag Archives: at my place

Second-Hand Goodness

This weekend I spent a number of hours sorting through clothes. Ruben’s, Adelaide’s and my own. (I choose not to touch Michael’s – despite the fact he wears around 15% of what he  owns, he feels very comfortable with the variety he chooses not to look at).

During this purging and organising process, I came to a couple conclusions:
1. Family who do hand-me-downs are to be cherished.
2. The majority of my wardrobe is a collection of second-hand items. And I am very comfortable with that fact. (Side note: Is it wrong to label op-shopping as generous charitable giving?)

You don’t need to spend a lot of money to have style.

I am slowly working on cultivating a wardrobe that has 99% functionality (1% reserved for items with sentimental value; I’m looking at you, multicoloured stripey knee-highs and probably you too, techno satin flares).

Maybe it’s a sign of my strolling into a new decade this year, but I find myself less thrilled by hot wedges and more interested in spunky skate shoes. Simplicity and function. And a squeeze of funky.


Chicken Tomatoes

Gardening is such a lovely pastime. I hear. Michael is far more dedicated to this craft than I. Sporadically, at least. We had a vegetable garden last year. We planted zucchini, tomatoes, potatoes, corn and pumpkin. You would expect that from such a bountiful sowing we would reap a bountiful harvest.

But we did not.

Lack of water, nutrients and care conspired to destroy our dreams of vegetable self-sufficiency. Oh the heartbreak.

And then there were the chickens. Four chickens, chosen individually by four excited and caring children. From day one, the novelty had pretty much worn off for them. I greatly appreciated the constant supply of eggs, whilst Michael, the only vocally disagreeable (/disinterested) participant from the outset, ended up caring for our feathered friends.

Two years later and, patience tested beyond the point of no return, Michael suggested we pass them (the chickens, not the children) on to a more loving home. The final straw was when one died and it took some time for me to notice.

The good news, out of all of this, is that we apparently possess the power to be tomato herders. We were very pleasantly surprised to discover this crop growing in the now disused chicken coop.

Nicely shaded by a large almond tree, this little sandpit has transformed itself into a veritable paradise. Never one to believe that although I have failed in the past at such things, success is not possible; we are going to stake these and see what can be made to happen.

We are going to be urban farmers yet, just you wait and see.


Mulberry Magic

As previously mentioned. the mulberry tree is about to go crazy.

This tree is about two stories tall and about as wide. When we moved in it was a solid green monstrous mass, occupying a huge amount of the backyard. The branches were so weighed down they crept along the ground. It took a chainsaw to reign it in and we even discovered a shed beneath it.

Ruben and I chat about it’s ethereal quality as we work our way through The Magic Faraway Tree, his current favourite. His new found enthusiasm for a chapter based book is delightful. I do so hope his love of books is something that he embraces for a long time to come.

Side note: one of his current sayings that tickles my happy bone – “sharing is care bears”.



Ruben at the RiverAdelaide at the RiverSo, life rolls along. All too quickly, as is oft the case.

Embracing of late:

Fourth birthday preparations underway (his first pet!). The minutiae surrounding kindergarten enrolment to be excited about. Ruben’s love of water in any setting. His ability to amuse himself for hours with knights, Lego men, Power Rangers and rope. And a Mickey Mouse stamp.

Fat thighs and huge smiles and buckets of drool. Adelaide’s generosity with her smiles. She is curious and demanding and oh so beautiful, in all her chubby glory.

The season is shifting and I find myself being drawn to the act of decluttering and simplifying.  (Hard to achieve when you are also drawn to the act of op-shopping on an all too regular basis.)

Inhale, exhale. It’s Spring.



Boy in rain

baby girl

The kinderen today.  A deliciously wet day in our {usually} fair city. Makes for a rather special occasion around these parts. Ruben had a brilliant time racing from puddle to puddle in our backyard, and Adelaide sported her first dress.
{Is it just me or do dresses on babies seem a bit odd?}
I intended for this post to just feature Ruben modeling the outfit he chose… However, upon opening the back door and seeing the size of the puddles, I soon realised my pleas to keep his {only clean pair} of jeans dry were going to be in vain.
It took him approximately 5 minutes to have water from the inside of his gumboots to halfway up his jacket.
I love having a boy.



After a natural, 10 hour labour she popped out to greet the world.  I had prepared myself for another boy; surprise surprise… A beautiful little girl.
6 hours later, as the clock was readying to strike midnight, we were home.
Not a bad effort, for a 16 hour hospital stint, not all of that unpleasant.

Thank you to the very kind Jodi who provided support and tips on how to turn a breech baby. This brand new wee lady was quite the active one.   I swam a lot in the week before her birth and tried positive mantras (stress levels were very high as a cesarean was very low on my bucket list).  She managed to come around to my way of thinking though, and the birth went smoothly.

At just over two weeks old she has charmed everyone around her.
A girl.  Well I’ll be.



This morning my husband jested once again about my lack of inclination to track down my lovely (and neglected) beautician and I laughed at how silly it was of me, given how much time I have to do such things in between being a mother to a crazy two year old, working full-time in a stressful role and being a part-time step-parent to three teenagers.

Michael pointed out that it was interesting I didn’t mention Wife in there, along with all of my other titles.  “For surely there is time spent fulfilling such roles?”.  He has a point.  I think it’s a positive that I didn’t think of it as another plethora of needs to attend to, as that’s what I was referring to.

I did make an appointment this afternoon.


Fearless ness, with some sting and a little sugar


Life.  Indulgence. Love love love.

We have been, as ever, quite busy around our part.  Part?  What a strange little phrase. Our part…  Of our street?  Our lives?  Of our little corner in time and space on this Earth?  Hmn.
But I am getting distracted…

I came across the quote today that I plucked for my subject line and decided that I quite liked the idea (that I envision it purports).  The best way to live is fearlessly; this will no doubt involve a bit of hurt, some joy and ~hopefully~ a lot  of pleasantness in-between.  I can also appreciate the context that it was actually used in – what comprises good taste when it comes to fashion. 
…Spicy and sweet. Boho vintage modern. These I like too.

On a fairly unrelated note, I was sent an article today which I very much enjoyed.  Clever crows.  My favourite part:
“Let your offspring have an extended childhood in a stable and loving home; lead by example; offer positive reinforcement; be patient and persistent; indulge even a near-adult offspring by occasionally popping a fresh cockroach into its mouth; and realize that at any moment a goshawk might swoop down and put an end to the entire pedagogical program”.