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Archive for the ‘cormac’ Category

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Picnic lunch watching my brother-in-law play cricket. He’s the one batting below.

(Note the black armbands all the players are wearing in memory of the dead cricketer, Phillip Hughes).

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In my garden.

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Baby asparagus shoot.

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Cormac, aged 5.

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So many eggs.

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This weekend:

I felt contented, for the first time in a long time.

I mended a broken door, all by myself like it was no big deal and these things don’t completely baffle and/or terrify me.

I cooked. Rosemary and lemon roast. Spinach quesadilla. Tomato and basil risotto.

I took the kids for a bike ride first thing in the morning.

I bought them advent calendars, the old-fashioned cardboard ones with windows. I let them open a window early because they go to their dad’s tomorrow night.

I laughed at text messages.

I watched Boyhood.

 

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What do you do if you’re 5 and your computer time is up for the weekend and now you want to sneak back on for some watching of favourite youtube clips while your mother is off reading in bed but you can’t spell much? You ask your mother, very innocently, if she can write the phrase “Lord of the Rings, War in the North” on a piece of paper cos no reason, really.

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This weekend we had a child to stay for a sleep-over and I am really a bit worn out and I wondered what we could offer in the way of fun things to do at our house. Because I can’t even get movies to play on the TV at the moment. And I don’t have the spare energy to figure it out nor the spare cash to pay someone else to figure it out.

But it was Anne Lamott who said something like you play to your strengths as a parent and this is what I’m good at… pulling unusual ideas out of my arse. So, I remembered an abandoned house I’d noticed on my morning walks and I asked the kids if they wanted to explore a haunted house and … bingo!

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Doesn’t it look like something out of Cormac McCarthy’s The Road?

“Then they set out along the blacktop in the gunmetal light, shuffling through the ash, each the other’s world entire.”

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Back at my home..
I have exceptional taste, yes. I bought the arse tea cosy here.

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Last month my father came back to Australia and stayed with me for a week. He was exhausted on the first night and after he went to bed I stayed up and wrote my column at the kitchen table. The next night I was incredibly tired and he stayed up alone for the very sad task of writing his mother’s obituary.

He read that obituary at the funeral the following morning. His writing was beautiful. It was all about how accomplished and yet unappreciated his mother had been for her domestic talents. My column about being accountable one day to my children’s future therapist was published that same day, and in a way, I realised my father and I had both written about feminist motherhood.

Every time I look at my kitchen table now I remember how we both sat and wrote our words there, one night after the other.

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A doctor friend collects these little empty bottles from his surgery and gives them to me to use as tiny vases. Morphine and Ketamine can be the name of our hipster home decorating shop.

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Giraffes galloping.

Laneways.

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Television journalism-ing, like her aunt.

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Bela luta.

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Cormac in his window seat.

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Cormac bought a ray gun with the birthday money his aunt gave him.. so that’s how my passive-aggressive toy gun ban went down in Melbourne.

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