Archive for the ‘lauca’ Category



The other day a reader/blogger who also follows me on Instagram noted that my photo feed has the intimacy of domestic life that used to be on my blog. It’s true. My Instagram account is locked and having that little bit more control over the audience has allowed me to feel more myself over there in recent times. If you’re a reader here and I sorta know you then you are welcome to follow me on Instagram.


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It grew very quiet for a time, high up there in the stillness of the bush with its greys and blues and greens and my daughter glowering at me. Her ‘this is too hard’ had morphed into ‘you are too hard’. I told her about how magical it would be at the summit, I told her we had come this far and we had to keep going, I told her that she could do it.

After a time, I urged my boyfriend to go on without us. My daughter was wailing and cursing by then, like someone strung out. She was digging in hard, all resistance and hopelessness, snot and tears. My boyfriend walked off up the trail and disappeared around the bend. I imagined all the second thoughts he must be having about us, about binding himself to this crazy, broken thing.

From “What you really see when you climb a mountain with your child” in Essential Kids. 

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It is With a Heavy Heart That I Announce Am Having My Parents Pick Me Up Early From This Sleepover at The Onion.

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I asked Cormac, aged 7 and Lauca aged 11 years this question as part of this cute little questionnaire going around online.

Cormac: Basically, relax.

Lauca: I think she likes drinking wine and talking.

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We’re having this horribly warm autumn and I am sure it has nothing what so ever to do with climate change and we should all just keep burning coal like there is no tomorrow.

So this autumn we are still swimming.. but occasionally cool enough to begin bicycle riding, wear cardigans and stockings and put a doona over us and cook roast veggies, but mostly not. The only thing happy with the mild autumn is the kitchen garden, which is pleased as punch.

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After doing an hour of algebra homework with the ten year old I take her to bed to say goodnight, and observe that her room is very like her equations… “Sloppy?” she asks delightedly. “There’s a lesson in this” I said, “but good luck finding it in such a messy room”.

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