Life + Lemons {The Honey and Lemon Drink}

She wasn't very unwell, but there was just enough snot to warrant a day home from preschool. As she settled on the couch with a blankie around her shoulders and everything she needed within reach, I headed out into the rain to pick some lemons from that tree. 

It's the same simple recipe my mum made for me when I had the sniffles. The juice from one lemon, strained. A teaspoon of honey. Boiling water poured over. The whole thing stirred to dissolve the honey, and left to cool just enough for a four-year-old taking full advantage of a runny nose, a rainy day and a mum who needed a day on the couch as well.

Little Mama

 

Pick Your Own

This is the sort of thing I had in mind when we moved to the country. The overflowing backyard veggie patch has always been in the picture (yet to be realised) but I wanted to be near places we could visit to pick our own food. There's something about an orchard that gets me all nostalgic. I spent a few years in my childhood living in a house in the middle of an apple orchard, and while the glasses have definitely taken on a rosy hue, I'm sure I'm not exaggerating when I say we spent our weekends running up and down the rows eating fruit straight from the tree. 

Even though apples aren't uncommon in this area, and plenty of people seem to have a tree or two in their backyard, I hadn't been able to locate a proper pick-your-own farm.

Then a friend told me last week about a place not far from here that was once run as an organic farm, and is now a meditation retreat. It's set on a beautiful patch of land alongside an enormous, neglected orchard with rows of apple trees of all different varieties. The fruit is falling from the trees and rotting on the ground - the birds are having a field day. 

So armed with our inside knowledge, my littlest pair and some dear friends put on our gumboots, grabbed some baskets and set out. We were warned about wombat holes and rabbit warrens, then invited to help ourselves. The kids ran wild while my friend and I sampled the wares, grabbing a handful of the sweetest, a selection of the crispest, as we came across them. Every tree held a different fruit, none of them labelled. The prettiest often seemed the most lacking in flavour. Ironically, after traipsing the length of several rows, I decided that my favourite had been the first one we'd tasted. Luckily we were able to find that tree again, and the basket was topped up.

Now I have to turn my attention to what to do with all that fruit. Apple pie, anyone?

Lately

++ Visits with dear friends

++ The re-arrangement of the stuff

++ A very important birthday celebration. Four! My babies!

++ The brightening up of corners in our new home

++ Handmade gifts from lovely little people (whose mother allows glitter! Brave woman.)

We're settling into the same old rhythm within these new walls. The work/school routine is keeping us busy. So much is so good right now. There's uncertainty, yes, but such possibility. 

{Thank you for your beautiful comments on this post, and for welcoming me back with open arms. I don't know where I'll fit this blogging lark into my already overflowing days, but it means too much to me to let it go.}

School Holidays

Is anyone else quietly looking forward to school going back tomorrow? First thing on the list...replenishing our supply of glue and sticky tape.

Outside :: Inside

Outside it's wet. It's been raining for three nights and three days. Rivers run alongside roads, and across them in places. We fall asleep to the rhythmic drumming on the red tin roof, and wake up late because it's so dark it doesn't feel like morning.

Inside we sift through boxes and rearrange our stuff against a new backdrop. I'm awaiting the courier's delivery that will mean I can begin work again, and in the meantime I drink coffee, knit special orders and type up recipes that are overdue for submission.

It's true, life does roll on.

In the Morning Light

I took these photos a couple of weeks ago and I keep coming back to them. It seems they represent so much at the moment, of all the moments that make up our days and lives.

The reason I grabbed my camera at the time was the light. I saw it first, streaming in and capturing those two little girls doing what they were doing, casting a long shadow on the wall behind. The 'discovering' photographer in me wanted to know how it would look through the lens. I like the way my 'eye' is learning and developing the more I practise this craft.

But looking back on the photos after, I saw so much more. I saw my first babe blossoming into a big girl, able to make out the words on the page all on her own. I saw a big sister taking a moment of her morning to give her time and focus to her little sister. I saw that little sister hanging on every word, focused entirely on the words and the images before her. And I felt a glimmer of pride that enough has been done right in the lives of these girls that this moment could even exist in the first place - that they chose a book, that they chose to share, that they chose togetherness.

Most of our mornings aren't like this. There's chaos and noise from the get-go. Thank goodness for the occasional pause, to notice the light, and to capture a moment that might otherwise have been lost.

Mother's Day

Mother's Day, the bittersweet day. Words can't describe how much joy my three little monkeys bring me most days, but today especially. What fun we've had, baking together,  making pompoms and picnicking in the park, then an afternoon in the garden sorting out the leaves and the lawn. "The best mother's day ever," declared Stella over dinner. The best so far, my love.

(These are the first proper drawings my babies have made of me and for me. I'm loving how different I look in each. In reality, my legs certainly don't go up to my neck, nor is my head bigger and rounder than my torso. Bless.)

Green

:: Love love loving it freshly cut.

:: Thrilled by how much better they taste smashed up with some buttery leeks.

:: Transforming them into little bags for little hats.

:: Wondering if they'll ever turn red after little hands picked them too early.

:: Enjoying chillier days that require extra, very brightly coloured layers.

:: Marvelling at how it keeps coming back no matter how much I cut it and eat it.

Busy

Today began at a civilised hour - there was a 7 on the clock - which is amazing given that in the last week we've said goodbye to daylight savings and hello to big girl beds. Not that it mattered as I had visits from all three of my girls in the night, so it was a broken one to say the least. Wednesday is a preschool day so there are three girls to wrangle into slippers and dressing gowns, three to negotiate breakfast with, three to talk into clothing and shoes, three lunches to pack and three little lunches (but only one crunch'n'sip). Three backpacks with three changes of clothes. Three hats in case the sun comes out, three jackets in case it gets cold - and you can guarantee both will be required. Three drink bottles to find and fill. Three heads of unruly wild curls to brush. Three hairstyles to discuss and action.

In amidst it all I try to make myself barely presentable with a quick shower, clean clothes, a smooshing of moisturiser and some mascara to make my pale, pale lashes look less translucent. A cup of tea if I'm lucky. Breakfast very occasionally. Today I tried to get clever and put a pot of milk on to heat thinking I could get some yoghurt happening. I watched the thermometer between wiping down tables and wiping down noses. It hit 90 and I turned off the flame and walked away to shout some orders.

I filled the car with girls and bags and made the trip into town to preschool, leaving one kid in tears and another on the verge, racing away before it all became a flood. I hit the road to Goulburn for a last-minute catch-up with a lovely Canberra friend. It was a window before I was tied down with school holidays and before she gave birth to her second baby, and we grabbed it to sit in the sun and drink coffee and talk. I ignored my massive to-do list and the fact it was the last day in three weeks with all my children out of the house, and just sank into all the loveliness that comes from time with good friends.

On the return trip, I remembered the milk on the stove.

I picked up my pair, their cuddles and love making everything that's ever happened anywhere to anyone completely worthwhile. We drove on to collect their big sister from school, and beamed with golden sunshiney pride as she showed off the award she won at assembly "for being a focused and hardworking student." Bless.

We raced home to change some shoes and throw crackers and bananas in a bag (and tip two litres of sour milk down the drain) and raced out for soccer training. I scrambled for cash to buy the requisite socks and shorts in time for this Saturday's inaugural match. Little sisters got bored and started clawing at each other. There was screaming. The sun got lower and the temperature dropped. We finally returned home and shovelled easy food into little faces while I prepared and cooked a couple of recipes that have to be photographed tomorrow. Babes were bathed. Dishes were washed (in the sink, of all places - our dishwasher is on the blink). Stories were read and lullabies sung.

I look at the to-do list which isn't shrinking. I try to ignore the overflowing washing basket, the crumbs under the table, the ring around the bathtub. I think how lovely it would be for one of these weeks to chance along and I wonder how it's all going to come together. But at this time of night, when my girls are sleeping and all is quiet, I look at an award taking pride of place on the fridge door. I catch a glimpse of a messy scrawl of preschool paint on a piece of cardboard and notice the row of Ps across the top. P for Pearl. I remember the loveliness of sitting in the sun enjoying uninterrupted conversation. I thank God that every day isn't Wednesday. And I know it will be OK.

Inside/Outside

Inside

Easter jimjams made from vintage flannel sheets using a tried-and-true nightie pattern from this book.

Outside

Fairy parasols made on our trip to the park using twigs, fallen leaves and a few silly dance moves.