My dear, sweet DorkySon turns five today.
Where do I even begin writing about how he has grown and changed in the last year? It is beyond anything I could ever have imagined. He has always been fun. He has always been smart, and kind, and made me laugh, but in the last twelve months he has become a person I genuinely enjoy spending time with. Not because he’s my son, or because there is any obligation, but because he rocks. Continue reading
About this time last year, we welcomed someone new into our lives. He comes with us to the supermarket, to restaurants, and on holiday. He even hops into bed with us most mornings.
His name is Jake, and he is DorkySon’s invisible friend.
I have always disliked swimming.
Show me a warm, soothing sea and I’ll happily bob around in it all day; floating for hours as the sun warms my face, diving down to pick shells from the sandy seafloor, and emerging occasionally for a piña colada and another chapter of my book.
But lengths of a pool? Proper swimming? I hate it.
The first cool whispers of autumn are in the air, here in Tasmania. My knee-length cosy cardigan has been retrieved from the back of the wardrobe, and those beautiful sunsets are getting noticeably earlier with every evening that passes. Autumn has long been my favourite season, and I can’t wait to see how lovely this island looks when the trees have turned to gold.
There are some things – fashion, crafts, cake decorating – that should really be left to the people who do them well.
I’m going to add gardening to that list. My politics may be green, but my fingers most certainly are not.
Don’t get me wrong. I like to sit in the garden at the end of the day, glass of wine in hand, letting the last rays of the sun ease some warmth into my shoulders. I like to watch DorkySon potter around out there, rubbing lavender or mint or thyme between his plump little fingers, putting them to his face, and inhaling deeply. I like the sweet hum of the bees; the soft beat of butterfly wings, and the way Mr Blackbird watches with one beady eye as I walk to collect the mail. I even like the tiny little skinks that dart out from the cracks in our wall. Continue reading
Dorkymum | Stories from Tasmania 