Reading in bed with Maggie on a lazy Saturday morning.
I return home and walk into the kitchen. Maggie is standing at the bench on a chair, next to Jack: Mummy! I making pancakes!
Picking up a reserve, J.M. Coetzee's Summertime, from our local library. I've been waiting months for it as it's in demand, and had almost forgotten why it piqued my interest in the first place. Then I get hold of it, read the front and back blurbs, leaf through it, and remember.
As she issues the Coetzee, the librarian tells me the book I reserved yesterday is waiting for me in the central branch.
I spend a happy half hour in the bead shop in Cuba Street, restringing some shiny scarlet beads and interspersing them with black. I'm please with the result: two red, two black all the way around is simple and striking.
Jack gets Asterix in Belgium (1970) out of the library; he comes in excitedly to show me a caricature it contains of Eddie Merckx, Belgium's most famous cyclist, who would still have been competing when it was published.
Looking forward to next week, which will be busy in many good ways.
An afternoon spent on research. It's been a while.
A workmate sets out Lindt dark chocolate with orange bits in it. It proves the theory that with really good chocolate, one piece is plenty.
The din of torrents through the gutters as I walk up from the station to collect Becca. You have to have a sort of grudging admiration for a storm like that.
To my relief, Jack picks us up at afterschool care. I clamber, drenched, into the car and he hands me a punnet of Bluff oysters and a flagon of ale. Poverty food he says, grinning. My hero.
Another rose shows us its colours for the first time, pale yellow centre blushing outwards into crimson, like a botanical Tequila Sunrise.
What I thought was a dark purple rhodo turns out to be a frothy mauve-pink speckled azalea.
Becca's mermaid costume for her school's Sea Day: blue beaded sparkly headdress brought back from Egypt several years ago by Aunty C; royal blue shimmery Middle Eastern dancing top from my pre-pregnancy days; J's sky blue fish scale sarong. Not a bad effort for a 10-minute rummage in the dress-ups box. Mind you, one kid showed up wearing a huge papier mâché Nemo outfit – actually, it was more like it was wearing him...
To my surprise and relief, Maggie sleeps, so I potter, and drink coffee on the deck, enjoying the late summer and the cicadas, and make silly alternatives to the Wellywood sign.
In the frizzly, yellow-cream centre of an old-fashioned rose, a tiny, emerald green grasshopper about the length of my little fingernail.
J comes home from his work Oscar party buzzing about Avatar's brace of technical/artistic awards. It's lovely to see him so happy at work.
A solitary fantail's aerobatics in and out of the branches of our huge pine tree: flashes of long white tail feather in the sharp autumn sun.
Maggie in the bugs and butterflies apron her sister insisted on getting her for Christmas, and which comes down to her feet, standing on a chair at the bench helping* J bake.
*for the values of 'help' that include 'getting in the way', and 'making a mess'. But she's having a lovely time.
I watch Last Chance To See, and learn that what woodpeckers and aye aye lemurs are doing is called percussive foraging. Like percussive maintenance, I guess, but probably more fruitful.
I miss M's reaction – amazement and joy – at waking to discover a huge and populated fish tank in the kitchen, so J reenacts it for me.
Exploring J'ville on a hot clear day with a hint of autumn in the air, Maggie in the pushchair still poorly and thus happy to enjoy the ride.
Maggie examines the large koru tattoo on her father's calf, tracing it with her finger and repeating Look, Daddy, a SNAIL! You gotta SNAIL in your LEG!
A card from Urs and Em, who love the stripey baby duds I sent, and a photo of the happy family in the bush.
Even though A&E's ridiculously busy even for a Saturday night, a nurse takes the time to bring us some bubble mixture to entertain Maggie with. M's delighted, especially when she finally gets the hang of blowing them herself, working out just how much puff she needs, which takes more finesse than you realise.
Late that evening, M's pronounced well enough to be taken home. When we get in, I check the voicemail: there's a message from my sister asking me in an excited voice to ring her as she has some news.
The next morning, as soon as the hour is decent (enough), I ring Ruth. So what's the news? – I'm pregnant! – I KNEW it!
Merridy has made two-year-old Timmy a Timmy-from-Shaun the Sheep birthday cake covered with white marshmallows, with paper cut-outs for his head and limbs. Simple, and really clever.
After a cool start, the morning sun turns suddenly hot and Timmy's guests are able to clamber excitedly into togs and ride the Zoom slide in the back garden.
