Wake at 6:30am to the sweet face and voice of Baby Rosie. “Blah,” she says. Get her up so she won’t wake the others.
Potter around for an hour and a half. Drink tea. Check my emails. Give Rosie some food.
There is an hour injected with energy, making breakfast for all and lunch for preschool once Big Sister and Husband are up. The coffee machine whirrs and grumbles with promise. My husband and I celebrate life and the day over coffee (with leaf patterns) and we all eat smoked chorizo and brie on bread.
The door closes. The rush ends. Husband takes Sunshine Girl to preschool, then heads on to work.
Rosie needs sleep, so I rock her and as her eye-lids close, I put her in her cot.
For an hour or so, I am at a loose end. No work. No Sunshine Girl. I temporarily weigh up different house chores, and then decide to write a blog post. Rosie wakes as I press publish.
We potter again. I follow her. She follows me. I go out to the line, hang out the washing in the heat of the morning. Pull out some weeds. Rosie sits on an upturned terracotta pot, wearing only her rainbow hat.
She follows me inside and I feed her. The morning is dripping away, slowly. Drip. Drip. Drip.
“Doh-doh,” she says, pushing the front door. Mindlessly, I push her on her little bike up and down the front verandah.
I realise our matching Saltwater sandals have arrived from overseas. Rosie is as ecstatic as her mother. “Shoes!” We try them on, and point our toes towards each other.
I give her more food. Water. She follows me into the bathroom, while I polish the mirror with vinegar.
She motions towards a book, and sits, bare-bottomed on my lap as I read. “Boop,” she calls it. She looks out the window when she hear a bird. “Burb,” she says.
I check my phone again. Linger on an email – a blog post. Flick over to Facebook. Instagram. Rosie calls for me – “Mama,” and I follow her out to the verandah again, where we do more doh-doh. She tries to put on her sister’s helmet, but it falls over her eyes.
Suddenly, she’s too tired for do-do. Nappy on, feed, sleeping bag. I put on her music, and the fan, and again rock her. She cries into my shoulder, fighting the pain of sleep. At last her sweaty head is heavy against me, and I lay her down on her sheepskin.
It’s only 1pm. Half the day has gone. Half to go.
I work on my blogging course, and am surprised I have time to finish the slide presentation. Baby stirs, and calls out for me. I pick her up.
The others are due back soon.
It’s cool enough, at last, to take her next door to the little play park. She pulls on her rainbow hat and excitedly puts her foot forward to be donned in shoe. Hand up, she pulls me along, knowing the agenda exactly.
The see-saw is still hot. She sticks to the slide. We see a “burb” in a tree. Move closer to have a look. I am conscious of an older man sitting in his backyard, looking over the fence at us. I feel like we are too close to his territory.
I encourage Rosie home with promises of her sister’s return. She eagerly heads towards the house.
It’s nearly 5pm when they pull up – Big Sister. Husband. The lull is interrupted with chatty, giggly storytelling (Big Sister) and commentary of the day (Husband).
I value slowness. Being in the moment. But truth is, I find it hard. I am comfortable doing, making, moving, completing, achieving. I will happily sit in front of a computer and tap out 6,000 words plus in a day. My mind is comfortable when occupied.
Moving slowly after a toddler, fighting lethargy, laziness and addiction to tea is less natural for me. But today, I needed this lull. This baby-led space of simple, unhindered exploration. The greatest achievement I made today was putting away all the washing before Husband and Big Sister returned – and it was enough.
Are you are be-er or a do-er? Do you enjoy pottering around the house, or are you more comfortable being busy?
Would love to see you over at my Facebook community sometime…