The small one loves ducks so much we set off early and head to the creek

but we’ve never been to this creek before.
Rain wasn’t forecast and I tell that to the sky as it darkens and clouds and of course
pours all over us.

I keep checking the forecast and the sky and not quite understanding
why the information doesn’t match
I’m cold and wet, but Finch loves the rain

I ask if he still wants to go see ducks
and of course he does, why wouldn’t he. We hide under trees wherever we can and he’s safe in the pram and mostly sheltered, but his little hands are freezing.

We see two ducks from under our tree by the side of the creek and I pull him from his pram and lift him to see and make sure the whole business was worth it
of course it was.

It’s always worth it when Finch has something new to talk about.
The rain gets worse before it eases, just like everything and I tell myself this
is an adventure, if you like rainbows you gotta put up with a bit of rain, but of course there are no rainbows

Just the rain followed by no more rain.

We head to a cafe and I get tea and he gets a marshmallow
and we share fruit toast and he smiles and laughs at everyone and I hold his cold hands
one by one in mine until they’ve thawed a bit and when it’s time to go he wants to go to a playground, so we do.

And how lovely to be so small but so in control of the day, the one day a fortnight we have together so of course I say yes to everything.

Like when we get home and he asks for pizza so I make him a little pizza for lunch
and he pulls the topping off slice after slice so he’s really just eating cheese and again
it’s all worth it.

Except at nap time he cries about having to get into his bed, even though he rolls around happily in there and then falls asleep for an hour and a half and it’s enough time for me
to sit in the sun because the sun’s really and truly out now

and the washing probably will dry after all even though it got rained all over while we were out and I have enough time to do a bit of marking and check my emails and then write all this down.

And maybe I don’t need a rainbow to reassure me every time, reassure me everything’s going to be fine
because of course, of course, of course it will be.

Summer rain

Our two week holiday ends with rain. Lotus calls it ‘mist rain’ the stubborn drizzly stuff that won’t be moving on until it has emptied the clouds entirely. No wind to push it along, or sun to sizzle it away. It’s been doing this for two days now and it makes me want to go to bed early. So I do.

But rain highlights some of my best moments in the last two weeks: Jumping into the pool the night before Christmas once the kids are in bed, a gentle thunderstorm rolling past. A sprinkling of rain and a boom or two nearby. The sun goes down as I float lazily and a few bats flap overhead. I wonder if the thunder messes with their echolocation, confuses their navigation. For me it does the opposite and I feel grounded by this very Melbourne phenomenon of a summer thunderstorm.

It rains all Christmas Day too, but on Boxing Day I strap Finch to the back of the bike and ride ride ride through park after park in the sunshine while he squeals and shouts. I turn briefly to see him pointing at it all, his whole body alert with amazement at trees and people and dogs and cars and just the details of the world really. It makes me laugh out loud. We’re chased back by a proper storm though – thick dark clouds wading through the sky, pushing their way towards home where the washing has already dried in the hot wind of morning. I pedal as fast as I can and I’m the one whooping now, laughing as the big ploppy drops start to fall and loudly reassuring the little guy that we’ll make in time, it’s my mission to get us back inside in time and I do. Buckets upon buckets of rain plummet down and we watch from the safety of the front porch.

There are warm days and cool days and days where nothing much happens, but we’re happy together and what at first felt like a daunting prospect: daycare closed and having to manage the big feelings and big energy of an almost four year old and a just turned one year old, turns to feelings of precious one on one time, making adventures of going to the supermarket together, building duplo towers and going to our favourite playgrounds.

In the last few days we have family visit, bundle ourselves into cars and drive to the museum where Finch again points at all of it with curiosity and astonishment, confusion and concern. There are dinosaur bones and bugs and giant crystals found within unassuming rocks. Lotus is fascinated by it all and I wonder if I’ve ever seen her so excited, engaged with everything, asking questions, pushing all the buttons. She’s wearing her gumboots so on the way to dinner, with our colourful umbrellas above, she finds the best puddles and stomps stomps stomps. Gutters run like rivers and her small hand is warm as she tugs me to the next big splash.

Today the sun is out. We’re up early and ready to go quicker than we ever have been. All of us on the bikes, but the ride to daycare is less than five minutes. Lotus is in the four year old kinder room now, meeting up with her friends and making new ones. Finch spends one hour getting used to the nursery where he will be three days a week.

Last night in bed the drizzling rain reminded me of home, of other homes I’ve had where it rains depressingly often. The thought of these wonderful little people – loud and brave, curious and intense – going out into the world had me in mist tears, tears that won’t be moving on until they’ve emptied me out. But right now the sun is shining and we have stories to tell our friends.

Ubud

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A hummingbird the size of a large bumble bee hovers through bougainvillea. We watch from the pool’s edge. In the same day, my legs turn brown and my new cat-shaped two-piece leaves cat-shaped tan lines on my chest.

We’re trying out all the recommended eating spots: tofu curries, too much tempeh, supplemented with bags of chips and unfamiliar biscuits from convenience stores dotted down the main road. Our villa feels far from that traffic as we spend hours in the hammock or on day beds, under the mosquito net or by the pool, reading, snoozing, swimming with a view of improbable jungle.

The river lulls us further into laziness with its white noise rapids, or ferries squealing tourists in red rafts through the valley. It’s 30 degrees until it’s not. A complete downpour in straight lines brightens already lush greenery, highlights crimson bougainvillea, red birds of paradise, frangipani in yellow and pink clustered on leafless branches.

The river rises then, villas across the valley obscured in mist. Fat drops fall until the clouds are empty, drip musically from the edges of the thatched roof. Fallen logs of bamboo gather at the river’s sharpest bend and the sun’s revealed again just in time to set pink behind palm tops and gold.