The hippos danced their rolling dance

On my birthday at the San Diego Zoo, the day was hot, like no day we'd had all year in Europe. A day to really warm the fibres.

A beautiful zoo, right from the flamingos at the front gate, to the last skyfari ride of the day, with my 3 men, large and small, singing me 'Happy Birthday' as we drifted and dangled over the top of the gorillas and spider monkeys in a slanting sun.

Sushi and lemon tart to finish the day, perfect in California - and for this mermaid-girl. What a year I've had, from the first day at Kinsale Harbour during the Kinsale Festival to the very last just now, at the San Diego Zoo. I'm not sure it summarises into a phrase, but it certainly feels wonderful to have so many experiences that I really WANTED to actually look back on now. Less yearning, longing for anywhere-but-here now.

Those hippos were dancing just for me.

Birthday Party Boy

We'd hatched the idea that, now in spring, an outside party at Fitzgerald Park could be fun for a crowd of 8-year olds. The party had to be, we're not long before leaving, and this school has been one of the better things to happen to The Bean ever! Such wonderful friends, such a vibe, such folk-like-us in the school, it's easy to talk in there, without much pre-amble to explain ourselves.

So, to the party. I walked up to the park from school, in fine, almost sunny weather - 5 children, the others in other people's cars, on the way to meet up there. LMM on the way with The Pumpkin and the cake, to the cafe, where we'd start with pizza, toasted sandwiches and drinks, as arranged. Oh well, as he arrived, it seemed a complete surprise.

Twas a great party. The Bean had painted an alien, without eyes, so we could play Pin the Eye on the Alien. Pass the Parcel had rocket balloons in it, which were hanging in trees the next morning still. At one point, all the big kids went running, shouting, "Alex, your brother's rocket went the highest, did ye see it, he's the champion!!!" They especially loved the Great Fitzgerald Park Quiz, their first treasure hunt, with 11 questions I'd put together for them on sheets. They ran like mad, in pairs, had a great time! We've now seen more poetic, interesting spellings for belly: bellea, belleay.

The cake this year had to be alien/space/explorer-related, so 'twas an alien spaceship, bright yellow frosting, red pods on top, foil antenna (note to self: post photo!), and got eaten up! There was also a truly delicious cake which he chose from a patisserie in Montaigue the day of his actual birthday: caramelised pear with pear mousse. The boy got style, he do.

Weekday Pasta Recipe

Have all the ingredients for pasta with meat sauce on hand; also 2 small boys, homework, a painting project and a grey Cork afternoon.

Chop onion, mince garlic, fry with olive oil in large heavy-bottomed saucepan.
Stir. Put down spoon, wipe hands, get water for the boy's painting project.
Chop mushrooms, great zuchini. Take mince from wrapping.
Stir onion mix, add mince, check heat.
"Mummy look!" Check painting project, advise on shades of blue for the sky.
Stir mince.
Put on water for noodles in a large saucepan.
Add vegetables and salt and herbs, once mince is browned.
Change rinsing water, mind the green paint all over the sink. Discuss how to achieve pale shades of yellow and brown.
Adjust newspaper on table to prevent paint landing all over dining table.
Open tin of tomatoes, add this and tomato paste to the sauce. Do not squeeze tomato paste tube onto boy's paint palette. (He's not using red today.)
Rinse brush before he moves on to yellow, under the cold tap, not in the noodle water.
Add noodles to water once boiling.
Stir sauce. Check painting's progress, advise opinions. Taste sauce, adjust seasoning.
Allow to simmer: the sauce, not the boys. Chat to painter and his smaller brother. Assemble clean plates, drinks, grate parmesan.
Move dirty paintbrushes from the sink before you strain off cooked noodles.
Dad comes home from work.
Remove painting to drying spot, rinse paint plate, serve sauce over noodles.
Sit together, enjoy!

Where are the recipe books like this? Does anyone else cook like this, with often up to 3 different things going on at once?

It will surely be what I remember about my times here, in fact what I'll remember about all these early years before they were both in school. Pictured is the Bean, helping with the strawberries, as the box construction and paint project dries on the table. There are SO many of these afternoons here, I do treasure them. And sit in an exhausted stupour sometimes between 9 and 10pm, once it's all over. That's where Channel 4 comes in.

It is an incredible leap coming in January next year, when I will see both my beautiful boys off to school - a new stage for us all.

Birthday Boy

The Bean turns 8, in France, thrilled that he is having a birthday in Europe after all. He thought, as we all did, that we'd be home by his.

Staying with family friends, from the Malaysia days, in the Quercy region of France, we had a completely beautiful spring time location, with a flower garden sheer bursting in celebration. The day started with presents, a young deer stopping by on his walk through the woods, just a quiet, very moving gaze; continued with a trip to the local market and the patisserie at Montaigu de Quercy; back for lunch, boules on the boulodrome and a tractor-mower ride, and finished with a swim and a walk in some of the most picturesque country there is, anywhere.

The Bean got parcels from grandma, new doctor pyjamas, things to make and read, and a Nintendo DS, and the gift of today. We, the parents, had agonised about the DS for 6 months, as it's the big toy here in Cork. The debate goes like this: does he need a box to disappear into? It's good for trips and anywhere that we happen to be - portable. It's removable. It's the toy he's up to in his progress, and they are a tool for social interaction as much as anything. There are good games for it. It's very expensive, will he treasure it? We hate them. If not now, then when? Not when he's grown past it, which no doubt will happen too. So, we did. He is thrilled! And, on a serious note, we will be introducing a total number of screen-time hours he is allowed to have each day: tv, DS, computer, anything.

If we lived here, he could have balmy lovely spring birthdays every year. May is magic in France. Fraises et asperges. Which we ate most days for 2 weeks. All of us: The Bean more into the asperges in his fingers as a starter, the Pumpkin more into the fraises with sugar and cream! LMM and I just inhaling all day long.

Soccer Mum is Approaching

Today, the Bean played his first game of soccer. All a bit nervous in his fine new boots and socks and shinguard, and much standing on the field, but he went. I stood on the sidelines with other mums, the Pumpkin talked the ear off one of the other fathers, who ended up walking away to make good his escape.

So this is how it happens: they get taller, you go to the field one day, there are a hoard of other boys, some much bigger, and it's a Saturday soccer match. And I found myself wishing that he'd run more on the field - strange to watch my high-energy boy standing on the field, looking a bit lost.. He had fun. Though later he said he did not want to do things he didn't know how to do - he'd said yes to soccer practice, not a game. " And I want to do gymnastics, because I know a lot more about that." Oh mama. I heard him.

Funny, at my 40th birthday party, I said I did not know what the next decade would bring, but I was fairly sure that Soccer Mum would feature in there somewhere.

And I spoke about wanting some more intrepid life - my 30s were full of safe, small times with babies - short day trips, playground visits, sitting on the beach, digging holes and building mermaids, rather than swimming out to sea. Just one overnight walk in Tasmania, with the medical crowd keeping our boys in Hobart (thank you!) so we could take off to a cabin in the wilderness together. With what turned into a pack of other backpackers and hikers - we laughed a lot, romantic it was not, and very true to us.

Oh and 4 major relocations right across Australia, extreme financial squeeze, houses bought and sold, a husband who then became a medical student in the same year as I became a mother. Different kinds of adventure. No wonder I arrived in Newcastle feeling out of breath. OK, life-adventure, not travel-adventure.

And 2 and half years later, we had the oomphah to embark on this big trip. Ah yes, there's energy there.

Easter Sunday

In Kas, picturesque town on the Mediterranean coast of Turkey. Hiding chocolate eggs on the sunny rooftop terrace of a hotel in an Islamic country.

The Hideaway Hotel is divine, the stuff of fantasy - two big beds, separated by a bathroom with a huge spa bath and all white, balconies off each side, rooftop terrace with views over the sea, the sea, the sage-green olives, the ruins of an amphitheatre, the sailing boats, the wistful blue yonder!

From buffet breakfast of eggs, white cheese, black olives, crusty white bread, apple tea, tomato and cucumber slices, tea, tea, tea - to a wander through the streets. Time on our hands, sun on our backs. Shopping for bowls, taking an hour to choose a perfect set of 6 for our life, crazy colourful bowls for breakfast. Walking together, in search of a beach, a swim.

Hours in a small stony bay, dipping in and out of COLD water, the tourist-shade of blue nonetheless. Time to talk together, take photos, read books, throw stones, watch ocean-going ducks, and get dressed again, in search of more food. Sun on our faces, rest seeping into our bones.

Happy Easter!

Flying into Istanbul

The whole day has been exciting - flying over Europe, off on a holiday, just us four. Together for 2 whole weeks. Packed in two backpacks, nothing extra, planning on hopping on and off buses, staying where we please, as it's still early in the season. Easter, open spaces, open fires, Roman ruins, good food - that's what we want.

We're nervous, will we be able to keep our wits and kits together? Will this actually work - a new step up with our boys, as neither of us has been here before, neither of us speak the language, bigger notion of travel with children. Will the money do? It's tight. The tickets are frequent flyer points - using them to get tickets home didn't work, so one day in October, LMM said, how about Turkey? We've talked about it for 10 years, yep. Time to do it now then!

It's night, after some hours flying over golden twinkling cities, must be Bulgaria below..wish I'd bought the MAC lipstick at Heathrow...

And suddenly, in the same space-time as me, is Istanbul below. Unmistakeable mosques along the hillsides, the Bosforus curling along, minarets to the sky. It's huge, warmer, awake at 11pm. It begins.

We're collected by the driver from our hotel, the Alp Guesthouse, right in Sultanahmet. Arranged by email, online in a day, before we left. We're that kind of traveller for a day now, with LMM off night shifts again only this morning, and the late arrival.

We're really here, all this way over on the map, the edge of Europe, the ancient boundary, the start of Asia, from the wrong side. To me, Asia usually starts at Bali, or even Darwin really..

And under the Aya Sofya is out hotel, new fitout, just like the pictures. Back into the travel-saddle as soon as I see the late open shops, and small streets, I go down to buy beer and juice, get given a cucumber - and then LMM, the Pumpkin and I sit on our rooftop terrace, actually, incredibly overlooking the Bosforus, v pleased with ourselves, excited at the beginning! I think the beer always tastes great at this first arrival point, don't it?

Squirrel caught red-handed

Red squirrel sighting. On Sunday, as part of the school's annual Easter egg hunt, I found myself volunteering to help set up. On a windy but sunny spring day, 10 or so parents and friends spread out across Fota Park, near Cork to set up egg hunting and games challenges for children at the primary school. Caroline (one of the French mums) and I found ourselves a lovely open space, with plenty of good hiding spots and lawn for the 3-legged race - and it corresponded to the spot we should be, on the map to be given out to teams of kids on arrival.

We hid our eggs, commenting on what was too hard, too easy, how to replenish them once the first groups of kids came through, and then sat in the sun before the rush. A movement near an especially pretty hiding spot (an easy one, for the smallies!) caught our eyes.

A red squirrel, cute as any children's book, sat there, peeling the foil off an egg. We chased it away, so it skipped up the tree, jumped to another, and stared down at us, egg securely in hand. So then we checked other hiding spots, and think we lost 4-6 eggs to a very bold critter. Sorry kids, if there weren't enough eggs to find at the 3-Legged Race Station! They may be scarce here too, but that one will have done itself no favours on Sunday!

Life with a Shiftworker

We're getting used to this now. I know the week must be the night-shift week (ie 7 nights straight), when:

• LMM physically dreads going to work for the weekend ahead. The worst shift is 2200-0900h, 1800-0400h is much better;
• I stay up late most nights alone, too late, and end up dog-tired too. It's as if I'm staying up in sympathy, but that's dumb, because I get to sleep in the bed all by myself, which should be nice for a change;
• I shift clothes and stuff into the boys bathroom so I can shower after the gym quietly;
• I harass the boys to be quiet in the flat, or trawl around town trying to stay out as long as possible;
• A bleary-eyed man sends sms from the bedroom seeking tea and sympathy;
• I'm starting to hoard the clean clothes by about Thursday, planning the packing for 3 for the week ahead - washing and sorting outfits so we're ready for the next trip;
• I'm packing in the early evenings of the weekend, while staying out as long as possible during the days: passports, the right gear, the right bags, what else don't they need, empty the fridge?
• We pour the boys and LMM into some plane on the Monday and go.

The week after, it takes until about Wednesday for him to function again and the holiday really starts. We've used this week for something really good and new every month. This time, it's off to ski in Austria. Flying into Munich, oh we're in the swing of it now - and a car to collect straight away at the airport! And the switch into German won't be hard, it's only been a month. Accommodation organised by cousin, who changed accommodation at the last minute, to ensure we'd get plenty of snow. Exciting stuff - and so easy, we're here, used to eachothers' ways on holidays now. But yes, much the easier for us, having them there.

Next time Turkey, after that France! On our own then.

A Day on the Prime Meridian

Greenwich. The name already stops me dead, after filling me with lo-o-nging for years. I just wanted to be there, stand on that zero point, where all space is measured from, in a way.

I first read 'Longitude', by Dava Sobel, a few years ago, but saw the Jeremy Irons TV show about it even longer ago. And living in Australia, a country which is founded in part on a reliable clock, just gives the place a very personal resonance for me. One of the earliest clocks was given to Captain Cook, on his trip to watch the Transit of Venus in ?1770 - he was considered a good seaman, someone you could trust with a clock, someone you could trust to take readings of longitude with it.

So, onto the train to Greenwich on a pale, bare Sunday morning. The Bean reading the Tube stops, the Pumpkin climbing the seats, me just humming at the prospect of making this pilgrimage on my personal map of the world.

Across the grounds of the Maritime College, into the Maritime Museum. Wowowowowow. Passing through the Titanic, opening cupboards on the marine uniforms, the Pumpkin wondering where the person talking about their uniform got to before he could open the door to see them. Nelson's coat, complete with hole from the day he died. Maritime histories of slave movements, waves of migrations in red arrows around the globe. My journey is part of one of those red arrows too. Shiny propellors, ship decks, a lovely cafe ( I could paint my walls that colour, stand a palm like this in my house!) and a playground - what more could we want. A toilet, poor Pumpkin has the trots, the same intense kind which Bean had over Christmas in Stuttgart, cramping. I get snapped with a statue of Captain Cook, only right. We toil on up the hill, to the Observatory. I feel I've reached a summit. More toilet stops.

And then, weaving with my boys and the queues, past the telescopes, the rooms inside, to the octagonal observing room, the living quarters and the clocks themselves. It IS a pilgrimage: I pay silent respects, and could cry for how moved I am to be with them: H1, H2, H3. The Bean is fascinated by a great interactive display, the Pumpkin heavy in my arms. I sit in the semi-gloom, the Pumpkin sleeps, the Bean opens and shuts doors, I reflect on this journey to this point in time. It is something I wanted, not about them, but made the more precious to be doing it with my two treasures, made so far away, over on 171 or so, not 0 as here. I feel triumphant as we ask another tourist to snap us right on the line, our feet on the Sydney point. We made it! Maybe the ancient mariners felt like this when they thought they'd fall off, get lost, run aground - and then didn't.

A loud, freezing, BRILLIANT high point racing on the ferry back to Tower Bridge. The boys screaming at the loud rushing water, me snapping, laughing, roaring at what IS possible for a mother to do with her young boys, at where it's possible to BE. Away upriver, along the old wharves, past the docks, past the new Canary Wharf stockbroker sheds, along the way they came back in after sailing bout the world, there's the Tower Bridge, the Gherkin, the Tower of London.

Did I tell you boys, I nearly fell out of a window there, before I was even two? The circle turns. The day ends with more Tube travel, a show - Marianne Dreams, more Tube travel, dinner with friends, a hooge day, but wonderful life.

Paris meets Paris

Years of lead-up, this! Paris the bear gets to Paris today.

Driving up from overnight in Orleans, droping off the car at Orly airport, then train and Metro to our hotel. Me now with my boys, in Paris again! Wow. Lunch for E10 at a corner bistrot, fab fab, we're here. This, I can do.

And hitting the high notes immediately, we set off for the Eiffel Tower. Long wait in the queue. This will be the one time we do this. I never did when I lived here at 16, or in later visits - always too touristy. But now. The boys are hopping, I'm getting cold, the queue is full of tourists on shorter holidays, we get to feel that we really do live in Europe now. What a stream of life we're in.

Up in the lift, to the very top. EArrgh. Vertigo. I'm almost sick with the height of it, the headtrip of it moving up here, the wind, oh I know it's a safe structure, and it's been here, but suddenly I've got all teh bad thoughts rushing in. The Bean beside himself with excitement, the Pumpkin falls asleep on Leathermanman's shoulder and misses a real lot of it all. We go to the top, gaze into the museum boxes, stare out over this amazing city, roar into the wind. I'm back, I'm back.

On the way down, the Bean and LMM run the stairs (like LMM did when he was a kid here), the Pumpkin and I catch the lift down. Incredible experience, a real highlight. And then we search for toilets, go to a playground. Of course.

And into the 6e, past my old school, photos there!, amazing to BE HERE, shop for postcards. A shred of home it is. Dinner near St Michel in a Greek restaurant, staring at a statue of a nude white bum, over the shoulders of my two boys. LONG walk home, all the way past Notre Dame, the Seine, Place de Vosges, rolling, savouring every step. Just got here, wish I could stay.

(Paris the Bear is Paris because Painterwoman bought the bear for the Bean on the day he was born. Then 2 weeks later, she flew to Paris, to paint. That bear has been wanting to get here for 7 years!)

A driveway 5km long

We arrive in Osses in golden late light, driving from the small town with fountain/church/convenience shop with roasting chickens on a spit and local chestnut cake up to the house. It's a winding green road, across a narrow bridge overlooking perfect-green-river, past farmhouses, one lane of road often coated in dirt off tractor wheels, reversing a bit to let the tractor by, hairpin bends in green gloaming forest, up into open fields and across an endless view straight to the Pyrenees, and into the gate to the house.

Which looks exactly like the pictures online. Difference being, the walls are paper-thin, and there's only one bathroom. Cousin B chooses the bedrooms for her family again, it works better for all that way, and we begin to fill the house with our week's intentions. The view across the terrace is one of those I drink in, store in my fibres, because I'll b eneedign to draw on it again for years, later.

The next day, all we manage for the days is to pack some food, swimsuits, books, and drive to the bridge over the river and swim, eat, laze in the sun. The photos are completely idyllic. This is the holiday we wanted. Perfect after the move from Spain-week to France-week, via the Guggenheim in Bilbao, yesterday. Perfect.

Update: this is one of the most memorable days for the 8 of us. For different reasons: Cousin B was in such agony with her knee, she almost couldn't read her book, much less enjoy our larks in the water. Me because we all stopped, really played where we were, invented stories and cities for the children in the middle of the riverbank, swam them in the strong, cold, current, ate a delicious picnic, which we had really sorted by then - cutting up and making for the children, wine for us in tumblers! A day when we all just were. Together.

Australia can wait. Germany now.

A day of packing, nerves and anxiety, followed by an almost sleepless night. Does every mother fret like this on the eve of a big trip with her children, without her husband? I know I do. An epic trip, the travel within the travel of this trip - my children meet my grandmother. A life- achievement by the end of the day.

Pre-dawn moulding of small boys limbs into their clothes (selected to match eachother and me, plus travel well), taxi to Cork airport, and away to London Stansted.

My first time in a cheap airport: how long will it take to get through one set of customs and on to the next plane? Will my odd paperwork be a problem, as I'm not registered in Ireland, and I should be, according to the police and Immigration there? What could go wrong? How can I keep myself and these two small boys moving through the day? Can I make the switch to German again, now with them holding me in English as well?

Then Munich. I get a strange feeling as if this is the real start of my trip - as on so many trips my whole life long, I've come into Munich. This is familiar, my family, my roots. And the immigration guy asks me at the end, all friendly - why are you travelling with these boys who do not have your name? Could he please see the authorisation that I may do so? Digging out my marriage certificate to prove they are my lawful children, this is just German properness...there are rules, you must know that we know them, and we must be seen to be doing it all the right way...Goddamm. I had packed all the papers, so I expected it really, didn't I?

And now it's all new, talking to my boys, listening to all the Germans on the S-Bahn - on the way back from summer holidays in Sweden, China, the world. I'm eyes and ears, and memory lane, can barely speak for the flashbacks of other times I've made this trip, other times I've stepped off at Gauting, other times my grandmother is standing there as if she did this every other week!

And it's summer at last - we wear t-shirts, without singlets under or jumpers over, the whole day long. Lovely family days, remembering things past, family traits. Also crafting new days - now that I'm moving about with children of my own. An age watching the Bean swing on the rings in my uncle's garden, fabulous, what muscles, what meaning in a simple sunny afternoon!

The Bean gets to spend E35 on Schleich toys, agonising, enjoying the selecting for an HOUR, yes!, in the toy shop on the Stachus. The Pumpkin invents an elaborate game with my aunt, involving pegging all the clothes pegs on one of her potplants - and then pegging Christmas decorations, leaves, Easter eggs to the tree!

A walk to Stanage Edge

What makes a day stand out? It's seeing something you thought you'd never see. It's finding a liberation in an hour, from days and days of being in the harness of humdrum 'ordinary' life..

Meeting Ivan. This uncle, zany, I'd heard about him for years. Finally, the day is on us, I'm dreading it and putting on a brave face - and curious too. There is a beautiful pink rose bush in the front garden, the house high on a hill in Sheffield. Inside, it's a-clutter with one man's stuff, not aired, cleaned or moved enough in a long time. A shelf for the tins for a rainy day - what's the other shelf of tins for? The walls covered in photos, prints of familiar places, like Hungary and Australia.

He's like those uncles of my mothers, that I used to have to visit when we stayed with Omi - a particular Continental sense of humour, wordplay that all know is clever, even though we don't always laugh out loud. Sentimental, referential to other times. So we get on GREAT, I play the mother role with absolute conviction, can just be as I am. Leathermanman says, wash everything, don't touch anything! But we get tea and fruit out, look through photos and his old cameras. The Bean is a PERFECT namesake, shows great interest in the old cameras, wants to know about this strange man, as much as the uncle wants to know about him. The Pumpkin gets hungry, we open one of the Rainy Days tins and eat soup, heated, direct from the tin. I can't write about the bathroom, but I'm touched and entertained, all at once. And I imagine laughing with my mother-in-law about it in future.

A walk to Stanage Edge in the Peak District. Like other walks with my elderly relatives in Germany, all set off, groups form for 'walk and talk'. The Pumpkin and the uncle have exactly the same pace, The Bean and I run, run in the wind over the stones on the edge of the Edge. Liberation. Leathermanman imagines himself bouldering, we are all liberated in this Australia-like expanse, our gazes stretching to a horizon, the view filled with grasses and heather, fields, stone walls, not buildings, not crowding close around us. In the photo you can't see, but LMM and his uncle have EXACTLY the same shape head!

Then we take Ivan back to Eyam Youth Hostel. He took the first photos of it, when they first started promoting themselves long ago - and is DELIGHTED to be out for a night. We fold children into their bunks and drink a bottle of wine outside in endless late summer light. There's much hilarity and tales of lives lived before we all met up today. Lovely.

A well boring day

What a magical combination of engineering and other-worldly skills, with generations passing it on! Saw this sign on a wall, on the way home Cork from a day further out west. Left the boys in the car to snap this one!

A day when Leathermanman worked all day, so I packed the Bean and the Pumpkin and a picnic into the car, in search of Drombeg Stone Circle, Creagh Gardens and a day out. The Drombeg stones are well, small, but the knowledge that centuries ago, some mysterious folk watched the mid-summer sun rise up through a chink on the horizon and cast its rays across the altar stone and through the centre of the 2 lead stones, well, that's not so bad. Boys imagined cooking here, and enjoyed running about in the big space. Creagh Gardens are closed, but we enjoyed our picnic in a lovely garden nearby all the same.