Mother's Day in Moissac

This is vivid. Precious. Europe Green. Still.

HOT day, I decide to wear 'the' dress, on only its third outing all year. Drove to Moissac, a cathedral town on the Garonne, famous for its cloister and its canal. Markets again, our French is running back into our mouths like saliva does when you see something delicious. Suddenly, the words are there.

An outside, sunny, hot, picnic of couscous and chicken by the Canal du Midi. The lunch is gorgeous, the company fine, the weather has us amazed - it can feel like this!

The canal runs across France from Bordeaux to the Mediterranean, and was built by a genius engineer (he must have been) during Napoleonic times. Here in Moissac, the canal must cross the Garonne. Simple, they said. So a bridge to transport the canal was built, ably assisted by a lock to adjust levels. We walked under plane trees, saw some boats lower in the lock, and walked back again.

Green spring. My beloved boys. All three. This is how a mother's day should be. Every now and then. Too much and we wouldn't have enough to laugh about later.

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.

Breakfast with a Nightshifter

At the table, all at once, during a happy family sitting: boys in pyjamas, cereal which we call 'glop' (yoghurt, oats, grated apple or other fruit, linseed, sunflower seeds, milk), smoked mackerel dip with black pepper, jams from Poland and France, cups of coffee, and beer!

Wish I'd taken a photo, 8.30am in the morning. Also, the sun is actually shining in our window, still amazed to see this here in Cork.

This is what it's like, our Cork-life during the week of nights: he's winding down and going off to sleep after a late snack, we're winding up into our day - away from the house as much as possible. We went off to have a wild, sunny, sand-building day at the beach, Ownahinch, pictured here, once we'd finished our city.

Homeward Bound

Well, that changes everything. A week ago, we decided to fly home on our original plan a, ie the end of June, with 2 weeks USA fly-over. After paying for the tickets Friday, it then took the weekend to decide really - and shed the tears. Once I've cried, the decision is made. Really made. Sealed in water.

In a week, it's changed my view of Europe, my needs of the place while we're still here, and my connectedness to it. Immediately, I'm less connected, less immersed, because I know we're stepping out. We're separate again. I'm on the way to becoming that stranger again.

And I got the next in our seemingly endless line of colds, one of those ones with a throat so raw I could hardly speak. Or move off the couch in the evenings while LMM worked the night shift. More on that later.

What I observe is that the variety, availability of SO much here deeply appeals to me. The thought of the streets in Australia filled me with glumness - so few cars to choose from. I've come to accept, enjoy the BIG variety of everything here - jams, cars, newspapers, destinations for our week-out trips. And, after being frugal because we're living here (and because I'm that way inclined in day-to-day life), I feel a shift to just HAVE whatever we can get in the remaining 2 months.

And thoughts turn to packing, each item I hold in my hands becomes a question: am I taking you back, do I still need you now, or are you for the bin immediately? Last night, this set of thoughts filled a bin: the Shanghai fake Converse, some out of date cosmetics and lots of paper, process-drawing from the boys.

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.

Spring mornings along the Lee

One of my favourite parts of Cork.

Three days a week, the Pumpkin goes to preschool, and the walk from school to the preschool takes us through the grounds of UCC, along the Lee. He starts up a new story every time we walk (do you want a story about fairies or bicycles, daytime or nighttime? and so on), and we weave our way through morning traffic, students, parents, workers, until we get to the UCC gate. These hours, I will not forget.

Turning right after the footbridge, there's a gorgeous 300m along the river, under the Lewis Glucksman Gallery, a most unusual building, (the bottom picture catches it), past fairy gardens, old trees, green lawns, burbling river, through another stone gate, over the river and along to the preschool. There's hardly ever anyone here as I pass through.

And all around, traffic crawls in Cork's dreadful streets, unchangedly awful after all these months. Constant mire of roadworks, closed lanes, tractors down the main streets in peak hour...

Today, it's getting green, bright, denser. Pink blossom, white blossom. All the trees have their tiniest, babiest green leaves out - birch and beech, woodthorn, even tiny baby green oak leaves. I get the same feeling as when I look at a new baby - new life, exciting new possibilities. And as I walk it on the way back, I too am filled with the possibilities of 3 hours childfree, podcasts from Sydney or New York in my ears, my step getting longer, my thoughts clearing.

I'm so proud of you...

...for cleaning up the whole floor like that.

So said my Pumpkin after he'd pointed out how dirty the bathroom floor in the boys' bathroom was. And then stood there, hands on hips, watching as I wiped and mopped. Made me go the extra mile on the toilets and all other housework in the big Tuesday clean yesterday, yep. (Still trying to keep the big stuff to once a week, like I started in Darwin with Helen all those years ago.)

Just now, at the English Market, an actual statement from him: "The whole market could make a smiley face: the person who wants to keep me could give us a banana for the smile, this olive person could give us two round olives for the eyes, what could be the nose?" His imagination is unbounded, the language development way out there, just like his brother, and (might I add, just like his talkative parents.)

Power to him. He has said in the past: "it's my job to make everyone laugh and keep them all excited all the time."