Masterful mothering. Or the mediocre attempts thereabouts.

As if I really required reminding of this, but these quarantined days have demonstrated how I can be a Master Mother at times, and at others, if mothering was like driving, you would disqualify me from holding my licence. Adelaide has taken to prefacing questions with,
"Mum, I know what you're going to say to this, I know you'll say no, but, well, I want to ask you anyway, so..."
And she'll sigh disconsolately and I'll inwardly seethe (why the heck are you asking me then?!?!?). Outwardly, I attempt calm and suggest,
"Why don't you try me?"
And inevitably my answer will be no. But it's worth a try. On both our parts, I guess.

I found myself having a conversation with a friend the other day, describing my breakfast chat with the kids where I offered them an activity that day that could be craft-based or cooking-based.
"Gosh, I never offer mine that!" she sighed.
"ME EITHER!" I crowed, feeling inordinately smug and proud of myself. Noble Mother is a rarity in this house these days. Complaining-constantly-irritated-might-be-putting-on-weight-Mother, however, is an alarming constant. And so, to try to dispel the general impression that my Mountain Family have of me right now, I will post for you now, notes of happy that strike me in these uncertain times.

• I drink two coffee's a day. Sometimes I sit with it in on our veranda in the sun and read my book. Is it bad that I tell the hungry kids that I'll fix their lunch when I finish my chapter?

• We live minutes from the beach. Sometimes when the tide is high, I can hear the waves crashing from our house. Walking on the beach soothes my soul as skiing does in the Yukon. It's that proximity to a wild-space, I think, that brings a balm.

• My kids are amazing. Today, while I applied for a job, snuck onto Facebook for a while, applied for some jobs for Shea, baked cookies, snuck onto Facebook a little longer, packed to go sailing and folded some clothes, they played together, entertaining themselves with, I have no idea what. But it was quiet and in a room that I was not in and for that, I am grateful. There was some time spent in my closet, with headlamps and whiteboards. There was another portion spent running round the back and front yard, 'spying' on the neighbours or folks walking past our house. There may, and hold onto your hat now, was even times spent playing with their toy cars and shaping them into a love heart. That's Shea's genes right there...

• The monotonous sunshine of this week is bringing me joy. Though the weather is cooling and feeling less like a glaring Aussie summer, the days warm up to a gloriousness that allows bare feet and windows and doors flung open all day. 

• Our daily outdoor adventure, somewhere in Stockton. Either on bikes, on scooters or on foot. It's pleasing to have this freedom of time to mosey about our new suburb. If we can't connect with the community directly, at least we can learn it's beaches, river and streets through exploration. And so often we come home with a new treasure. Just yesterday we found a house giving away magazines and another that had multitudes of succulent offcuts that we bought home and planted.

• The playfulness of my family. We played 'fancy-dinner' the other night whereby we all dressed up, Shea even showered. We set the table with a tablecloth and our fanciest setting. Just as we were sitting down to the roast dinner, Adelaide knocked the jar of salad dressing and it's oiliness spread quickly across the fancy tablecloth. Judging by the gasp and fearful looks that were cast my way, more often than not my reaction would be to lose my banana. Instead, Master Mother (ennobled by a good red wine), rose to the fore. She laughed and gently suggested the table be cleared and re-set with our secondary tablecloth. Having jumped to action, it was mere minutes before we were again sitting down to our dinner. I poured Mountain Dad a glass of wine, having just topped up my own. He was serving us all with gravy he'd just made, remonstrating with Adelaide that the lesson here, which he was always, having to remind her of, was to be careful! Simultaneously, he turned and knocked my wine glass flying. Red wine drenched my dinner, chair, floor and, of course, our tablecloth. 

Dinner, when we finally got around to eating it, was cold but still delicious. Master Mother was attending still, not at all irritated. Maybe because we all have moments when we shine. Maybe because she had had a good night's sleep the night before. Maybe because Mountain Dad proved that he wasn't immune to stuffing up. 

Or maybe it was as simple as having had two glasses of wine. I'll leave you to draw your own conclusion.