Scary stories from a lovely place
I love the rain when it comes. Even though I spend so much time outside, and pretty much rely on the outdoors to be a semi-decent mother, I’m often willing the rain to come. I love that it nourishes the garden and washes my house. I even like the enforced indoor time, lots of Dr Seuss, repetitive games, wrestling and circular conversations. But it’s the next day that I pay the price, even if its easy to get out of the house, the damage of a day indoors is done.
We’ve had a bit of a wild day here today. Misunderstandings, fighting, broken toys, gardening gloves filled up with water, shouting, damp chickens, an over abundance of ripe tomatoes, and antsy children.
After ‘dinner’ (that word implies order and decorum which wasn’t really present) I took the kids for a walk amid promises of puddles and a desert picnic. It was almost 7 and I knew I was risking normal bed time, but we had to get out.
We had a great time, jumping in puddles, looking at stranded jelly fish in the lake and musing over what they would taste like, cutting up pears, chasing each other and hiding from monsters. As the light steadily got lower and lower I didn’t want to force us home. The play continued.
I do so love being out at night. This was something I could never adjust to when I lived in Johannesburg. Going out at night on foot was never an option, in a car it was, but required many precautions. I love that about Australia, how safe it is. Even where I live, which is considered a bit rough, (I was told by someone who doesn’t live here that the kids take knives to school. Her kids have never been pupils at the local school, so I wasn’t sure how she knew), I can easily go for a walk at dusk without serious fears for my personal safety.
This makes life really easy and enjoyable. There’s something extra fun about running from pretend monsters and jumping in puddles at dusk, rather than broad daylight.