Me time. Blogtober 14th.

I ambled into the library.

No, really. I ambled into the library.


Without a toddler pulling at my arm and twittering in my ear.

And while there was a part of me that felt sad in this section…

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The other part of me threw my arms wide open and welcomed the freedom.

I made a point to hover a little longer over the things that intrigued me.


It was ‘me’ time, ‘me’ style.

Peeping through the cracks in search of the new and exciting.


And snatching up the wordsmiths I know and love.

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When it was over, I ambled out.

Yes. Ambled again. Sucked in the final  breath of ‘me’ time.

All that ambling; it was everything.

Until this happened.



A bright eyed, freshly bathed toddler.

So, so ready for a new and exciting bedtime story.

Possum Magic. Blogtober 22nd.

I watched her silhouette closely. I envisioned her falling. Or being electrocuted, at the very worst.

But the balancing act went on.

The possum, herself, didn’t seem at all worried about her plight. She scurried along the power line that hovered high above the road. She took a sharp turn and began to edge along a new power line. She was trying to cross the road. Was she climbing on the wires to avoid the big and scary road? Surely possums are not that smart.

But maybe. Just maybe, they are.

I returned my attention to the lap top computer that I’d been tapping away at for the last half an hour. I had been composing this very blog  post. I had picked out a single smile for the day and, before the possum had taken to the wire, I had been drafting it’s content.

Then it all changed. 

Mister C pointed to something else up on the wire. Following about a metre behind the brave, road crossing possum was the sweetest little possum I ever did see. A baby, bravely following her Mummy as if she’d done it a million times before.

Then, Mummy possum stopped.

Her precious baby stopped right behind her.

They did a little tail wrestle.

And off they went.

Mummy Possum and her brave little baby. A game of trust. A game of love.

Without hesitation, I turned to my computer and hit delete.

How could the smile in the post that I’d previously been drafting compare to such a beautiful moment. A Mummy and her innocent child.

And then I remembered something else. Once upon a time, when I was just a girl, my own Mother had read to me a very famous and much loved Australian children’s story. It was called ‘Possum Magic.’

I began to research the story, thinking that I would like to include it in this post, some how.

“Once upon a time, but not very long ago, deep in the Australian bush, there lived two possums. Their names were Hush and Grandma Poss. Grandma Poss made bush magic…”


Yes, that was it. Hush and Grandma Poss. Maybe that was them out on the wire. My two little, tail wrestling possums.

I’ll leave this smile with a little bit of trivia for you—something that I’ve only just discovered, myself.

Last year, possum magic turned 30 years old.

And so, my friends, did I.


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Adventures of a Lifetime. Blogtober 15th.

Do you remember the last time you read a great book? Every page was enticing. Every word, delighting. Maybe that book taught you something. Maybe it changed your life. Whatever the case, by the time you’d finished it, you were glad it had come into your life.

Now imagine a world where you’d never learnt to read. Never seen words. Never learnt to interpret their meaning. What a different world that would have been for you, that world where you had not learnt to read.

And have you ever thought about how it all began? That book you just read — how did you get there? How did you become the literate, intelligent person that is reading this blog and wondering where the author is going with all of this?

I can tell you how.

Someone sat you down and read you your very first book.

Someone sat with you while you agonised over every new word in your reader. Someone painted your school library bag with puff paint and glitter, just so you would come to cherish library day.

Someone loved you that much.

A few months ago, when Baby C was about three months old, I sat him down and read him his first book. My tiny baby on my knee. He had no idea what the words meant. He still has no idea. But that doesn’t matter one little bit because reading is so much more than just knowing what the words mean.

Reading is an adventure. An awesome, smiley adventure.

My Childhood Books vs Baby C’s

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Most awesome book ever. This one will have to wait until Baby C won’t tear it apart. Or eat it.

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The first book I ever bought my Baby Boy. He was in my belly, then.

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