There is a tiny hint of jasmine in the air and with it comes dreams of a summer just about to fruit. I have woken early to a mess of five-year-old boy limbs across my belly; my own legs cramped in the single bed I am sharing with my youngest born and our giant, heavy pup

who thinks he is my third child. Flynn's warm breath is on my cheek as I listen to my oldest asleep above us, master of the bunk beds. Elliot is experiencing hay fever for the first time, so his usually silent night breathing is snuffly and deep. He suddenly laughs loudly—deep and

different to when he is awake. I wonder when my eight-year-old slipped from young boy to pre-teen without me noticing. I smile as I imagine what hilarity he is sharing with his mates while dreaming.

In a handful of minutes, the alarm will sound, and we will begin the whirlwind that is getting to school and work. Will Elliot remain patient with his furiously bossy little brother? Will Flynn insist on me creating magnet block creations for ‘just one more minute!' as I juggle breakfast and school lunches, packing overnight bags for my darling babes' second home at their dad's? Will the boys be on top of each other, wrestling and laughing with gusto as only young boys can, until inevitably someone hits too hard, a pillow in the nose and then a stream of cherry-red blood, tissues, and watery eyes but still mostly happy smiles? Especially when Elliot, the mediator and comedian, makes a penis joke to cheer up Flynn, the warrior and wildling.

I think of this as I feel the warm feet pressing into my skin, marvelling that not so long ago I was growing those very feet and now they are attached to a very tall and lanky baby man. I savour these minutes, weary in my bones but full beyond measure in my heart. I picture our summer—mornings at Little Athletics, long beach days blasting ‘Watermelon Sugar' and sucking on icy poles, bike rides and king of the hill, and bushwalks with Sunny, our German shorthaired pointer (who is completely mad but as Elliot likes to say, so are we). Then the quiet nights together on the couch—sun-kissed and soaked in salt and love.

I close my eyes and smell the tiny hint of jasmine. I wish for nothing but this right here, this perfect, simple moment just for us.

 

 

 

© Sarah Moredoundt. From Ourselves published by Night Parrot Press (2024).

 

 

 

Sarah Moredoundt is a slightly chaotic, highly optimistic, creative communications specialist with a passion for sharing glimpses of her life through her writing. Very proud mum to two little boys and an extremely wild puppy, Sarah spends her fleeting spare moments running along the coast or visiting her favourite beaches.

 

 

www.nightparrotpress.com