The thing about having a duckling inside, without any of its siblings, is that it doesn’t realise it’s a duckling. Sure, neither of my other children are living in a plastic box with a sawdust floor, but ducklings aren’t great at seeing the big picture.

Ducklings also have a built in suvival reflex that goes something like “HOLY FUCK I’M LOST AND ALONE, PEEP PEEP PEEP PEEP”. This has enabled me to find many a duckling separated from the mother, all I have to do is follow the peeping.

Unfortunately, the inside duckling sometimes freaks the fuck out and goes “HOLY FUCK, I’M LONELY, PEEP PEEP PEEP PEEP” which doesn’t help me in the slightest, as I know exactly where the little thing is.

It has meant that as soon as the frantic peeping starts, my children race for the duckling box, vying to be the first one to reassure the baby that it’s not alone. My children sit around the box chatting and the duckling tones its peeping down to “hey, I’m joining in the conversation as well” and everyone is happy.

I wasn’t quite sure what I was expecting, but apparently the duckling assumes that my children are its siblings and my children are happy to peep back at it.

Also, while they’re bothering the duckling, they are not screeching at me.

Everybody wins!

Amy is back to school today, which is divine, even though I am now down one duckling silencer. Her ear has improved, thank goodness, and I was delighted to drop her off in her classroom today and then walk away.

I love my daughter, but I really love her being at school as well.

Look what hatched here overnight.

Love the love heart.

Current count is seven, with three eggs to go. 70% success rate at this stage is HUGE and I’m pleased.

If ducklings knew anything about the Internet, this one would be shouting “FIRST” in triumph, as the other eggs are only just starting to crack.

I’ll keep an eye on the nest and make sure she sits long enough, but I’m not terribly worried – last time she sat for four days after the first baby hatched.

Amy rarely asks to have her photo taken, unlike Isaac who has a tendency to meltdown if I don’t regularly snap photos of him. That’s why, when she requested I snap a photo of her and Wolfgang today, I was a little surprised.

Luckily my camera and memory card were close by and the cat was more than content to stay sitting on her lap.

How has your Sunday morning been?

We were in the garden the other day when Amy spotted two snails having sex.

“Mummy, what are the snails doing?”

“They’re making babies.”

“How do snails have babies?”

“They lay eggs.”

“Oh. And then the babies will hatch and eat our plants?”

“Probably.”

Five minutes later, the snails were slowly going their separate ways (they must have been at it all night to be done so quickly) and the ducks were at the gate looking hungry.

So I picked the snails up and threw them to the ducks.

I’m pretty sure they died happy, if we ignore the moments of terror when first they flew, (snails are not designed for flight, by the way) and then were eaten by hungry ducks.

It was 1.30am and I wasn’t sleeping. The heat in the house was stifling and opening the windows only helped a little.

I got out of bed and stood, looking at the streetlight and the myriad moths battering themselves to death against it. Sometimes, the bats will hunt under the streetlight and I will stand, watching, entranced for long minutes.

Last night there were no bats, but the breeze had cooled down and it was pleasant, standing there.

I was busy contemplating everything; the growing blob inside me; plans for the morning; ways to make sure we didn’t run out of chocolate.

Deep in thought I didn’t notice the cat, as she wrapped herself around my ankle and, suddenly, viciously bit me on the toe, kicking her back legs against me for better leverage.

I can only say that thinking is dangerous and you should not do it.

Especially near cats.

It is the fourth day of Summer today and when I went outside to take photos of my ducklings for you Internet, I put on thick socks, jeans, an undershirt, a t-shirt, a jumper, Nathan’s big furry coat and red gumboots. It’s cold Internet and the cold has sunk into my bones, leaving me wanting nothing more than to curl up with my book and unending cups of tea.

These are the sacrifices I make, in order to bring you ducklings photos. Of which there is only one, because while the ducklings regarded me suspiciously and hid behind their mother, the mother had no such qualms and instead seemed interested in eating my face.

For an animal that doesn’t have teeth and can’t really use it’s claws, mother ducks are rather vicious and attacky.

You’re welcome.

So, after wandering around after the ducklings and finding one dead (it got confused about which duck was its mother last night and despite my best attempts to shoo it back to its siblings, spent a cold night without its mum), I went into the garden.

We’re not telling the children that I know where the strawberries are ripening.

Blackcurrants ripening on my black currant bush. My two grandmothers gave me this cutting from my great grandmothers blackcurrant bush when I first moved in here. I’m glad that it’s not only survived, but thrived.

These are the sweet williams that I used to make my “aisle” for the wedding. I still haven’t planted them out, but you know. I’ll get there. Just as soon as I can make Nathan dig the holes for me.

It seems that miscarriages and exhaustion make bendy joints even worse and if walking has been displacing joints, I shudder to think what trying to dig a hole would do. At this stage, I’m just grateful for thigh high socks, which are not only keeping me warm, but are providing valuable knee support.

My children “helped” me plant peas again this year, which has seen little pea plants pop up everywhere. This one I found almost in the pathway, along with some self sown chives and a large amount of grass.

[Video: Now with captions]

Internet, I give you the baby birds that are screeching above my desk. BECAUSE I WANT YOU TO SUFFER WITH ME.

These working conditions are intolerable. I’ve tried complaining to the groundskeeper and maintenance man (Nathan) but he tells me his hands are tied and I need to discuss the issue with pest control (The Cats).

Either way, nothing is getting done and my ears are hurting.

I awoke at 3am to Amy, staring at me.

“Mummmmmy, my ear hurts.”

She coughed a little for good measure, as I stumbled out of bed and towards the fridge for panadol. This is why I buy panadol when my children are awfully healthy – it’s because I don’t want to be short of it at 3am.

I dosed her up, tucked her back into bed and fell back asleep myself, praying that she wasn’t really getting sick, as the things I had planned for today really didn’t require two children in attendance.

When my alarm went off and I stopped pressing snooze repeatedly, I woke Amy up.

And then I woke her up again five minutes later.

And then again, 10 minutes later.

“But mummy, my bones are really very tired today.”

I was still hopeful that I would be able to send her to school, up until she dozed off during breakfast, before coughing herself awake again.It appeared she was actually, unfortunately, ill.

Instead of school, that would have been a lovely break for me and fun for her, she got to come to see our Celebrant with us, while Nathan and I dealt with the legal stuff that we needed to get married.

Both children were very well behaved, in the scheme of things and I was quite pleased. We’re now all official with our legal intentions to marry and birth certificates looked at and everything. That is exciting.

26th of November, we’re getting married.

***

In other news, which is unrelated to everything else, I collected 14 eggs today. FOURTEEN. Even though I am using eggs as fast as I can, I am not using eggs as fast as my chooks are popping them out.

I’ve asked Nathan nicely (demanded) to make me a sign to put out the front, offering eggs for sale, but he is terribly busy with other things (slacking off) and hasn’t. Yet.

All of this is to say, if you’re in Tasmania, in the Hobart ish area and would like to buy some proper free range eggs, then I’m your girl.

When I say proper free range, I mean, my chooks have access to an acre of pasture that is mine 24/7 and they frequently roam the 10 acres of pasture that surrounds me. They are proper free range and the eggs are delicious.

I also have duck eggs to sell, but supply of these is not as reliable as the chook eggs, so email me first.

It doesn’t take much to send me into paroxysms of delight nowadays. A rabbit, some fruit trees and some blue metal will just about do it.

The mud has been steadily rising here, threatening to swallow my house whole. Fifteen ducks paddling in it have been making it worse and when an equal number of chooks stand around the front door yelling for food, while also scratching through the mud for interesting grubs, it can only end in disaster.

I put my foot down when I started to feel like it might just be easier to mud ski around parts of my paddock and insisted that we order some blue metal (crushed rock) to cover the muddy areas with.

It’s interesting to see who you know in our relatively small community and the woman on the other end of the phone when we ordered, was a girl that I had gone to school with. She arranged for everything to be dropped off that very same afternoon, while I imagined a future in which sliding through the mud wouldn’t exist. Blissful thoughts.

Of course, like all things possibly related to Murphy, the truck arrived while I was in the middle of collecting eggs that hadn’t been collected while I was away. There I was standing in my daggiest clothes, with blackberry leaves caught in my hair, and my shirt pulled up to make a basket for the eight eggs I had just collected, three of them covered heavily in chook poo.

Never let me tell you that my life is glamorous.

Chook poo and a hoisted up shirt aside, Isaac and Amy were also outside with me.

There is only so much consoling you can do when your shirt is full of eggs and shit and your toddler is trying to flail on the ground in duck poo and mud, while a truck roars and beeps in the background.

On the upside, no one got squashed, we didn’t smash any eggs and duck poo washes off small boys quite easily. Thank god.

Nathan spent the day shifting blue metal yesterday and I must say, I am not missing the mud slide. Not at all.

***

Today of course, I was hunter gathering, as I’m wont to do. This is no ordinary hunter gathering mind you, this is bare hands and unsuitable shoes type hunter gathering.

First, I picked out some new fruit trees, while holding fourteen kilos of toddler on my hip and smiling at the woman who was helping me. THEN, I insisted that Isaac hug his grandmother while I sorted out my gift certificate and Nathan bought new mattresses in the next door shop.

And then I came home and caught a rabbit, with my bare hand. Only one hand, the other hand was full of an egg that my chooks had laid.

Yes, you read that right, I caught a rabbit. WITH MY HAND.

Behold! My awe inspiring rabbit catching abilities.

Okay, so it was only a baby and it had run into an old cupboard and possibly all I did was flip the cupboard over onto its back so that the rabbit couldn’t jump out, but I CAUGHT IT.

There is something to be said for being able to announce to the collective members of a room (front yard) “Hey, so I just caught a rabbit. BY MYSELF. Want to see?” and then actually produce a live rabbit for the gooing and the gaahing over.

Hunter gathering went well today.

Now if I can just find where my bloody poultry are hiding their nests, I’ll be lots happier.

***

The bunny was so small that I couldn’t be bothered killing it. I don’t mind shooting, but there is just something so personal about breaking a neck, or chopping off a head, you know? Plus, with all the effort I went to to catch the little thing, it hardly seemed fair that then I would then be the one gutting and skinning it and getting all up and personal with its sneeze making fur.

And I might have had a Watership Downs flashback and wondered who was waiting for the baby rabbit at home and not been able to stop myself personifying it.

[Digression: The cat was waiting for the baby rabbit when I went back to let it go. He had been patiently sitting on the piece of tin I had blocked the opening with, waiting for his dinner to make its way out of the box. Now I know both why the cat is so fat and why there was a baby rabbit in the middle of my paddock in the first place. Curiosity satisfied.]