PicMonkey Collage

Making preparations to return to work. Reluctantly.

Cooking My own bread. I buy rye flour and yeast in bulk and bake every day.

Drinking Greystone Savignon Blanc.

Reading Chocolat by Josephine Harris. My favourite line: “Children are born wild, I know. The best I can hope for is a little tenderness, a seeming docility. Beneath the surface the wildness remains, stark, savage and alien”.

Wanting to read Bad Feminist by Roxane Gay.

Looking at the new Womankind quarterly magazine. So, so beautiful. Substance.

Playing at Yoga. I took a class on Saturday. I enjoyed the physicality. The mindfulness not so much. I just kept looking at the fan overhead, wanting to dust it.

Enjoying Dark chocolate, Etsy and strong coffee, preferably combined.

Sewing I really need to take this prompt out. It depresses me.

Wishing I had better command over my emotions some times.

Waiting for a revolution in Australian politics. I think I’m going to be waiting awhile.

Loving our foray into camping. You can feel the power of a memory being made.

Listening to ABC News podcasts and the Fifty Shades sound track. It’s good!

Marvelling At the number of people who ask me if and when I’m going to have another baby

Needing to catch up on letter writing.

Following Jane Caro. I love EVERYTHING she says and the confidence with which she says it.

Bookmarking All things Peter Rabbit. Somebody’s first birthday is approaching.

Giggling With my friend, who told me not to worry if I farted during the yoga class.

Feeling the autumn breeze.

Wearing Yellow and tangerine.

Growing HUGE pumpkins that make beautiful soup.

This post is inspired by Taking Stock at Meet Me At Mikes.

I love Pinterest. It’s such a pleasant place to be. I thought I’d share a few of the things I’ve been crushing on lately.

I love printables. I particularly love FREE printables. Check out this gorgeous acorn wrapping paper from Fellow Fellow. Designed for Christmas, I think it’s any time fabulous.



Easter is right around the corner. And while Hot Cross Buns have been in the store since Boxing Day I’ve refrained because – just no! Check out this delicious Hot Cross Bun and Butter Pudding from Miss Foodwise. Wouldn’t this be a perfect dessert for Easter Sunday lunch?




I’m in first birthday party planning mode and I’ve been crawling Pinterest for ideas. I came across this chocolate butter cream recipe. Any fool can make a cake look great with generous lashings of this sugary, buttery, chocolatey goodness. Take a bow Cookies and Cups.




Now here’s one for the crafters and mothers and grandmothers of smushy babies. A simple little pant design from Me Sew Crazy. I have few metres of sock monkey fabric I would love to see turned into a little pair of these.




Here is a beautiful and practical storage idea for your cupcake paper collection. What? You don’t have a collection? Well you’re that’s just weird.




“Pick me, pick me!” I can hear them calling my name. A warm and wintery shoe by Mod Cloth. Come to Mumma…


And to finish, some artful whimsy. Isn’t she beautiful!




Did you enjoy these pins? Follow Twinkle in the Eye on Pinterest.

Do you have a passion for pinning? Leave your Pinterest name below so I can follow along!

Picture this

It is the last day of summer and a young woman, long, lean and tan walks languidly onto a beach, she wears a bikini, a blue bottom piece with a tan crotchet top. It is an ordinary piece but on her, it sings. She walks and as she does men watch, women do too. She is beguiling.

She finds a space in the sand and sinks into its softness. Cross legged she sits. With her face to the sun and a keen posture, she closes her eyes and meditates. She is perfection.

Another woman trudges onto the beach. Her skin is pale, spattered with freckles and an uneven tan. She belongs in another hemisphere. She is overweight, her thighs are dimpled and they wobble when she walks, at least she thinks they do, her hands are too full to lean over and check. She wears a one piece black and white poker dot swimsuit. She bought it off the internet. Anything to avoid the harsh lights of a change room.

She does not sit to meditate, in fact she laughs at the very idea. Instead, she drops her heavy load, walks past the woman on the sand and heads earnestly to the water. Her time is limited. Five minutes unencumbered is the goal.

She dives under the waves, once, twice. The cold, cool waves are invigorating, freeing.

She turns and looks back at the beach, the meditating woman sits on one side, her husband and children on the other. He watches the woman appreciatively and so he should. But a torrent of doubt floods her mind, wishing, berating, measuring, planning, failing. She is momentarily crest fallen.

But comparison is the thief of joy she tells herself. That reality is not her own, it never will be.

Her body she knows tells a different story. Her forehead is marked with creases from years of study and time spent scrapping with the black dog. Her eyes are dark from sleepless, baby filled nights. Her stomach is covered in stretch marks bequeathed to her by her children. Her breasts have lost their fervor, indeed they are red and calloused and punctured with holes from a baby too vigorous at the breast. Her hips are wide because she has a passion for food. Her thighs are too large because she lacks the will to beat them into submission.

She hears her baby and emerges from the water. Her body may not be beautiful, but it works. Her body may not attract the attention of men, but it is a source of comfort to her babies. Her mind may not be still, but it is constant and compelling. That she can turn her thoughts in this manner suggests to her she is wise and worth more than the pain of cruel and unnecessary thoughts.

Her baby is wrapped in a towel, he snuggles to her sandy breast. He drinks. He sleeps. The pale, imperfect body is his for a time. A rudimentary, soft patch of peace.

She looks up as the woman rises from her meditation and smiles.

Two women, different strengths, neither surpassing the other.


This post was inspired by Kylie from A Study in Contradictions and The One Perfect Moment Link-up. Because perfect moments can be messy too.

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