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by Agnieszka Wolsoncroft Sunday walk #sunday #winter #perthisok #grateful Yesterday morning, David was working, so it was just the two of us at the market. I had the list. Anya had the job. “Six potatoes, please.” Off she went. Back she came, a brown paper bag swinging in her hand, slightly out of breath, entirely pleased with herself. “What’s next, Mummy?” Broccolini. Aubergines. Tomatoes — and she is very particular about the tomatoes, pressing them gently the way she has s

by Agnieszka Wolsoncroft #IndianOcean #Seaside #Dreams #Motherhood #Impact #Grateful * Last Sunday, Anya and I stood at the edge of Burns Beach, toes in the wet sand, watching waves roll in from the Indian Ocean. The morning was cool – Perth winter settling in – but the sun was warm on our faces. She pointed at the horizon, squinting against the light. "What's there, Mummy?" I crouched down beside her, following her gaze across the endless blue. "The whole world," I

by Agnieszka Wolsoncroft A couple of weeks ago was Easter. This Saturday is ANZAC Day. Between them sits something I've been trying to understand my whole life: what it costs to dye an egg in safety. Let me explain. # I was seven years old, sitting at my Babcia's kitchen table in Poland, watching her hands move carefully as she arranged brown onion skins in a pot of boiling water. She placed the eggs inside gently, one by one, the way you hold something precious. "Why