Family – Page 2 – Anna Spargo-Ryan


Mornings at my house

ME [in bed]: Get out of bed everyone! KIDS: Okay! Here we go! Now our uniforms are on! ME [in bed]: Oh. Er. Feed the dogs! KIDS: Okay! We've done that! Yay! ME [still in bed]: Right! Well, I guess just watch TV or something? ME SLEEPS. FIFTEEN MINUTES PASS. ME FLIES OUT OF BED, CRYING. ME: We're


Lily, card maker.

Lily has been busily making a birthday card for my mum. I am quite impressed by the poetry of the greeting: nanna, dear nanna. This sets the tone of the card nicely - it is a serious reflection on just how important Lily's nanna is in her


Just the two kids, thanks.

In the moments before I woke up this morning, I had a little dream. Two plastic sticks on a table in front of me: on the left, one line; on the right, two lines. A few seconds spent with a new life. When I did blink


A proud mother moment

I've often used this blog to talk about my elder daughter, and how often I worry that I'm not doing the right thing by her. She is clever as hell and beautiful like a painting. Yesterday, Georgia brought home her NAPLAN results. I don't know if you can see them,


Evening the score

I used to fight with my mum like it was a life force. We would go hammer and tongs, I thought. But actually I would go hammer and tongs and she would wonder what exactly she had done wrong and I would wonder why she didn't


My one-sided Mummy War

Stop the presses: Mummy Wars do exist! I know this because I am currently having one. It is a battle of epic proportions. Literal tears have been shed. Each morning I wake with a sense of foreboding, wondering how many men I might lose. I can


My imagination Grandpa left me

Contains possible triggers I had another grandfather. His name was Dean. He died before I was born, in 1980. Dad always told me that he had died of lung cancer. Upon reflection, his story was changeable. "He had a kidney thing." or "He had a brain haemorrhage."


Paul McCartney’s fixing my hole

Dad came around today while Michael was cutting a hole in the wall, and began to sing (my dad has a song for every occasion, he's a proper dad like that). I must have been four, because we moved just as I started school. Dad had


A picture says … my grandfather’s hands

I wrote this post for Kelly Exeter's "A picture says", because she is an angel. My grandfather had ugly hands. They were swollen with diabetes like red balloons and etched with scars from farm machinery. Three of his fingertips were missing. He told me he cut one