It’s been a strange sort of end to the week—
a quiet shift, like something that needed to break before it could settle again.
On Friday, Tilly lost her temper at school.
Her teacher spoke to me—kindly, honestly—and I could hear the weight in her words.
Something had been bubbling for a while now, and I think we all felt it coming.
The heat this week has been relentless, and the pressure of the transition to Year 5
is quietly taking its toll.
That evening, she and I talked.
Not a telling off—just a real conversation.
Open, gentle, needed.
And since then, something in her has softened.
She’s been slowly reclaiming her space,
tidying her room, reordering things with care,
and building a little “moon corner”—her own calm pocket of the world.
A place to breathe again.
Friday afternoon, the three of us—Joel, Tilly, and I—went to the bathing pools.
Joel and I swam laps,
and she played at the edges before finding a friend and launching into joy.
She laughed, she splashed, she sparkled.
We came home to Chinese food and a sofa full of limbs and cuddles.
She was light again.
Still my girl, just re-centred.
Saturday unfolded gently.
A girly morning—makeup browsing and playful chatter,
lunch at the Chop House (her favourite, of course),
and then to Mum’s for Alan’s birthday.
Joel joined us after work, and we all went for another swim—her second in two days.
She’s never spent this much time in the sea.
Later, she went back in again with Mum and the dogs,
while Joel and I grabbed a milkshake from the beach kiosk—
one of those ice cream ones that melted before we even reached the car.
The kind of small, funny moment that makes the heat bearable.
We had tea with the family, came home with the sun still clinging to our skin,
and now she’s curled up in her room, peaceful and still.
Like a little moon, finally back in her sky.
And me, orbiting quietly, full of love.