Imaginationation, Chadstone
We booked two hours. We stayed four, and left because we decided to rather than because he was finished. Imaginationation at Chadstone — the price, the grippy socks, the separate entrance, and why I got to sit down.
We booked two hours. We stayed four, and left because we decided to rather than because he was finished. Imaginationation at Chadstone — the price, the grippy socks, the separate entrance, and why I got to sit down.
He tried to play with something that turned out to be a bin. Children's Play: Ragnar Kjartansson at NGV International with a four-year-old — what's actually in the room, and who it seems to be for.
It was basically empty when we got there, which I thought was lucky. Little Builders at The District Docklands — a plain, solid indoor sandpit, and one piece of booking advice that runs against the grain.
The ball pit is deeper than it looks. Bubble Planet in Brunswick with a four-year-old — which rooms are fun, what it costs, and a bit of honesty about the wear and tear.
We went to ACMI because the NGV had been a fizzer and we still had an afternoon to fill. The Story of the Moving Image exhibition with a four-year-old — what works and why you might still need your wallet even though the exhibition itself is free.
I spent more than forty years not realising that when people said "picture this" they meant it literally. The screen in my head is blank. It's always been blank.
There was a girl down the road and we used to take the furniture out of her bedroom and set it up on the lawn. I've never understood why.
From alligator airports to houses where every friend has boat parking, these constructions reveal the stories children tell to make sense of their world.
We bought Murdle for Sam as a Father's Day gift - logic puzzles transformed into a competitive board game. What followed was family chaos: recording errors, wrong solutions, and my spectacular elimination. But we all want to play again.
"When people are dead they can still talk," he announces. I ask if he talks to dead people. "Yes. Angela. But not you, another Angela." Then he stops answering questions, leaving me to wonder who this other Angela might be.
There’s a place I go, though not always easily. I call it the Night Wing. Not the website—though that’s what I’ve built to house it—but the thing beneath. The place behind the curtain. It’s not real, and it’s not metaphor either. It’s
There might be a year when a birthday party looks like it won't happen. Not because you forgot or because no one cared. Maybe because someone was sick. Or the money wasn’t there. Or you didn't want to invite everyone who might have wanted to