Part of what I am doing on this blog is a project called 'Documenting Delight', for which I take a daily picture of the children to record their pleasures, or more often than not, my delight in them. Yesterday I realised that I had undertaken a similar project years ago when I decided to record what Ruskin did every day for one year. I started on the first of January 1999 after finally leaving my marriage the previous November. I was determined that the book would record lots of fun, that it would only be about the happiness I could give my son, and never about the desperation I felt about no longer seeing him every day. I realise now that I was holding myself to account, documenting delight to ensure he felt it, reminding myself that despite everything, this child, the light of my life, burned bright. I still have the book I made. In it there are pictures of Ruskin with huge 'canvasses' of flattened packing boxes filled with left over paint from decorating. There are many pictures of picnics by the stream outside our house and his diligent 'fixing' of a nearby wall with toy tools. There are pictures of him making fires and climbing trees with the three home schooled children that lived in another part of the converted barn that was our home. The project was a success in that it was a daily reminder to focus on joy and a record that, despite feeling that I was little more than ashes, I had achieved something big: I had kept my beloved child laughing.

Nearly a decade later I found Ville, and both having a child from a previous marriage, we understood that the only way our relationship would work was by committing to each others children completely. This has required equal efforts from both of us, and one of mine has been the move to Istanbul. A few months ago I realised that the cultural differences around raising children were making me a less light-hearted and spontaneous parent and I needed a new project. I found just the role model I needed in a photographer called Georgia, who has inspired lots of women to document delight. So this time, thanks to the internet, I am doing it with a group of women from all over the world, each with their own reasons for daily documentation of the joy children bring, whatever our circumstances.

At first I thought this project would simply be about Anton and Neve, the two children Ville and I have together. One of my concerns about this blog is that, as Matti's step-mother, its hard to gauge how appropriate it is to talk publicly about my relationship with him, though I would dearly love to. One of my hopes for this blog is that all the children, at some point far in the future, will find it a pleasure to read our thoughts and see our pictures. So what if there was less for Matti to find, despite being such an integral part of it all? So from now on I will document the delight of whatever children are with us that day. And I am delighted that we are only days away from Ruskin being back in the pictures too.....

Coming to Finland from Istanbul is incredibly refreshing. We got on the plane sweaty, unwilling to make any unnecessary movements, and by Riga we were delighted to find that we really should be wearing jumpers. The rain that has fallen on and off since we arrived is more than welcome. The other relieving thing is that suddenly views are panoramic, green and simple. I am shocked, again, by the feeling of space. The children are more energetic and play for hours in the evening, confused by the light that fades a little around midnight and is back by three. Playing in the drizzle is of no note here and I love walking Neve to sleep while tiny, light drops find her nose and eyelids. With less than a week to go before we return to the heat and claustrophobia of a city of well over 15 million, my thoughts turn to it more and more. I know that I am steeling myself, that the place I call home challenges me. These pictures will be a reminder to me of a fortifying gulp of breath, because I am more than up for the challenge, though right now I could cry about returning to the dust and misunderstanding. Recently I thought about how completely I fell in love with the Yorkshire Dales, and the decade I spent there was largely to make shared parenting of Ruskin with my ex-husband possible. I cannot gloss over the amount of tears shed over being a part-time mother, but I did everything possible to be as much of a mother as I could be. And part of that was making Yorkshire my home. Then I met Ville, and to enable him to do for Matti what I did for Ruskin, I have moved to Istanbul. There is no doubt that two more love affairs have begun: one with a city and one with a boy who just turned eight (wow, four years already!). In the meantime I take a deep breath of cool air, soak in the green and smell the pines.

My Dad once told me that in moments of anxiety or boredom he recalled walks he loved step by step. This suggestion has got me through some very tricky experiences and, living in the Yorkshire Dales, I was able to add to my interior playlists of steps and views most weekends. When I first came to visit Ville's parents in their summer house in the Finnish countryside I knew that I would be walking its paths and reliving its vistas hundreds of times in my life.

The house here has the same feeling as a tent. Its not that the structure is insubstantial or not beautiful, just that  it's the garden that really matters. Not having running water adds to that feeling as you have to stumble outside to wee in the night, and the toilet is a dry one in the barn. Washing up is done outside. The garden itself is the perfect balance of wild and tame. Much of it is given over to the abundance of wild-flowers with narrow mown paths just wide enough to walk easily, while retaining the feeling of being in a meadow. In the history of gardens there was a time of conquering nature, of giving the organic straight lines, but here what comes naturally, comes first.

Last year when I came to this garden I had just found out I was pregnant, and I felt very sick. Today only a year later I am walking its paths whispering my love to my daughter. Neve has just turned 4 months, all my hopes have been realised. All fears about birth, and whether I could really be blessed with another healthy child, have been turned to joys. This year, thanks to ideal conditions, has yielded the most plentiful flowers I have ever seen here, and I am able to show them to Neve. Even in the rain I wrap us both with waterproofs and tread the paths that last year I felt too lethargic to enjoy.

I daydream, and wonder if she will one day come to this place when she needs to mend her heart or think clearly. Will the annual renewal help her find courage? Will she bring a lover here one day and absent mindedly make garlands of these flowers while she shares her hopes? Will she, like this garden, find the right balance in herself of spirit and convention?

Next year when we come here, there is every chance that she will be taking steps. Ville and I may be watching her toddle using the mass of grasses and flowers for balance. I look forward to the sight with pleasure, knowing I will also treasure every day in between.

We went to Turku today (known as Åbo to Swedish speaking Finns) and headed straight to the library. In Turkey we don't have a local library, which is something I really miss. It's not such a problem for Ville and I who are happy with our Kindles, and the possibility to get whatever we want, despite bookshops in Turkey not having a vast range. But its great to make an afternoon out of children's books. The library in Turku is fantastic. It is housed in a stunning modern building, and looking around today it's clear that the facilities are bringing in people of all ages. I was so impressed by the range of foreign language books for kids. Having fun places to sit really appealed to Matti and Anton, and I love to see the kids focused on a story. I think the amount of travel has taken its toll on Anton a bit over the last few days, and an afternoon of books felt like a very good thing to do.

I spot the Scandinavians in the departure lounge. It's not their blond hair, but the shorts they are wearing, covering only half their buttocks. The thing that sets them apart is that they look utterly at ease in their bodies. We might as well have been in their sitting rooms. It's interesting, though, that despite me living amongst women who are on the whole conservatively dressed, these young women do not come across to me as oozing sexuality, but merely following the codes of their countries. Beauty and the possibility of possessing it can be spoken as clearly with only the eyes as with a bare midriff (though men may be prone to much confusion about this). But it is liberating to see a woman's entire skin and there be no fear of what may be caused by it. Better this than the feeling that men's passions can be ignited by the fall of a scarf or the sight of a leg, rather than this being taken for granted, and women differentiated by wit and wisdom. Passion should be ignited in either sex from an equal starting point. Boys and girls swimming together can focus on deeper mysteries than what hides behind clothes. Ville's extended family all went swimming together on their island, and in Finland people use public saunas nude. These are examples of a relaxed attitude to nudity, but also an attitude which does not necessarily associate nudity with sex. This is quite different from the UK which is relaxed, but not that relaxed, and still finds nudity something of a joke. When Ruskin first went to use a sauna here, he was really shocked to find naked men (and came out immediately!).

I would find it harder to talk about dress codes if I hadn't myself followed strict (Jewish) rules of dress for some time. I attended Yeshiva in Israel and I followed these rules with my mind as well as my attire. I realised that it is much easier to follow physical rules of modesty than to be modest of mouth. Giving up gossip was so hard! I don't think this phase was ever likely to last long, but it answered many questions that seemed extraordinarily pressing to my late teen self. This is also very hard to say because Turkey's divisions are manifested in dress codes and too many people judge books by their cover.

Yesterday Ville and I had a sauna with the children. We all sat hot and naked, sweating and then cooling off outside on the grass under trees dripping from earlier rain, before going in again. In winter, the cooling can be sped up by rolling in snow or swimming in a hole in the ice. When everyone had sweated enough, we washed outside with big bowls of water and ladles. It is wonderful for everybody to be naked in such a beautiful setting. After a sauna you walk back naked through the garden to the house.

Part of me hopes that we will always do this, that the children won't become embarrassed and will embrace the decline of our bodies with ease. As I'm finding out it's much harder to pick and choose from the various cultures we live in, but a relaxed attitude to nudity is one I'm hoping will stick.

Anton running to the sauna.

Matti emerges to cool down.

Matti and Ville outside the sauna.

Pink and  perfect!

I was trying to document delight on the journey from Istanbul to the Finnish countryside. It took us a boat, two planes, two buses, a taxi and a car ride to get here, but thankfully very few tears. Looking at these pictures I see that the delight is mine: I love being in transit and I want the children to enjoy it so that we can always travel with ease. I am also frustrated. I am at the beginning of learning to use a camera and it shows. My lens has been broken since my Dad loaned it to me (indefinitely, thank you Dad!) and I can't remove the dirty lens protector. Faffa (colloquial Swedish for grandfather) is going to try and use some brute force on it later, But the way the children look at Ville melts me every time, and I will get better....