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Grieving for you

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At the end of the first year of being without you, I marvelled that I was still standing.   I was exhausted from the effort.   I felt that everyone else had moved on, except for my Mum of course, who appeared to be lost to me, and to her Grandchildren, and to herself.   That said, there was something about reaching the ‘one year anniversary of your death’  that showed me that I could continue to move through life regardless of my sadness and suffering.   We had continued to settle in to the house we had moved into only a few months before your death, we had painted the walls and planted up the garden.   New schools had been chosen for the boys.   We had carried on.   Some of the saddest times came when the milestones in our lives occurred, like the boys starting their new schools, and you were no longer there to share in those moments.  However, a fter twelve months of floundering, of experiencing feelings that presented themselves from within me in either glorious technicolour,
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Love Songs

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Have you ever noticed how the lyrics of love songs can apply to all sorts of different situations?   Despite the fact they may have been penned with a lover in mind, the words are often transferable to other relationships; to reflect the love within a friendship or to capture the emotion felt between a parent and child.  I was reminded of a great example of this earlier today. When The Teen was a small baby in the early weeks of his life, he spent much of his afternoons and evenings relentlessly crying from the condition dreaded by parents of young babies, COLIC.   Oh my, how we both felt that we suffered during this time.   Him, constantly wanting to feed, only to find my milk seemed to increase his distress, me, feeling like an inadequate mother, helpless and exhausted. As the minutes and hours ticked by during those long and lonely drawn out days, the only release from our distress was for me to hold this small babe of mine and to keep him moving.   Gently rocking and sway
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Four Go Adventuring to La Graciosa, October 2017 || Journeying

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During our first visit to Ile La Graciosa – the 'graceful isle' – three and a half years ago, we fell in love with the place.   This lesser known Canary Island, stole a place in our hearts and we knew that one day we would return.   Wide open, largely uninhabited spaces   Clear turquoise fish-filled seas.   Nothing but warmth from the locals and the weather.   During the October school half-term holiday we made our way back there and I captured our journey back there. Journeying The alarm sounds at 1.30 am, three hours after it was set and approximately two hours and thirty minutes from when my body gave in to sleep. The lost half an hour between falling gratefully into bed and actually drifting into unconciousness was given over to nervous anticipation about the adventure ahead – not least, the knowing we would need to wake up one kid and one teen at 2am. As the tune chiming from my phone increases in intensity I swipe blindly at the screen and search through the d
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Priorities, adventures, love and happiness - living life in the moment

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Way back when, at the beginning of this year, we (as in me and my Beloved) recognised that despite all we have and are grateful for in our lives, we were not feeling particularly content.  We had (once again) created exceptionally busy day-to-day lives for ourselves.  Too busy.  We were not allowing enough time and space to embrace the slow living adventures we enjoy with the people we love.  We made the following decisions:- We would make some changes to redress our work-life balance. We would use any spare cash and time we have on adventures - family holidays, mini-breaks, daytrips, creating experiences at home and beyond. We would become increasingly engaged in the activities we enjoy individually and together as a family. We would prioritise spending more time with the people we love. We would reconnect with each other and stop blaming each other for all that felt wrong with our worlds. We saw that we  needed more time simply 'being' and less time 'doing'. 
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Turning into my Mother

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The  inevitable truth that I am slowly but surely turning into my Mother is becoming increasingly difficult to ignore.  I stare at my forty three year old face in the mirror taking in the lines and shadows illuminated by the harsh artificial light necessary on this dimly lit October morning.  Embarking on the process of applying rose coloured blusher to my cheeks and eyelids I am nonchalant in my use of the same brand and shade of blusher for many years now.   I am transported back to my eight year old self , watching intently as my mum - herself then at the age I am now - applied her make-up.  I recall how disappointed I was at the time to discover the limitations of her make-up supply and the knowledge that she had used the same brand and shade of blusher for the previous two decades.   Now I get it. Further evidence in support of the 'I am turning into my mother' debate include:- My apparent lack of sympathy when others have a cold/headache/feel 'off it'; "
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Back to school

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It’s been quite a week.   The Eleven Year Old and The Four Year Old have both started their new schools.   I for one was anxious, about ‘THE FIRST DAY’, but also quietly confident that they would be brave and find their way through the confusing onslaught to the senses and emotions that new experiences such as these bring. It seems slightly surreal to me that I can remember my own experiences of starting both Primary and Secondary school so vividly and yet already I have children who are now going through this themselves.   Am I really that old.   Yes I am.   I have been asked on many occasions what I will do with all this spare time that I will now surely have on my hands.   Well, first and foremost, I plan to give myself a little rest after the trauma of getting two boys equipped and ready for this week.   DO NOT underestimate how much effort and concentration – not to mention cash – is required to kit out two children to start new schools. If I was fond of a particular
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Snippets of everyday conversation #22

The three year old is sat on the loo having a pre-nursery wee (apologies if that's a little too much information).... The three year old: “Shall we fly to the moon Mummy?” Me:   “Well I don’t see why not.    Would you like to go right now?”   The three year old:   “No, not now Mummy.   We’ll go on my birthday.   In July.   Moon moon moony-y moon moon".
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