Blue Sky Thinking
It is some sadistic twist of irony that means that in the week that I'm due to see a pyschotherapist, I'm feeling happier than I can really ever remember feeling. How am I going to explain THAT without either sounding like I'm totally bi-polar, or appearing to be a supreme waste of the Dr's time and tax-payers' money? Just when I'm finally feeling like it's all a long way behind me, I go and land myself in the position of having to dredge it all up again. I suppose the truth is I know there is value in working it all through, no matter whether I feel the urgent need of that just now or not. I'll go anyway, and I'm giving myself bucket loads of credit for biting this particular bullet, but hoping against hope that it won't be as excruciating as I'm afraid it has the potential to be.
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When embracing your inner housewife there are few things more satisfying than the sight of freshly-washed childrens' clothes hanging on the line in glorious sunshine. Sad, but true. Add to that the fact that I had mopped the floors and cooked tonight's dinner all by 11am this morning, and that my children spent the morning playing with sand and water in the garden, and I'm feeling pretty invincible in the housewife stakes today. Even better than washing on the line is the sight of little pudgy cheeks and hands being lightly kissed by Spring sunshine. It feels SO good to get those boys outside in it, and I imagine them growing and getting vitamin boosts with every second of it.
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Yesterday we walked in the woods, tempting the boys up the ever-rising incline with white chocolate buttons until the views blew us away. I should have taken my camera but on a clear day along our coastline you can see Scotland, and yesterday we could literally see snow on the peaks. The light was blinding and magical and the water looked tropical. We ended the walk with our first ice creams of the year, and laughed as we always do at having to pay the princely sum of less than £3 for 4 of the best ice creams you'll ever taste. We sat on the wall by the beach until the heat of the evening sun made us feel like we were on holiday. Sometimes weekends just unfold into the perfect mix of fun and relaxation, with all the dynamics and variables falling just so. That was ours. I'm constantly surprised by the dynamics of our family now; two small boys tramping through the woods together, or chasing each other through the house. Naughty, hiccupping giggles erupting all the time. We abandon the buggy more and more, and it fills me up with satisfaction to watch them on their own feet, together, making their way in the world, stopping to mimic birdsong or quadbikes, arms outstretched and expressions mirroring each other when their legs get tired and they need a carry. As baby days slip far behind us I wonder if they're gone forever; if we'll deem our family complete or ever venture back to do it all again. I'm undecided and don't feel in any hurry to give it much more thought just now. If money was no object and stability just a question of loving little people then I think II'd take the plunge without a second thought. But then a half-remembered verse from Sunday school drifts back to mind, something about boundary lines having fallen in pleasant places, and I think how good and sweet our family feels and I wonder why we'd change anything about it.
Imagination is unfolding every day now. They drag the suitcase from the spare room and fill it with books, announcing that they're off on holiday. This morning The Boy declared himself to be a farmer, and his ever-present little shadow was his Little Sheep, whom he was taking care of in the fields. He kept it up for hours, even greeting Baby Brother with 'Hello my little sheep' when he woke up from naptime. The stripes on the new rug double up as a runway or the road, depending on whether aeroplanes or cars are the toy du jour.
A man just came to fix our boiler and pronounced the heating and hot water system to have been plumbed in by The Builder Of Kazakhstan. He is a fictional but legendary character in these parts, allegedly responsible for the fact that our boiler doesn't heat our hot water, inspite of the fact that we spend £100 every month on oil in order to do just that, followed by almost £80 a month on electricity because we have to use the booster switch to heat the water in lieu of the boiler doing its job. Who'd be a home-owner? At least we get to pass the hassle and expense higher up the food chain.
I've just spent the afternoon gardening. If you knew me you'd know this is funny. My Dad's speech at our wedding was mostly about my utter lack of domestication (and obviously how I'm the best daughter ever too, but you know, mostly, the lack of domestication.) He presented my husband-to-be with a pizza box, suggesting he'd better be prepared to get even better acquainted with the local Pizza Hut given my incapacity in the kitchen. My culinary skills became legendary among their friends when they left me in charge of boiling the potatoes to top a shepherd's pie for a church pot-luck lunch they were going to. Somehow I thought the potatoes only needed to be par-boiled, my logic being that they'd keep cooking when the shepherd's pie went in the oven. The good Christian folk were so diplomatic whilst discreetly spitting out chunks of raw potato. Let's just say I was a late developer since these days I'm a pretty dab hand in the kitchen, even if I do say so myself, and ironically have just this morning rustled up a mean shepherd's pie for tea. But gardening, that's a whole other realm of ineptitude. I'm not sure whether I've done a really good job of pruning unruly plants or if I've just decimated 10 years' worth of my landlady's handiwork. My hands are covered in cuts and I've been googling the best places online to buy secateurs and gardening gloves. Who knew I could extend my OCD love of housework to the outdoors? Now the boys can play outside to their hearts content and I can indulge in the outdoor version of hoovering - bliss!!
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