Tuesday, 26 February 2013

Will It Always Be?


Will it always be this way? That I miss him when I wake in the night and he's still silently sleeping?

Will it always be? That I stand in the darkness of his room and marvel at the soft sound of his breathing and the gentle curve of his neck?

Will I always plant stealthy kisses on his head and cheek every time they come within reach? And will I always try to clasp and cuddle him whilst he ducks and wriggles from my arms?

Will it always be this way? That I miss the closeness of his baby body with such an aching physical intensity that I have to wrap my empty arms around my chest and squeeze the hollowness away?

Will it always be? That I, who once thought myself one complete person, feel absent and part missing whenever he's away?

And if it will always be this way, how ever will I bear it when he is grown and gone? How ever will I bear it?

Wednesday, 20 February 2013

That Day

IMG_2977 IMG_2982 IMG_2973 IMG_2976 IMG_2971 IMG_2981 IMG_2970

Yesterday was that day. That magical February day. That day when the heavy, oppressive cold of winter dissipates into a clear blue sky and the sun breathes hope into your heart.
That day when the air is light and clear and your body no longer has to fight for survival but can relax into the rhythm of being and notice the faint scent of Spring. That day when you first close your eyes and lift your face to the sky. That day when you first take your hands out of the warmth of your pockets and touch the rough bark of the trees. That day when the hours first pass easily beneath a distant but steady sun and the world feels ripe with hope.
And on that day, nothing in the world is more important than getting out and soaking it all up. Nothing is more important than letting your spirit unfurl in the sunshine and your mind wander up into the clear blueness of the sky. Nothing is more important than planting your feet on the awakening soil and becoming part of the magic.
And if, on that day, you happen upon a sea of snowdrops nodding and blinking in the sunshine, and have all the time in the world to linger and look at them whilst the sun sinks into your scalp and your boy hops happily about amongst them, then that is a blessing that you neither expected nor deserved and you must smile to yourself and count yourself blissfully blessed by the wonders of that day.

Sunday, 17 February 2013


IMG_2937 IMG_2939 IMG_2931
"He's shouting quite a lot" she said quietly. "He swears under his breath. He gives me no support. Our home is not a happy place at the moment."

I looked at my friend whose sadness had settled on her and sucked the joy from her cheeks and all I could think was just how lucky I was.

Because my husband never shouts and he never swears under his breath. He gives me unending support. In fact, he is something of a saint.

And even though I sometimes shout a little and swear under my breath (I am no saint, and sometimes life is hard, even when you're married to one,) I can honestly say that our home is a happy place.

A place full of laughter where kisses and cuddles, tickles and snuggles are given and shared three ways. A place full of silliness and craziness and good romping fun. A messy, half-built sort of place, where nothing is quite as it should be, but where we smile and work and play through all the mess together.

Many times I take this togetherness for granted. Many times, I fail to notice it at all. But this Valentines day, when my husband came home with flowers and chocolates and made us all smile, just as he always does, I took a moment to notice. I took a moment to say thank you. I took a moment to remember just how lucky I am.

Monday, 11 February 2013



From time to time, a day comes along that is entirely free and empty. No groups, no visiting, no obligations, no particular jobs, just a long stretch of hours at home with my boy.

Sometimes, these days come around but rarely, and sometimes they flock together in a long string of emptiness. And if the truth be told, these are the days that I dread. Because there are a lot of hours to fill in a day, and a lot of minutes to survive in those hours.

And so on these days, it's important to have a project. Like building a castle out of a cardboard box.
It's important to watch with wonder as your little boy spends a morning painting, ever so seriously, his face set in concentration, his brush scratching carefully against the cardboard. And it's important to realise when you're on to a good thing and to add flags, a moat, trees, and fields, and really anything else that you can think of.

It's important to get out into the bitterly cold sunshine and feel the icy air cut through your skin as you run across the ancient stones of a the castle that's just on your doorstep, and it's important to catch the excitement of a small boy who can't wait to get home to finish piecing together his own castle and adding indispensable features such as a ghostly knight.

And at the end of a day, it's a good idea to bake cheesy pretzels, enjoy them with vegetable soup, and sit back and think what a good mummy you've been, without for a second letting yourself wonder what on earth you will do to fill the hours tomorrow.