It's a Cruel, Cruel Summer.

Do not be misled by the title of my blog post. It was not, in fact, a cruel summer. We were certainly braced for another 12 months of non stop rain and The Endless Grey. We had to be, to hope for anything more would be decidedly UN British. And foolish, given the past couple of years. But we had a heatwave! It was like being in Florida! It was great!

.......and it kept being hot! And no one has air conditioning! Forget the Tube or the bus! It was some kind of face melting wonderful on board public transit! Seriously, can we be England again?!

DS, my mother in law and myself spent the morning at Ruislip Lido. We had a picnic, there's something that everyone has decided to call a 'beach' even though you're to steer clear of the 'water' at the 'beach, a brand new cafe has started up which does pretty good coffee, and there's even a water park and little train station. Oh, yeah, and HORDES OF WASPS. EVERYWHERE. BEING REALLY AGGRESSIVE. HUNTING YOU DOWN FOR YOU SWEET SWEET HUMAN FOOD.

That's when I realised that enough was enough. I am ready for Autumn. I want to bust out the cinnamon scented candles, the huge knit jumpers, the tartan scarves and matching gloves, and I want it to be socially acceptable to load up a new pin board for Christmas, dammit.

We've done pretty well this year, we've all got tans and are busy scrubbing months of accumulated sun cream out of our pores. Sure, the odd rainstorm or two has served to remind us of our place in the worldwide weather lottery, but I think we should just quit while we're ahead and embrace the Gloom, will it to come even! I'm currently working on a rain/grey dance routine, and am happily accepting any volunteers into my troupe.

But, I digress. I really wanted to start this entry to express how caught up I get sometimes in being stressed, that I forget to live in the Now. I think most people alive today don't live in the Now. It's far too easy to be looking ahead, planning the next big life event, work project, home project, or counting down to when Sherlock is going to be back on the telly, already. Thankfully, I have this great little In The Now alarm system. It's called a near three year old. His whole day is the Now. He's the mayor of Nowtown. He reminds me when I'm caught out worrying about what time I should be preparing the evening's dinner so that I can finish that load of laundry in enough time to hang it out to dry so I don't have to clog up my kitchen with the clothes horse, and if that's there then I won't be able to hoover or mop it either - MUMMY - COME SEE - THERE'S A KITTY CAT OUTSIDE - MUMMMMMMMMMMMY!

Oh man. It's only 8 am, what the heck am I doing, oh yeah, righteous, cat. Sweet, thanks son.

Nothing in my list of things I was obsessing over could possibly  be as important to me as seeing that kitty cat is to him. Not only seeing the kitty cat, but sharing the moment with me. 

There we are folks.

That is the Now.

I was in the Now today at the Lido as I watched him prance around the water park, surprised and amazed each and every single time the water spouts popped up in a new place (of about 6 possible places that they pop up at in a loop). He squealed with delight, his skin shone in the mid afternoon sun, slick with cream, water and that special childhood glow; a mix of exuberance and absolute unchecked joy.

He doesn't care how he looks when he slips, half skidding into a crouch to break his fall, he doesn't mind who might see his trunks ride up, or if he skins a knee, or two. There is water! There are other kids! There is Mummy! All is right with his world (and mine), as he knows it.

We had a cracking day, you know. Often, as is my custom when I have cracking days, I think about the life I very easily could have led, back in my homeland, slaving away at a job that I hated, settling for someone who wasn't my soul mate, not seeing Paris, London, Finland or the other amazing experiences I have had and will get to have now that I am amongst this beautiful life, with beautiful people who I adore.

Very bloody fortunate is how I feel. A little girl from Appleton am I no longer.

These truly are the best years, as hard and complex and agonizing as it may be to raise a tiny human into a responsible adult, as much as you think you are screwing it up (you probably aren't, but I have yet to meet a mother of a small child(ren) who doesn't think she is more or less just stumbling around blindfolded in the woods during a hurricane, trying to thread many needles), as many seconds-minutes-nights-days pass without restful sleep, it is being in the Now with your child, with your loved ones, that you realise, it will never be better than this.

I know this down to my bones.

I will summon this knowledge on the less than cracking days; after the third change of pants in as many minutes, the second missed bus in the pouring rain, the first heartbreak, the innumerable amounts of questions that I will struggle to both understand and answer during my lifetime tenure as Mum.

So next time you find yourself cursing under your breath, shaking with fright, rage, or sadness. Think of something like this day, or your best version of it. Then take a deep breath, breathing is good.

And release.

X



 

Dun dun dun.

When I was a teenager, I used to spend hours drawing and painting and making collages from cut out bits of Rolling Stone and thought it was oh so important to be fulfilling my artistic needs. It is in that spirit that I say:

Let me paint you a picture! 

My dining room table is piled high with clothes (but they are neatly folded), my sink is piled with last night's dishes (but I went round my mother in law's and did all hers), and I am piled all into my office chair, sitting in the dark, in my own room, ruining my eyes with the light of my laptop because if I turn on the actual lights, then it might wake the dragon (AKA my two year old son).

He is sleeping comfortably in our large bed, as is his custom, and I respect that. I mean, he's a person and he likes to be amongst other people. I have a really hard time sleeping on my own, and I'm (nearly) an adult. So I leave him there, and I live around him, because it's the only time in his life he's going to want me this much.

So it's cool. Right?

Yes. It is. I am sure of it.

There are a lot of things I should be getting on with. There are always things to be getting on with. My laundry hamper possesses a fertility unknown to mankind - I mean, I certainly don't change my food stained, torn, stretched from the incessant toddler manhandling, and very much comfort-over-style wardrobe more than once a day, and yet - the hamper -  it waits there in the corner, always full, always beckoning, always mocking me in my attempts at making it EMPTY.


Mainly, I suppose I would start by folding away the buggy, but not before emptying it of the shopping. I would have done that straight away, but I thought about it, and there wasn't anything for the freezer in there, so, after checking with me, I was okay with just leaving it in the hallway.

Then, I guess I could wash the dishes, but it's 8:34 PM on the night of the day where DS (Dear Son, as I will refer to him hence forwards) did NOT nap, in spite of my thrilling miles long walking tour of our village. I guess he just doesn't appreciate the significance of a high street that's so well preserved and loaded with listed properties, yet.

 It's funny, really, how I started it to make him knacker out and sleep, so I might like, sit, still, without whimpering - and what really happened was he stayed awake and I wore out my back and didn't get to sit still, and there was so much whimpering. From me. On second thought, that's not terribly funny.

What I really wanted to say in this whole entry was WELCOME! I will be entertaining you with my tales of love and woe and WHOA what does that scale say, and so much other yay.

I hope you enjoy reading.

X