Sunday, 3 March 2013
A Mixed Bag
Which sums up my weekend. Good bits, crap bits, the grassy cracks in between bits (to paraphrase Kate Nash).
So I've been told this space is twee. That's fine. I even laughed about it at the time. But the thing is, I keep thinking about it. The twee thing. And it's not okay. If you knew me, you'd know. If you knew me, you'd know there's more than this. If you knew me, you'd know that I like this.
Why are you talking to people who aren't listening?
Why do ask questions that no-one will answer?
Day to day in the humdrum that is life, I spend a good deal of my time talking to those who aren't listening. Or asking questions that don't elicit a response. Don't we all?
I am wife, mother and housewife. I love my husband and I love my children. I chose to stay at home and look after them. I am lucky that I can. I know that. We structured our life for that to happen. 99.99% of the time it pootles along quite nicely (hate that word). Sometimes it stutters. And sometimes it breaks down.
Here. Here. Here.
Here I write about things that make me smile. I write about the stuff of everyday:
Olly's curly hair.
A walk with the dog.
Proud Mum moments.
A leaf uncurling from underground.
The colour of the sky.
Too many packets of crisps.
A bloody good laugh.
I have learnt that it can be dangerous to lose sight of the little things. When life gets tough, it's those little things that sustain me.
My first experience of depression was after the birth of Sam. It was a bleak time - I have little memory of my first year as a mother, something that causes me pain. But I got help. A great counsellor. Tablets.
I do remember the day the fog lifted. I was in the garden, probably hanging out washing. I noticed this fabulous little bird. A robin. He was singing his heart out, as if there was nothing else in the world he would rather be doing. He seemed to be singing for the pure pleasure of it. I was entranced by him, perched up there on the branch. He was beautiful. His little breast a vibrant flash of red. And I thought to myself. It will be okay. You will be okay.
When the black dog comes upon me, it is always the little things - the small stuff of life - that I hang onto. Because I know it will be okay. I know I will be alright.
So I return to this space. It's just a small thing. I record my small stuff. My little pleasures. My wonder at the world. It may be read or not. But it gives me joy.
This blog is me.
And I'm happy with that.