I trip over a lot. On things and nothings. On curbs and cracks in the air.
Mini me used to have a flurry of day dreams and a handful of imaginary friends. Fairy dust and moon beams and dandelion fluff , inside my head was a beautiful existence. The older I got, the more aware I had to become of what people surrounding me wanted me to be. I couldn’t have straw hair the way I liked.Pebbles I lovingly collected from a few mountainside trips got thrown away before I could feel them enough. I still will know them if I trip over them somewhere.
There was a catchall little drawer I imagined that lay in my head. I kept stuffing it with buttons and sequins and pretty things that sparkled. Pebbles, shells and rocks. Textures I touched with my fingers and the books I smelled. Some jingling sounds , bubbles and gurgles. Somebody’s laughter if I found it peculiar.Flowers ,twigs, twines,broken discarded beautiful things. I guarded my little drawer well. I lined it with pretty papers ,ink splatters , wax drops and glue peel offs. I swept it , folded the textures and felt safe. Then washed my face, combed my hair straight and put a smile on my face.
On the outside, I pretended to like what I did not really. I did that for a very long time. I still do. I refuse to look at glittered shoes though I love them very much. I always buy browns. I will get cheap but delightful little knobs for earrings and don’t know why I ll never wear them. I put them in a real drawer now. I love flowery dresses but I ll simply store their patterns in my catchall and wear jeans and a tee instead. I ll go out to buy some moisturizer and then I’ll half close my eyes and pick up something and duck out. And it will be “a ten thousand thundering thyphoons ” threatening me if ever a sales assistant asked me what I am looking for.
When my children arrived and quick and curious as they are, they found some chinks in the drawer in my head.And a lot of hidden treasures. I can no longer guard my head so very well.Not against children at least. Pinterest has psychedelic effects on me. And sometimes the drawer just springs open and anything and everything falls out. I manage to scramble mostly everything back in but then children hold on to something and we make art . You can not really contain glitter once it is out.
With these kids, fairy tales have come back to me. And some gathered bits of light. Glue and paper and popsicle sticks and making houses for mouse-s and then we live in a tiny gnome’s home too.
My left arm has developed this curious habit of stiffening up and my hand loses grip on whatever I am holding. Suddenly I find myself picking up glass pieces and still consciously storing how light does a two-step and then a little shimmy before I hide it away. Doing weights should fix my arm but till then I like to think it makes me escape a little of too much real-time.
I will not dress up like I would like to, my girlish whims aren’t going to see much daylight and I am never going to boast of any holy grail makeup products but there is a lot my hands are wanting to make. Our daily life is not being able to cure me of wanderlust. A scurrying little rabbit is calling me.
There is this wonderland. And I am called Alice.
Mornings are an awfully busy time for me. I like us to have loaded breakfasts and I like to send my boys off with packed nutrition too. The toddler sticks with me and picks nibbles and grabs chunks all day.
As much as I would like to start off my day with a nap, I POP UP and land into the kitchen like a popcorn from nowhere. Early every day. I act surprised but there I am with dishes to do in the wash bowl and a startled popcorn head that can’t decide what it is supposed to do. But then I am supposed to rustle up a lot of food and flowers in my kitchen always wake me up to how things are.
whole grain muffins and cookies lift me. They say, ” half the work is done darling.”
And what if I were wise to have baked bread the day before, well then I am such a lucky girl in the morning. Bread somehow always brightens my heart. It lifts a lot of weight off my still slouchy shoulders and makes me want to stretch. GOOD MORNING!A loaf of bread can be buttered and toasted and sprinkled with Italian spice or smeared with plain old jam or a bright orange marmalade. A PB&J OR A grilled cheese or a honeyed french toast. Topped with eggs or with oven roasted harvest. Spread with pesto or dabbed with olive oil. A crostini or bruschetta or whatever. A sandwich, open or closed. All the stuff you can think of . ON TOAST.
Some granola? ? with loads of seeds and toasted almond flakes and cranberries and raisins and chocolate chips. It goes a long long way!
And if I managed to do produce shopping on Sunday, the week is a whole lot easier.
I need to do a lot of prep if I want to be well supplied through the week. I involve my toddler in all the washing of the vegetable and fruit, in cleaning out the fridge and stocking up. The work is crazy slow and sometimes I do want to tear off my shock of hair. But I don’t.
I always like to stock on dried berries and almonds and sunflower/pumpkin seeds. I like how they add the’ super-food’ element to simple lunches. Sweet berries and slightly salty nutty seeds are a delightful combo and my kids love them too.
And then when the boys are off , I have a big tangible mess of a kitchen. I try to be patient with the dirty load of dishes. And sometimes act happy for the toddler’s sake. Some days I fall off the wagon. Some days I have a good cry. But mostly I manage. And move on. Getting to have breakfast with Big bear every morning is comforting. I get some time for nice grown up talk.And to know that my boy will have a hearty lunch at school is good too.
It is tiresome and cheering at the same time. I suppose we always live that way. Happy and tired. tired and happy. happy and sad. tired and sad. sad and tired .happy and happy . happy, sad and tired. Every day is a new combination.
‘ Craft therapy ‘ helps me survive. More on that real soon.
It is August. And Gorgeous.
in a coffee shop.
It is rainy. And raining.
On a hill top.
Mamma is pretty. And in pink.
in a picture book.
There are splashes. in galoshes.
by a brook.
Babies -are-a -sleeping. gently breathing
in a lullaby.
Noise is unheard. and far away.
in an alibi.
By golly, Miss Molly
It is August. and torturous.
We are home. And why?
You are funny and wise and a mamma’s boy. Sometimes you talk so wise , I wonder if you are an old soul at eight.Your idea of good times is a cup of warm tea with a book on a rainy day. And then in your crackling laughter and silly jokes I find my little boy again.
O! boy do you love to talk? You make little documentaries on your plants’ day to day growth. You start with a line and whip up a poem in eight seconds.You imagine detailed pictures of things you are going to invent and flood me with information.You lend words to sentences I can’t end.
Reading is so much fun for you now. You are always wanting more to read and laugh out loud when something’s funny. I love to hear those chuckles so.
You really like to do art with me and have remarkable taste that is more 108 than eight. We have spent so many’ crafternoons ‘ together and I really hope you ll look back fondly at these times when you are all grown up.
You are the BEST BIG BROTHER EVER. Even when the little one can’t keep his hands to himself. You read to him when I ask you to. You find it boring but still you do.
You like to be loved gently and do not appreciate rough love though Papa will be glad to have a wrestle round with you. You like it when we all just lie down together and talk. You still want to be nestled like a baby sometimes.
I am glad that you are finally making a lot of friends. School has been a little hard on you that way. You are doing better work at school and don’t mind the tests anymore.
When sometimes you snap, you always come up with a hug in a few minutes. You find it a little hard to say “sorry” and we got to work on that.
You think girls are silly and Boys are fun. You love playing games on the computer and are also ready to spend an evening doing needlework.
You,little one are adorable.(I still can’t believe eight.)
Mamma wishes you a wonderful EIGHT!!