A storm is coming

I remember being around 7yrs old and being terrified of thunder storms. No matter what analogy I was given, the unexpected noise that came out of nowhere used to scare me half to death.

My mum would switch all the electrics off, turn out the lights and sit on the sofa with us as we covered our eyes with pillows and waited for peace and normalcy to return. Which, it always did. That was an important lesson- be still and wait for the storm to pass over.

The weatherman said there's a storm coming, and I don't think he's wrong. The clouds are gathering, the air pressure has dropped and it looks gloomier than it has done in a long while. 

Yet there are also storms gathering in adulthood that we have to weather. Unexpected noises in the form of job losses, disappointments, financial strain, house losses, illness, relationship breakdowns. They come from nowhere and cause havoc in our comfy way of life and all we can do is wait for it to pass. 

The only difference is, there aren't nearly enough pillows to cover our eyes and take respite for a little while. Instead we are open to the elements, the critics, the uncertainty.

Yet, I'm reminded that this too, shall pass.

Sometimes just when you think you've reached your limit, the sun breaks through the cloud and reminds you that better days are coming- summer is on its way. 

A working mama

Last week one of my colleagues told me how 'brilliant' I was to be in full time education, work a part time job, work my own writing business, and raise 3 littles. I don't say that to big myself up or feed my ego, I say it because it's simply not the case.

The truth is, I'm not brilliant at all. It's survival. I HAVE to work two jobs to pay the bills and give the littles the treats they deserve. I HAVE to complete education to eventually get a higher paid job in a field I'm passionate about. And I HAVE to be a responsible mama and bring up my children. 

However, to those who think I'm keeping the plates spinning without a struggle, I'm going to go right ahead and burst that bubble. It's hard. Constantly hard.

I get up, get three minis dressed and fed, then I drive them to breakfast club, and make the 45 minute drive to college. I spend 5 hours taking in information about biochemistry, doing assessments and taking presentations, then I drive 45 minutes home, stop at the shop to get something for dinner, pick up the girls from their grandparents, drive home. Then I fix dinner, do laundry and take them to their individual hobby groups. I pick them back up and bath them and then spend around an hour blow drying three heads of blonde hair. I tuck them into bed, head downstairs to do dishes and then settle down to do writing for clients, homework and essays. I'll take a bath and then fall into bed around midnight. One good thing is that I usually sleep pretty well!

But even when those little babies are away from me and with their daddy, my role as main caregiver doesn't stop in that I have to still keep house, do laundry, reply to play date requests, rsvp to parties and pay for extra curricular activities.

However, in trying my best to do all of these things, something has to give. My house has muddles, my car is a mess and my ironing pile could rival Mount Everest. So no, working mums aren't brilliant, perfect or anything in between,they are just motivated by fierce love to survive against the odds so that the littles in their care can flourish and have someone to look up to. In a world where role models in the media starve themselves, party hard and bend to fit the mould, a mama as a role model needs to be two things: loving and dependable.

So if you happen to see my parked car and wonder why there are Diet Coke cans, Cheerios and kid paraphinalia strewn all over the interior, it might be because some mornings are harder than others. Sometimes my little ladies eat breakfast en route, and sometimes mama needs extra caffeine to kick start the day. Someday I'll get it valeted, but until then, that 'mess' just proves we are still surviving!

So long Quackee Duck

Last Easter, I decided it would be a fun idea to get the girls pet ducks, which by the way, was no mean feat. I drove a 60mile round trip in the hopes of finding one from one of the farms close by, but none could be found. there were chickens a plenty, but no ducklings. eventually I found a lady who was looking to rehome her ducks who were 'just at the point of lay'. This seemed perfect- no incubators or mothering, just three gorgeous ducks- 1 of which was an Aylesbury pure breed (Think of the gossiping ducks from Disney's Aristocats!). When they got to the farm I quickly realised that the lady may have told a tall tale or two, since the 'ducklings' were massive!

Needless to say, the ducks have not laid a single egg since they got here, so I think it's safe to assume that they are mature ducks. It was therefore only right to give them mature names- Queen Priscilla, Lady Quack a lot and Quackee Duck.

The little ladies became instantly smitten and chose a duck each. All summer we had a blast watching them interact, try to escape and follow us around, and quickly referred to their outings as 'duck tales'.

Last week, after college, I thought I'd give them a bit of splash time in the puddles on the drive - a favourite of theirs. Only to find when I opened up their door, that only the two white ducks came out to play. It was getting pretty dark, so I assumed that the black and green drake would follow shortly, but after the floodlights came on, I still couldn't see him.

After careful inspection of the duck house, I discovered him lifeless.Cue: a grown woman stood in the middle of the gardens in the pouring rain, wearing a dress and wellies crying over a duck. I'm still fairly new to this rural living lark, I had no clue what to do with a dead duck. nor what I should tell the littlest lady about the whereabouts of 'her' drake.

A quick SOS call to my dad confirmed we should bury him.

I got myself collected and went to break the news to the girls.

Littlest lady got pretty upset and so big girl took her upstairs to play and take her mind off it. Sisters are a gift! However, ten minutes later, she came downstairs sniffling and climbed on my lap to ask me this very important question...

"Mammy, is my du-du-duck in Hereford?"

(You should know that this was an insanely cute moment and I did such a great job of holding in my amusement at this sad time.)

"Um, no baby, he's not in Hereford. He's in Heaven."

"When is he coming back?"

"He's not babe, he's gone to Heaven for good."

"Is he eating a happy meal there? "

"Um, I don't really know what they eat in Heaven babe, but probably not..."

"C said you get a Mcdonald's in Heaven...?"

At this point, big girl appeared with her hands on her hips and said with a flick of her hair,

"Um yeah you do, you get a drive thru on the way, what else are you going to munch on the journey?!"

Seriously, these kidlets are my joy.

Love stories

IThe oldest little lady has just discovered Taylor Swift's backlog of hits, in particular she adores the song 'love story'. I'm not adverse to a bit of miss Taylor myself, however I'm not one to try and take the limelight or sing along or anything like that. Especially in the car at traffic lights...ahem.

Anyway, she was showing my gran this song when we were visiting with her this evening, and I couldn't help but be curious. My Grandad passed away three years ago, and seeing him and my Grandma together made me ache for that lifelong connection with someone. Whenever I would go to a wedding as a little girl, I just assigned the couple to being just like my Grandma and Grandad- utterly in love and never cross with each other. 

Of course, being a grown up I found this to be an ailien concept. This generation just replaces things if they are old or broken, whereas my grandparents grew up in a culture that nurtured and looked after your lot. Whatever you had, you treated it gently and fixed it if it got broken. I wonder when the huge culture shift happened?

Anyway, I asked my grandmother how she and my Grandad, Ray, had met. She said,

" I used to go to a Saturday night meeting at the church in aber cwmboy, and your grandad's friends used to go too. One night they asked him along, and he walked me home, and things went from there really."

I LOVE that my Grandad met Grandma at a church youth meeting, and then went on to be a preacher for 50 years, with my Grandma sitting in the congregation signalling to him with her watch if he got sidetracked and talked for too long.

I asked her how he proposed...

"Well my sister invited me to go to her house for Christmas dinner, and Ray came with me (he always loved food! Especially if it was home cooked and free! Ha) and he proposed. His mum and auntie were visiting soon after and asking when the wedding would be, his mum retaliated with 'not for a long time yet!' But we were married the following March."

Her eyes lit up, and her smile broadened as she giggled and recalled,

"We chose August first, I don't know why we brought it forward but we did and everyone thought I was pregnant!"

(She wasn't by the way! Can you imagine the scandal back then?!)

"We had a huge reception, over a hundred, Ray's mum paid for the food and the whole street decorated the church hall. It was lovely, over 100 people."

I smiled. Sounds about right, my grandparents were never without friends and my Grandad always held a crowd's attention. He was such a funny gentleman!

They were married for over 50 years and my Grabdma told me he never bought her flowers, not once since cauliflowers didn't count! Yet they never fought either. Perhaps no flowers were needed when love was in bloom indefinitely.

I've read a lot of love stories but this is one of my very favourite ones.

3 year old theology.

Recently my little darlings have started to tell the odd little white lie, especially when it comes to fessing up over who created the mess or spilt the juice. This week scarlette told a fib about her bigger sister and I totally caught her out and called her out on it. This was how that went...

Me: 'you really mustn't tell lies, it's not nice and it makes mummy sad.'

Scar: 'but I didn't tell any lies!'

Me: 'yes you did because mammy just heard you.  Now I'm watching you when you are being naughty, and so is Jesus because it makes him sad too.'

Scar: 'no him isn't, Jesus is at church, silly!'

Me: (trying not to smile) That's not true Jesus is everywhere all of the time.'

This was when my middle girl jumped in to help me out.

C: 'yeah, like in the garden, in our bedrooms...'

Scar: 'oh yeah, cause him lives just down the road doesn't he?'

Me: 'not entirely scar, no.'

Scar: 'yes him does, I SAW him!'

We still have a little way to go with theology lessons, but this was way too cute not to document for the future. I love how she brightens up every situation. She is my slice of happy even on a super long day.

Questions on concerts

Tomorrow I'm braving the thousands and taking my biggest little lady to see One Direction at the stadium. She is going to absolutely lose her mind. And her voice. I mean, it's a complete shame she doesn't like their music or have a crush on them, poor thing will have absolutely zero fun.

Ya, or not.

Ever since she heard that they were touring she begged me to take her, so after Santa had been, Christmas morning I presented her with a token to say we would be going to see them live. The noise that followed was like a really high pitched kettle just reaching boiling point over a hot stove. Yeah, a REALLY hot stove, she went nuts. In the best way, of course.

The past few months and weeks have been a constant countdown and to say she is just a tad excited is a total understatement. This week we have had a lot of opinions about the concert, mainly about our concert attire....

'Mum, I'm going to wear my white 1D too, do you think you should get one to match?'

'Okay, so if I wear my skinny jeans, will it go with trainers? Because I can't walk from Nando's in my pink wedges can I?!'

'I really think you should get a 1D top mum, otherwise you're going to be the odd one out there!'

'I was thinking to have a messy bun for my hair, because curls might get in my way, what'd you think?'

As you can see, she is totally angling for me to lose any of my remaining street credit by trying to make me wear a 1D merch shirt. Panic not, it ain't happening.

As for my actual outfit, I've yet to decide. What does one wear to a concert full of pre teens? I had the perfect white skinny outfit lined up, but in sheer excitement I just know that missy will spill something like cola and that will be the end of that story. So, tonight I will mostly be hunting through my wardrobe for an outfit that will suffice for such an occasion. It is after all the first ever concert I am taking Quartz too so naturally we will be instagramming the entire day! Ha. 

The roads are closed and trains will be a logistical nightmare, so best pray me and mini get out of the city quickly and easily! 

1000 gifts

It's been a while again hasn't it?

well, I'm never really sure how to begin again after an unannounced hiatus from the old blog, so I'll just dive right in. After months of being far too busy to read, I decided that I would venture into the library and immerse myself in a book that would bring me joy whilst reading it.

Would you believe that the first one I picked out was '1000 gifts - a dare to live fully right where you are.'
The book that nudges you to compile a list of 1000 little blessings in your life.

How perfect was that?

I started reading it just this week and to say it is speaking to me is a bit of an understatement. I'm at a time in my life where I'm doing a lot of processing- learning to handle parenting issues that I've never dealt with before, adjusting to being a divorcee, being a working mama and trying to launch a writing career and generally trying to keep all of the various plates spinning without burning out. So, to have a book practically yell at me to just take some time to pause and be grateful has been incredible.

Reading has often been medicine to me, and what others refer to as escapism, I simply denote as learning. You can't read a book and learn absolutely nothing, whether it's a new word, a life lesson, or even a self truth, books are notorious for stirring up your emotions and then softly soothing them again.

1. The smell of old books
2. The glow of a lamp in a darkened room
3. An old blanket

I try so hard not to complain, but in all honesty, sometimes I just do, because I'd forgotten to be grateful. Gratitude is a lesson, that means that you have to learn it over and over again before it becomes second nature, it's like love, you have to choose it consciously above anything else. What about when the children are running around the house screaming and shrieking and you're on countdown until bed time just so that you can hear your own thoughts? You have to choose love over selfishness, love over brashness and love over pride. Or, how about when your love snaps at you? You want to snap back, really, everything within you wants to retort back- you've even got a brilliant one liner quip all lined up on your tongue, but you choose love instead, and you know what will happen? The row that would have escalated quickly is completely diffused as you take a deep breath and say nothing.

4. fingerprints on windows
5. drawings of mammy by a 5yr old
6. warm drinks at bedtime

More and more I am realising that how we react to the situations we find ourselves in, is a choice. And, when you choose gratitude over attitude, your circumstances will be better, perhaps not instantly, but some day.

I'd gotten a few chapters in when I read this:

'Maybe you don't want a different story, because you don't know what a different end holds.'

And it stirred something so deep within me that I couldn't help but read that phrase over and over again. Isn't that just the truth? Even when we are fully in the throes of wondering what on Earth is going on in life, would we really want it any differently? Really?

I had an RTA and turned my head to look right to overcompensate for not being able to see that way, but would I really want to be any different simply to have avoided a miniscule bump? Would I trade lack of vision for the unknown? Would I rather have risked having a different impairment? No, of course not, so why was I lamenting over it?

7. an inquisitive mind
8. running at the gym

It's a slow process, but the more I jot down things that I love in my life, the more I appreciate how good I really have got it. The book is based around the word 'eucharisteo' which broken down literally means 'grace, thanks, joy' or 'gift, thanks, joy' Perhaps that's why after you recognise the gift and appreciate the gift, you're left feeling lighter, more optimistic somehow, perhaps Ann Voskamp is right, this is the way to uncovering joy.

After situations in your life leave you weakened and a little bit battered, it seems the only lasting way to regain your joy is to be thankful for what you have, because as the saying goes 'there's someone in the world who is happy with less than you have.'

9. silence
10. The hoot of an owl