Day One, Again

I’d lost track of how long I’ve been at this blogging thing.  But WordPress told me last week.  I’ve been writing at Gin & Lemonade for six years.

Well.

That makes me want to apologise that my last post before this was a muddy puddle.  But I won’t, because y’know, cute kid.

Someone asked me recently how I was doing.

‘Yeah, she’s two.’

‘I know,’ said my friend, in Edinburgh, on the phone, in a building where I used to work.  ‘But I asked about you.’

‘Oh.’ Actual-ha-ha-dry-laugh.  ‘Ehm.  ‘How ’bout you go first?’ I said.

Because I don’t know how I am.  But I’m trying to find out again.

Our very big medium-sized house in the country is set on sloping gravel that we’re getting paved.  The first step in that process was widening the front door and ramping over the front steps.  That happened over two very noisy days last week.

We took Isla to Inverness for the weekend, on a trip that included getting stuck behind some elk at the safari park, catching Pokemon and Finding Dory.

And came back to a finished ramp into the house.

I know, I went very quickly from ‘me’ to ‘we’ again.  But my point is this.  I plan to use the ramp to get out more.  Yes, I’m looking forward to racing Isla all around the house, but maybe I’ll go further and take a class somewhere, and go for coffee more often, take the camera places.  Fill up some new notebooks.

I have been out of the house before this, but the spontaneity and heart is taken out of it when your husband breaks his toe on the ‘portable’ ramps (one track for each wheel) that the OT department gave you.  (Thanks, but no thanks, but thanks?)

And so, new ramp, new me?  Not quite.  Because I like me.  But I’d like to do more of the stuff I like: writing, working, blogging, laughing, finishing coffee, talking to people who aren’t two. Maybe working outside this house.  And yes, making sure Isla eats and sleeps and learns and laughs.  Because when she does all of those things it’s like I’m doing those things.

But more ‘me’ things on the list, I think.

And so, hello. How are you?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

One More Coffee

And so, my alone time didn’t help much yesterday.  Too quiet.  Not enough kid.

However, I have three new sentences that I didn’t have this time yesterday.  They are mostly about ice cream.  Because we start where we are.

Today started with coffee and pancakes.  After Isla climbed into bed with us and farted in my face.  Thanks, kid.  I’ve decided that that’s not a metaphor for the rest of the day.

Today’s the kind of day where the TV is on, but I’m also listening to music.

And I attacked the beeping (I’m not censoring myself, it gets loud when it’s finished) dryer with a broom-stick.  Y’know, the one I usually have up my ass.  Neil was out and I couldn’t reach the machine.  And I’m resourceful.  Or something.

In other news, we ordered an actual camera.  And because we live in the boonies we are still waithing for it.  Scenery isn’t allowed to happen til it arrives.  That’s a lie.

Hold the phone.  We got to 4.15 in the afternoon before Isla requested an episode of Peppa Pig.  Big real-time/live comment of the day.  I feel we’ve turned a corner.

I think I should switch back to fiction so I don’t jinx this new state of loud Zen I’ve found.  Or something.

13781757_10153968344664412_5284314337942575485_n
This is what my alone time looks like.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Line By Line

If we were having coffee, we’d be hiding in the kitchen while Isla counts the balls in her ball pit and Neil plays the shit out of Isla’s toy guitar.

You’d be convincing me that I can write a mystery on a wharf including a dog collar for NYC Midnight’s Flash Fiction Challenge.  While I do feel better about this assignment  than the Short Story Challenge, it would seem that the only story elements I can work with these days are:

Coffee

Peppa Pig

and

Angst.

Isla just wandered into the kitchen, opened the fridge and took out a yogurt.  She grows a year older every night.  Today, she is a teenager shuffling around the house and raiding the kitchen.

Pass me the tissues.

So, the TV is on in the backgroud.  Neil has traded the guitar for turning on the washing machine.

Yes, I know I’m lucky.  I’m lucky my husband does things around the house, I’m lucky my child does her own thing, even if that thing changes every five minutes.  And the things don’t stop until she zonks out at 8.30pm.

I’m lucky we live in the country.  With the peace and quiet.  And the sheep.

I’m lucky to have people come into my house every day to help me wrangle my very active child.  I’m lucky she goes for walks and brings me back flowers.  I’m really lucky if she gives me a kiss with those flowers.

I live for those kisses.

But I’m lucky Isla isn’t clingy.  I’m lucky she likes people who aren’t me.  I’m lucky I’m the one who cries when she leaves the house.  I’m lucky I’m the one who needs hugs.  I’m lucky she likes to read.  To herself.

I’m lucky we have all these friends to visit in other places.  I’m lucky shopping and coffee and looking at those friends has become a treat.  Because y’know, seeing your friends all the time can be really fucking boring.

I’m lucky that Neil is taking Isla out for awhile, so ‘Mummy can write.’

Before they left, Isla brought me some paper.  Apparently, she’ll kiss me if there’s words on it when they get back.

youshouldbewriting

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I Need A Break From My Phone

Hello,

I’m looking to take photos without my phone and need suggestions on digital SLR cameras.  Want to learn and do more with my photography.

Camera must be chunky for my spaz hands.  And I could use auto-stabilise.  And point-and-click.  Any thoughts?

Will mainly be used for toddlers in the wild.  And for epic scenery.

Thanks in advance.  Longer posts coming soon.

13631655_10155010164927067_6876150304279436453_n
More of this.

 

 

Around Here

And so, Isla is nearly two.  I’m finding this harder to deal with than last year.  But I’m hoping she’ll let me share her cake.  That’ll help, yeah?

In related news, Neil and I recently celebrated three years of marriage with a seafood dinner and the same message he’s been writing in all my cards for nearly seven years.  And just so he knows: You’re welcome, Dude.  The pleasure (and heartburn) is all mine.

In my absence from blogging, there’s been a lot of Peppa Pig, and library trips.  And ‘Isla, sit forward, please.’  Netflix and very little chill.  Gotta work on that.

But Isla’s good.  She says ‘peas’ and ‘tank you’ and ‘beshew’ when people sneeze.  And fart.  She loves to read and then pile all her books on you.

She has her father’s eyes and her mother’s sarcasm.

Last week, we were counting pennies for the piggy bank  fart tin.

‘One, two, three, six,’ she says.

‘How much are you?’

‘Too much!’ she says.

True enough, I thought.  But keep going, kiddo.

She’s funny and smart and she grows in her sleep.  I cry every time she leaves the house without me.  Even when she brings me home flowers.  Because she brings me home flowers.  And coffee.

Isla knows that I’m fuelled by coffee and hugs and Judge Judy.

Isla sleeps better than I do these days.  She sleeps through the night and I don’t.  I do my best worrying, and reading, at 4 in the morning.

I distract myself from swirling thoughts by reading and taking pictures of my books and messaging friends to ask, ‘why am I awake at 4am?’

I also yell at The Gilmore Girls and The Batchelor.  I yell things like:

  1. You’re a dick.  Don’t be a dick.

B. Does anyone ever not accept the rose?  No, say no.  Don’t stoop.

iii. Well.  That was awkward.

D. Why am I watching The Batchelor?

And then it’s not 4am anymore, it’s 9. And Isla, who now sleeps in a real bed, shuffles through and it starts all over again.

13015249_10153720402119412_1467444851309200813_n
Coffee, Ma?