Coffee and a Visit

Hello!  How’s the week treated you?  I hope you’re all good, but even if you’re not, let’s put the world to rights.

If we were were having coffee show you my favourite picture from this week.

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Isla decided my wheels needed redone.  I was very happy with them.

Some things:

If she says she’s experimenting, she doesn’t get in trouble.

She knows my favourite colour.

We have rolls of wallpaper for her painting experiments.  Next time this happens, I’m gonna drive all over that stuff.  Thanks for the nudge, Sally.

Yesterday, we took Isla to the park where I kindasortamaybe attempted to be social with people who don’t know my sense of humour.  Ask me how that worked.

After that, the plan was to find a bookshop and have lunch at our favourite seafood shack.  No parking and a depressing closed sign meant Isla got a nap in the car while we just circled around the island listening to Eric Bibb.

This was cool too, because, y’know, Neil and I actually talked.  Which is something we still like to do.  Bonus is when we’re road-tripping with music on, and not talking about kid stuff.  And I’m very proud of my city-boy husband who is comfortable enough with country driving that he can now y’know, drive and talk at the same time.

I thought I’d have a new secondhand book stack to show you today.  But, no such luck.

I actually think I have enough books to be getting on with just now.  Y’know, like the ones in my house and on my Kindle.  Which is also in my house.  Let’s have a silent reading party.  Wherever you are.

In related news, my Kindle is actually falling apart these days.  I didn’t know shit like that happened.

If we were having coffee, I’d tell you that we are kindasortamaybe planning our regularish trip to NY.  However.  We don’t have useful things like dates, yet.  So we can’t plan beverages/pizza/shenanigans, yet

Speaking of beverages, I would so have some with these groovy people wherever they are in the world.

Elsa, Nicole, Sally, Caitlin, Heather, Carol, Bella, Em, Suzie, Christine, Alice, Ritu, Tiffany, Melissa, MeriahLucy, Jackie, Juls, Josy and Emily . Go say hi!

And don’t forget to add your #weekendcoffeeshare post link over at Nerd in the Brain.

Oh, look, we’ve finished our coffee.  Want another one?

Lorna xox

P.S.  If we’ve ever had coffee in real-life, or want to.  And you don’t have a blog or haven’t updated it in yonks.  Please start one or start writing again.  So I can stalk visit you.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Coffee and Questions

I’ve been blogging for a long time and you might have noticed I’ve been trying to be more consistent with it.

Since I’ve come off my various hiatuses, I’m curious about why you’ve stuck with me, and other good stuff about you, my groovy readers.

If you would be so groovy, and answer these questions, that would be swell.

1. How long have you been reading my rambles and how did you find me?

2. Are you disabled, a parent, a reader, a writer, a traveller, or a coffee drinker?

3. Are you one of my parents?

4. Are you Neil?

5. Are you an expat, a mover, or a third-culture person?

6. What’s your favourite blog, and what would you like to see more of on mine?

7. If we’ve met, how did we meet? (this could be a lie)

8. What books are you reading at the moment?

Whether this is your first visit, or you’ve been around as long as this blog, thank you.  I appreciate your friendship/support/blunt advice/gentle nudges.

Let’s chat.

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Image from bustle.com

Sometimes, It Hurts.

And so, after painting all the pictures and doing all the puzzles, Isla and I went out.

We’ve paved around the house so we can have races and stuff, so there’s that. But we live on a hill.

‘Go over the stones and roll down the hill with me, Mummy.’

‘I can’t, baby. I wouldn’t get back up.’

‘Please, Mummy. Just try.’

Which is what we ask her to do.

So, I tried.

And my heart broke a little. Because Isla said, ‘That’s awight, Mummy. I’ll play on my own.’ And she did. And I angled away for a bit so she wouldn’t see me cry. Because she’s seen it before. Not a lot. And yet.

You can be the biggest advocate, with the filthiest sense of humour. You can shout for a living and then come home and just live.

But sometimes, CP hurts.

When strangers think Isla is my much younger sister, and she wants me to run down hills and get on the other end of a see-saw. That’s when it hurts.

Then you come in and you burst. But then you go on. Because there are trains to play with. And a nearly three year-old face to memorise.

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This is how we roll.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Abstract Sandwiches

On Tuesday, when I picked Isla up from nursery, she hugged my lap as she sometimes does.

‘I MISSED you, Mummy.’

‘Really?’ I asked.  She’s a Daddy’s girl, see.  I am obviously still questioning every bit of affection she doles out.  To me.

‘Yeah,’ she said

‘Did someone pay you to say that?’

‘Uhm.  No.’

When I’m happy, my eyes kinda crinkle up until you can’t see them.  Like Isla’s.  Because, y’know, I’m her mother.

I did a little dance in the carpark, my day made at one o’clock.

‘Mummy funny,’ she laughs.

Yeah, I s’pose I am, a bit.

Isla’s funny, too.  She has my eye crinkle and my sarcasm.

Yesterday, she was loaded with big foam puzzle pieces.  Her arms were so full she was just a stripey sweater on legs.

‘I LOVE you,’ I tell her.  ‘Where did you come from?’

She cranes her neck and looks at me sideways.  It is my own incredulous face looking back at me.

‘From my bedroom,’ she says.

True enough.

I did the pee-pee laugh with that one.  Also true.

Since Isla’s started nursery, I’ve been doing some thinking.  I’ve also been doing some Math, mostly at 4AM.  Mayhaps, more about that later. For now, I will say this: Don’t do Math at 4AM.

Anyway.  This is what I’ve been thinking.  Since Isla started doing things.  Outside the house.  Without me.

This is how life goes.  I’m proud of her.  I’m allowed to miss her.  We need to keep going. And I’m so fucking proud of her.

I’ve been thinking that getting help to do things makes me no less of a mother.  Because I’m the one who misses her when she’s at school.  And also when she’s asleep.

It doesn’t matter that sometimes, I can’t lift her onto the toilet. Because I’m the one who claps when she pees on it.

I’m (one of) the people who reads to her at night. And in the afternoon. She sits on my lap, in my chair. And I can still find that place on her neck that I’ve loved since before she was born.

And sometimes, still, she falls asleep on me.

We wake up two mornings a week, and I make her lunch. Her sandwiches have holes in them, because I have very few knife skills. I don’t care. She eats her lunch.

I might squirt mayo hearts on the bread.

I send her out and she comes home and hands me her empty lunch box. And sometimes her boogers.

She makes me a coffeeshop and a dragon out of blocks.

She goes into the fridge and gets a snack. I tell her not to ruin her dinner.

And she gives me that sideways glance. The one she gets from me.

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Kinda like this.  Isla isn’t sure about empty envelopes.

Cheese Crackers & Jelly

How many mothers with CP (some would call ourselves spaz hands) does it take to rip jelly blocks and then remove the set jelly from jelly molds?

One.  And today, that one is me.

And this is what it looks like when your kid insists on having that jelly with cheese crackers.

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Notice how the jelly looks like butterflies?  Yeah, me neither.

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?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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.

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