A Damn Fine Cup of Coffee

Weekend-Coffee-Share-Nerd-in-the-Brain-4If we were having coffee and ask you how your week’s been treating you?

I’d tell you I looked in the mirror this week, and it’s actually dawned on me that I’m actually 36.  My kid is nearly 3.  Next month, Neil and I are married four years.  Seems longer.  And not long enough.

Did I mention that I spilled coffee on Frank the laptop and I’m back on Truman the Giant Desk Top?  It’s actually meant more writing has happened recently.   And to that I say, whatever works.

I Skyped my Mom this week.  We all fit on the same screen.

I might have asked Toast Coffee House if they deliver.  To Skye.  Because y’know, that’s where I am.  If you can, go visit them and have a Peanut Butter Mocha for me.

Did I mention that I’m thinking of joining a knitting group?  Or that I don’t actually knit? Maybe I’ll try, but we have to see if my wheelchair fits in the knitting group building first.  Because it might not.  And that’s a thing.

If we were having coffee, I’d ask if anyone else has to do pre-mission missions with a freaking tape measure?  Because that’s a thing, too.

I wonder if I’m turning into a pissed off wheelchair-user with a chip on her shoulder the size of a Peppa Pig puzzle piece.

How long have we been having coffee?  Seriously?  And how long have I been talking about the same things?

If I asked you what you’d like to talk about, what would you say?  Because I actually want to know.  Let’s talk about you.  I’m here.

And in October, Neil and I are going to London for The Twin Peaks UK Festival.  Because that’s a thing, too.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Everywhere

Weekend-Coffee-Share-Nerd-in-the-Brain-4The snow of a few weeks ago has melted and the sun has come out in Skye.  I’ve spent more time outside than in this week, and have been drinking more water than coffee.

I wore Isla’s sunglasses over mine when I picked her up at nursery, because when I do that it makes her laugh.  And her laughter is brighter than the sun that’s come out, dried us up and slightly fried our brains.

This week has included road-trips and picnics and stopping to let cows and sheep cross the road.

Isla made friends with two dogs, and conquered actually jumping on the trampoline.  Up to now, she’d just been standing in the middle looking really excited about a time in the future when she actually took a jump.

The future is now.  Or something.

One of the road-trips of the week was to check out a second-hand treadmill that now lives in Neil’s home-office.  (How many hyphens can I fit into one garden-path sentence?  Well.)

Neil actually used the treadmill this morning, while Isla and I played hide-and-seek.  Very early this morning.

We then made Isla go out and wash the car.  Isla asked to go out and help Neil wash the car.  I followed after with a book and the vain hope  of getting a tan on my other arm.

However.  And.

If we were having coffee, I’d tell you I miss you.  That I wish I was in Edinburgh listening to Constance Hall with you.  Or running with the books with you at The Strand.  Or helping you avoid writing up your placement notes.  Or having coffee with you.  In Australia.  Or Glasgow.  In your living-room.  Or in my kitchen.

In Levittown.  Or Miller Place.  In this year.  Or 1987.

I’d ask about your week.  And your life.  I’d throw you a book.  And give you a hug.  And we’d watch Isla on her trampoline.  Because I have a kid.  And she has a trampoline.

Hi.  Have a coffee.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Coffee Talk And Blogging Goals

If we were having coffee, you couldn’t help but notice that we’ve blown all the fuses.  Isla is running around going, ‘My house is dark.  It ran out of batteries!’

Five minutes ago, we were watching Alice in Wonderland.  Now, Isla’s face is lit by my phone screen.  No, I can’t buy you that Lego set.  And please don’t post that egg video on Facebook.

In other news, what music do you listen to while taking down the Christmas tree?  Isla went into the living room this week and yelled, ‘Someone stole the Christmas tree!’  Yes, well, until next year.

I finished reading my third book of the year this morning (Red Queen, Victoria Aveyard) and my first read for this list.

While we’re here more bookish things:

I told Goodreads I’ll be reading 50 books, or more, this year.

And for every finished book, I’ll be putting a buck in Isla’s Swear Jar  my book jar.

If we were having coffee, I’d mention that I might be shifting the focus of this here blog, or getting back to writing and not just talking about it.

I’ve looked back on my posts, and my personal notebooks from this year and I’ve written a lot about not writing a lot.

And Neil recently mentioned that I haven’t written any fiction since we’ve been together.

So, there’s that.  Might really get back to writing a story a week.

And I might want to write even more about being a disabled mother, and a mother and  a third-culture kid who grew up to live on an island off another island, in a house that keeps blowing fuses.

Hi.

If we were having coffee I’d ask: What are your writing plans this year, or this week?

And: What would you like to read more of on this blog?

muse
My current read with Isla’s latest art.

You Bring The Cheesecake

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Just one of my favourite photos from this year.  My girl.

If we were having coffee, I’d say thank you.  Thank you for meeting me at a coffee table, at the other end of a screen, on a curb, or on my couch.

Thank you for reading my rambles.

Thanks for the books, and the butterfly magnets and the mural.

Thanks for beers, real or fake, and the ones I owe you.

Thanks for the Altoids and the Beatles.  Even the unsolicited advice.  It makes for good material.

Thanks for those de-stress colouring books, which I actually find really stressful.

 

Thanks for not mentioning I need a haircut, and eye makeup.  And possibly more Prozac.

Thanks for the Baileys.  And for the glass with my name on it.  And for being there when we got the house.  And helping us move into it.

Thank you to Dad and Anne, for making Christmas dinner, and other stuff.  And thanks for being there that other night when I lost my shit.

Thanks for making a path for me, for fixing our heat, and for running ALL the hotels we’ve stayed in this year.

Thanks to Isla, for being an awesome individual, for making me laugh and cry.  And for falling asleep on me sometimes, still.

And thanks to Neil, for leaving when I turn on country music, and for always coming back.  I promise to never blog about the time I found you in the kitchen singing Red Solo Cup.

Let’s do it all again.

 

 

 

 

Christmas Coffee With The Grinch

If we were having coffee, I’d introduce you to our new as yet unnamed coffee machine.

As an early Christmas present from me to us, the coffee machine Neil bought me when we first started dating has been upgraded to something from the future. Actually, I think we should call it Jetson.

What sort of um, coffee experience would you like?

My favourite so far is a mild double-shot medium-hot latte.

In my house.

What can I get you?

After you figure that out, I’d show you the Christmas tree we put up two weeks ago.

15492392_10154391238049412_2321628323463845313_n
It doesn’t look like that anymore. Isla likes to hide the decorations on us. You might be sitting on one right now.

If we were having coffee I’d tell you we took Isla to see Santa last weekend. It was in the midst of shopping, everyone was in a bad mood, and Santa might have called me the Grinch.

Before we’d lined up, Isla had a tantrum in a coffee shop because they’d run out of orange juice. It was kinda my fault.

We’d been staying in a hotel the night before. It was 300 degrees in the room, so I drank our not really endless supply of OJ that we drag around where ever we go.

We arrived to the mall early. So early, most places were still closed. Except the coffee place with no OJ.

I’m sitting there sipping what just might be the best latte I’ve ever had outside of my house. And my kid is refusing perfectly good apple juice. Because it isn’t orange. I feel kinda bad. I give her my breakfast, because hers doesn’t include anything that is orange juice.

It escalates. I tell her to calm down. Once. And then I don’t say much else. I figure she’ll fizzle out soon enough. But I’m getting looks. I can tell, because if one eye is looking at you, my other eye is looking at someone in New Jersey.

It’s useful. And it doesn’t distract me unless I notice someone looking back at me. Like last weekend. Like I am a horrible mother.

So I turn my head and this woman gets both my eyes. ‘Does she look abused, though?’ I ask.

The woman says nothing.

Neil and I count to ten with Isla and then I ask if she’s done.

‘Yeah,’ Isla says. And we high-five.

And then Isla kind of launches herself at me like she does these days. Because I’m a horrible mother.

As we are leaving, the staring woman offers to help me. ‘No thanks. But Merry Christmas,’ I say.

We are in line to see a grumpy looking Santa. Isla won’t sit with him and I want to leave. Somehow, we all end up sitting for the photo.

‘Bahumbug,’ I said. Sorry, not sorry.

‘No wonder Isla’s in a bad mood. Mum’s the Grinch.’

‘Screw you, Santa,’ I mumbled. And the photo was done.

We left, and I may have cried all the way to the toy store. Because I’m a horrible mother. Obviously. Not really.

Do you want more coffee?

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

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Weekend Coffee Share: Furniture Is Annoying

If we were having coffee, I’d say that houses are bigger when they are empty. Furniture is annoying.  Unless we’re talking bookcases or my giant bed.

And we’re not talking about my bed. This is a family blog.  Apparently.

Anyway.  Coffee.  My favourite coffee is medium.  In strength and temperature.  And if I leave it hanging around a few hours, DO NOT MOVE IT.  I’m not finished.  I’ve just been distracted by my kid or a book.

Or I just might be taking a break  to dance in my seat, belt out a song lyric or yell, ‘Fuck! There’s too much furniture in this house.’

But I’m done now.  Back to coffee.  It’s hazelnut.  Or mint.  But the mint depends on when I brush my teeth.

Moving on.

If we were having coffee, I’d say I owe you a letter.  How about L?  Ls are nice.

If we were having coffee, in this house, right now.

You’d see Isla running around.  She does that now.  My feelings on this are so big and mixed that perhaps we should discuss them over a drink that isn’t coffee.

You’d see I’m surrounded by books.   Still and always.  There’s also box that once contained a box of pumpkin poptart-type things.  Thanks, Emily.  I owe you a letter.

Anyway.  These poptart-type-things are delicious, and I’ve already hidden them from my aforementioned kid.  Because mothers should keep something for themselves.  Apparently.

Well.  I was thinking more along the lines of a new laptop.  But breakfast food will do.  For now.  Because bacon.  Or something.

If we were having coffee I’d say I miss you, and I have read that book, and I still miss you.

If we were having coffee, you’d know that Neil just set off the fire alarm frying that aforementioned bacon.

If we were having coffee, I’d say I wanted to start a games night, and a cards night and a book group.

I’d say we should open that bookshop/coffeeshop/artsy place.  Or perhaps hang two shingles in the same place.

If we were having coffee I’d say,’ But enough about me, what about you?’

The link-up for Weekend Coffee Share can be found at: Part-Time Monster.

weekendcoffeeshare