I've been missing blogging. Really missing it. And more, missing the capturing of precious memories. Special moments, days and events are being enjoyed, photographed, but not documented. And for me, documentation is important as well as cathartic. I love to write myself stories to read in later years (I've recently re-read some blog posts from this time of year in 2013 and loved revisiting little details and moments I had forgotten) and for Master R and Miss O to read to find out about the parts of their lives they're unlikely to remember in any detail, if at all.
The thing is, my resolution this year was to take better care of myself. And part of that has been putting myself to bed much earlier, with no screen time in the hours before bedtime. And I've been trying not to overfill my time. Thus, blogging has been utterly neglected. Great in that I am sleeping MUCH better. Sad that I'm missing the chance to record the intimate details of my little people, who grow and change so rapidly.
There are lots of things I could blog about. I could try to catch up on things that we've done. We recently had a fab holiday in the South Downs in a log cabin which I'd love to write about, but that's a big job. I'm going to start small.
Today.
Today began in the dark, snuggling with sleepy Miss O under the covers. She was half-asleep and lying across me for a feed. I was half-asleep also, and wondering how close to dawn it was. Master R is adapting only slowly to the time change, so Rachel has got up around 4:30 several mornings. He's gradually waking up a few minutes later each day. I don't know what time he turned on his bedroom light and trundled through to ask what sort of day it was (weekends are "cartoon days", weekdays are "school days" now). We invited him into bed and all four of us snuggled together for a while.
Master R declared that "we love snugglewugs" which made me think about the Hugglewugs book we have. Miss O trundled off to find that book, but couldn't. She came back with "Don't Worry, William", which we read instead. Master R then started talking about breakfast, so I suggested we go downstairs for breakfast. Downstairs, and outside. To light a fire in the dark and cook breakfast in the fresh air, like we did when we were camping this summer. Master R was very enthusiastic about this idea and eagerly pulled on his galoshes, warm coat and welly boots. Miss O took a little convincing, but was buoyed up by her brother's bubbly excitement.
With torches and whispering voices, we thundered crept outside, which was pretty much pitch black. The children used their torches to help me find my wellies and the BBQ (We ignored the fact that we have a very boring garage light available. Who wants a light when there's a torch available?) and I hauled it out to the lawn. We still had kindling and logs leftover from our camping trip, and we remembered the fire lighting techniques we'd learnt, but struggled as usual, to get our kindling alight. Wet leaves from the maple tree didn't catch. Dry seed heads from the long grass we grow in our flowerbed smouldered, but didn't produce flames for long. We sent Mummy Rachel to fetch us paper from the shredding box, which we carefully tore and screwed up. That started to burn well, but then just blackened. "Waft it!" Cried Mummy Rachel, remembering the last important trick to lighting a fire.
Our very battered hardback copy of Frozen was wafted vigorously and soon we had a little inferno.
There's something about a fire. You can't help but watch. There's something about the faces of the people you love lit up by an open fire too.
Once the fire was established and we'd got a couple of big logs ablaze, it was time to add the grid across the top, and a saucepan of oats and almond milk.
Then it was just a waiting game. Stir and watch. We talked about the sunrise, the smoke, how we hoped the spoon wouldn't set on fire and what the birds were saying to each other.
Eventually, the porridge was cooked, and it was time to serve into bowls and add honey (for the smalls) and almond butter (for me).
Master R took charge of the bowls, asking Miss O which colour she'd like (blue, obviously). He chose green for me, which I've just realised. He knows his Mummy's favourite colour. And red for him, which is unusual. He usually has the pink because it's closest to purple.
It was quite light by this point. Not as light as the photo makes it seem, but the sun had risen rapidly. As we ate, we watched the sky changing colour.
I've got a plan to create a sunset blanket for my next big crochet project. I love the delicate shades of orange, purple, grey, blue and white you see at sunset, or sunrise. Maybe I should start that this Autumn. Once I've finished stitching the new lounge curtains and painting the soon-to-be-delivered rabbit hutch. Oh yes, there have been many things going on in this house recently!
We watched the birds too. A couple of blue tits popped to the bird table a couple of times. A small murmuration of starlings flew over our heads a few times. Then they landed in the maple tree and seemed to be arguing over who got to sit in which branch. We wondered if they'd planned to visit our garden for some food, but were perhaps put off by our presence, or the smell of woodsmoke. Master R decided they were "our holiday starlings", which we'd watched murmurating most days from the decking or hot tub. We'd done some research about WHY they murmurate. I love that he thought they'd followed us home. Or perhaps followed us out to our holiday and then back. We wondered what it would feel like to be like a bird, flying up in the sky. Master R thought we would look like tiny ants.
Yes, this happened. As he contentedly munched his honey porridge, Master R asked "Can we roast marshmallows?" Why not? We're having a campfire breakfast. Why not roast marshmallows too?
They were quite hard marshmallows, actually. I am hoping they were left over from something more recent than the camping trip in AUGUST. But possibly they've been languishing in the cupboard that long! When Miss O saw her brother had three, and she had only two, she had to correct that wrong. Concept of number working in action.
He's not miserable. Just trying to toast his marshmallow without getting smoke in his eyes. (Does one roast or toast a marshmallow? In point of fact, we accidentally repeatedly set fire to them, which works well. Is that flambéing instead?)
Marshmallows for breakfast... as success?
I'd say so.
After marshmallows, Master R had some more porridge. So did I. There were bits of porridge everywhere. All the spoons and their handles were sticky because we were using the ends to get more honey out of the jar. Miss O kept popping inside, taking off her wellies, then returning. Possibly just for the heck of putting her wellies on and off again. She was captivated for some time watching the starlings. I love watching their wonder at the world. I also love that our garden has grown up after our big project doing it up. And now all my garden based pictures have great backdrops. Except when I leave the garage door open!
Eventually it was time to peel off our outer layers, strip off our woodsmoke-fragranced pyjamas and hop in the shower. When we came inside, it was only 7:30, leaving us a delicious hour to get up and dressed for school run.
Later, at toddlers, we had the best fun trying out some firework crafts I'd found on Pinterest (where else?!).
Both really simple, even for tiny toddlers to manage, but so beautifully effective. One was drawing with wet chalk, the other, splatting painty fireworks with a sellotaped bunch of straws (I knew they were worth keeping! Bought those straws so that I'd be able to sip water when in labour with Miss O. Had such a fast labour I never used them. They've been used for various crafts over the last 2 and a bit years, and the final remnants were used up today).
How fantastic do they look? The top one was done by me as an exemplar, and the others by Miss O, with minimal support. She is VERY proud of them. She loves showing people her art when they come over. We always have recent art projects displayed on the doors downstairs; the kitchen door, bathroom door and lounge door. They're up for a while to be admired and get individually photographed and digitally stored in a separate folder in date order and then most get recycled. I keep a few very wonderful pieces, but the others can all be printed out in a big album one day.
Between toddlers and school run, Miss O and I pootled round the house together. She watched some Pingu while I dealt with some messages. We did a couple of loads of laundry, made, ate and washed up lunch (and the breakfast bowls) and I threw some food in the slow cooker because Wednesday afternoons are hectic and I knew Rachel would be back late. See, we come home from school run, Master R changes on the doorstep into his gym kit and we drive to his lesson. The lesson is an hour, during which Miss O and I are confined to a tiny, crowded viewing platform to entertain ourselves with toys we pack carefully into the giraffe rucksack. We almost never get a seat, because SOMETHING always causes us to run not late, but not early enough to get a seat. We come back during rush our, only arriving home around 5:40, with two tired children who need feeding and putting to bed ASAP. So I NEEDED dinner to be done when we got home.
We didn't get a seat today, because Miss O, who is emotionally fragile at the moment threw mega-tantrum 2 of 3 today on the way to and from school this afternoon. We set off quite happily and were just crossing the main (ish) road when she remembered that we'd planned to put her in her beloved buggy (in the ultimate irony, my baby who never lay in a pram or buggy until she was about 18 months old ADORES the crappy second hand pushchair I bought "for emergencies"). She utterly lost the plot. Threw herself on the floor, kicking arms and legs and screaming. There was no time to return for the precious buggy, so I hefted her, kicking, punching and roaring in rage and bitter disappointment all the way to the playground. Several times I had to lie her on the floor so I could pick her up with a firmer grip. Several times I tried to console her. It was actually hysterically funny. Not for her, poor soul. To her it literally was the end of the world. But I was cackling like a mad thing at the hilarity of the situation.
Anyways, that held us up a little, because once home, I had to sit with her while Master R collected his own gym clothes achingly slowly. Then dressed achingly slowly. Then we were ABOUT to leave (literally, buckled in the car and reversing out of the driveway), when he realised he needed a wee. Standard stuff. When we arrived at gym (Miss O asleep by this point, so I had to lift her from the car and tuck her in the ring sling which lives in my boot for just such emergencies) I'd also forgotten to pack him warmer clothes, which the email earlier this week advised us to do because the heating has broken. No worries, I said, what's in the lost property box? Sure enough there was a very fetching (girl's) hoodie that he looked very smart in. Later, the receptionist came upstairs to ask who'd got a red KA. I'd left the keys in the door. Winning. Utterly winning at life. Today was one of those good days when I could just laugh it off though. Seriously. I have so much to remember in one day, particularly one Wednesday, that I'm inevitably going to forget something. As long as it's not a medical appointment or a child, I figure I'm coming out on top.
Tantrum 3 of 3 occured at bedtime when I...
...wait for it...
... walked back to bathroom to get some vaseline for my lips Without her.
It surely is the crime of the century. Poor child. She couldn't cope. Worked herself into a whirlwind of fury and sadness. Threw herself around the floor. Rolled around the bed. Refused the offer to cuddle. Refused diddy. But eventually, while I was lying reading my book, arms open ready for her, she crawled onto my body and snuggled in. Angrily, to begin with. Fierce, her cross little hugs are. Then she rolled around so I was spooning her and relaxed. Within minutes, she fell asleep. She never did agree to put her nappy or pyjamas on, so she's still there, tucked under a crochet blanket, stark naked and fast asleep. What a busy day for that little girl.
I've been reading this book, 'How to Raise a Wild Child', which, contrary to what you might be thinking, it not about raising fiery, determined children. I don't need advice about that. They're born, not made. (Could do with advice about coping with living with them, though!) No, this book is about raising children to have a deep and abiding connection to the natural world around them. I've been reading it in fits and starts, because the author's brutal honesty about the dire situation our planet (and education system) is in can make me feel utterly depressed. But the inspiring bits are, as intended, inspiring. Thus our crack of dawn breakfast this morning. I feel very lucky that we have our allotment (oh yeah, we have one of those now... it's no wonder I've had no time/energy to blog!) and garden as well as an array of natural locations for Master R and Miss O to enjoy. I aim to get outdoors with them every day, which, with Master R's, school and club schedule, is a challenge. Getting outside early is both exciting and valuable. A nice grounding before a less "feral" day later.
Sleep well, wild children.