|Not this one. This one makes good coffee|
Thursday, 28 August 2014
There are little ramekin bowls to match but they don’t get used much. I like to store loose change in those.
Sometimes cups and the odd plate die in our house too.
This is not unrelated but I like to swear. When I say like to I mean I can’t help it.
*yes, you can*
No, I can’t.
*yes. You. Can.*
Oh shut the fuck up!
I experience a feeling of such release when I let loose with foul language. It really takes the boil off my pressure cooker.
And yes, the odd time I swear in front of the boys. I am aware of this and working on not doing that at least.
But something is well and truly lost when you just mouth the word or say it in your head.
Not the same thing at all.
See, I suffer from frustration.
*Don’t we all, dear?*
Piss off you!
I get frustrated when I don’t get “me time.” Who invented that anyway? Weren’t we a much happier bunch without it?
But I need my “me time.” My downtime. Alone. With no-one at me, touching me in the slightest way. If I see one of the boys even walking in my direction, my skin crawls with the need to be left alone.
We all need that space. And if we choose to spend it looking out the window, so be it. We need to do what works for us.
So when I am on the go all the time I get antsy. I become short tempered. Cross.
Miserable and I feel trapped. I feel like I am being swallowed alive and I need to do something to release that feeling.
Something for me.
So I swear.
And sometimes I break stuff.
Like ceramic fruit bowls. Cups, the odd plate.
I do not have butter fingers. I am not clumsy. I am human. I am a mother who sometimes feels broken with the constant demands of her children.
I am a mother who swears and breaks her crockery.
And I fucking enjoy it!
Wednesday, 20 August 2014
IT’S like that old expression; troubles come in three’s. I’m not a bit superstitious and mostly I believe we make our own troubles. I know there are some unavoidable hic-coughs like receiving the school books by courier and discovering the order is not complete. Like your dog getting sick three times in two months. And your car receiving its death knell. (It is a teenager after all)
But have you noticed that nice things happen in threes as well. And fives. And sevens.
And they may not be mad, crazy epic things either. Just the small things that make you sit up and take notice like the rainbow that stretches over the roof of your house and it is so clear, so bright it takes your breath away. Like the seven fluffy little Wagtail birds that like to hang out in the garden. Like that random chat with the lady in the supermarket/coffee shop/newsagents that was about nothing and everything but stayed with you for the rest of the day. Like when your child tells you “you’re the best mammy in the world” as you say goodnight to them. Like when your small boy brings you imaginary cappuccinos on a daily basis.
Stuff like that.
Today seemed to be teeming with feel good titbits starting with a lovely walk by the river with the boys and our decidedly perkier Juno dog this morning.
Ours is a heritage town located on the River Barrow with a well-worn track that goes as far as you feel like walking from the centre of the town. And indeed there were loads of people using it from joggers to cyclists and a random family with a dog.
After that, guilty conscience appeased because the dog had a walk, we dropped her home and drove to the glorious Delta Sensory Gardens, Carlow
|Health & Wellness Garden|
|Giant Jenga anyone?|
This place is amazing. It is a veritable delight with something for everyone. We don’t go often enough. Our last visit was approximately the same time last year and if it was possible, the gardens looked lovelier with a couple of new features.
|The thistle fountain. Bring a change of clothes!|
|The Music Room. Also bring a change of clothes!|
The boys loved it. “Double thanks for bringing us here!” “This place rocks!” and “I want a garden like this!” *that may have been me!*
But the best feel good part of the day, for me at least, was bumping into one of my very early primary school teachers in the gardens.
I recognised her straight away and before I knew it, I was re-introducing myself.
This lady had a huge impact on me in school. I couldn’t have been more than ten years old and I can still remember her lessons. She favoured talking to her students instead of reading from books. She didn’t sit behind her desk, but liked to lean against it as she chatted to us. She engaged with us all and I feel that was the secret of her prowess.
I still remember her telling us all to express our dissatisfaction with service or an item in any shop because if we didn’t “things will never change.”
Like my time in primary school, I could have stayed there today chatting to her well into the afternoon. If it wasn’t for a pesky child demanding that we go now, I probably would have.
It has been a week with definite signs that summer 2014 is closing its doors. It is now autumn.
School is back next week. Already there are yellow, red and orange leaves on some trees. I have started my take-out coffee cup collection for our annual conker, acorn and beech planting.
The boys have mentioned Christmas more than once. I have packed away the shorts and t-shorts as they boys have requested long sleeves and pants. I may or may not have wrapped a scarf around my neck a few times these past couple of weeks.
And we’re making the most of it. Making the most of the last few days before the school gates open for 2014/2015.
Thank you for reading. If you enjoyed this post, you might take three clicks out of your day to vote for me in the Irish Blog Awards 2014 for Best Blog Post.
Wednesday, 13 August 2014
He must have been so tired. He must have been under so much unwanted pressure. He must have felt so burdened.
I’m talking about Robin Williams and his tragic death. Death by suicide as was reported by the media and as a result splashed all over Facebook, the television and internet.
Robin Williams never made any secret of the fact he struggled with depression.
With that comes a deep knowledge that everyone else is affected by it too.
Imagine the stress of that. Depression affects family, social groups, the workplace, the economy, everything. Those who are depressed are cognizant of this; of being surrounded by people watching, asking after them all of the time, being concerned and worrying incessantly.
It can become a burden.
Imagine the strain of that.
Every time Robin Williams was interviewed he was lauded as a genius, an amazing person, the funniest person alive, a force, inspired, and a brilliant artist, gifted.
Maybe Robin Williams didn’t want to be all of those things. Maybe he just wanted to be.
Every time he was interviewed it was mere minutes before he morphed into one of his characters. He was never himself. For long anyway.
Maybe he felt he couldn’t be.
Good Will Hunting saw him act in a state of unusual sobriety, a less manic, less crazed persona. It was a different Robin Williams to the one we had become used to; the fireball of energy, unable to sit still and relax.
It must have been so tiring having to live up to his name all of the time. Feeling like he had to prove himself to everyone, to always be the funny man, the life and soul of the party.
Robin Williams was also a husband, a father, a work colleague, a friend and last but not least, an actor.
It was said on social media he had reached an unbearable level of sadness and couldn’t deal with it anymore.
The opinion of one in thousands of people discussing his demise.
This is mine; I think Robin Williams was tired in the end. Of it all.
RIP Robin Williams. 1951 - 2014