Hello sunshine

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A couple of weekends ago we tore a little hole in the thick cobwebs that have been weighing us down, and ventured to one of our favourite sunny weather locations – our local PYO place. The sunshine, fresh air and unadulterated family time was so good. Life has been really bloody stressful recently (I feel like I’m always saying this!) so we needed to switch off, if only temporarily, and just exist in the moment with our boys.

This is a photo heavy post, so click below to read on

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Bean wavered between being super-happy about being able to waddle around freely, and super-angry whenever I moved away from him; such is the joy of the 18 month old limpet phase! As you can see above he’s perfected the art of the sullen pout and it’s hilarious and heart-tugging in equal measure. Luckily he recovers from these sad moments very quickly…

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The boys loved playing at the PYO site which, as well as row upon row of fruit and veg, houses a children’s park, an old tractor, a sandpit, and some sweet bunnies in hutches.

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Last year, after a very successful PYO ‘harvest’, I made enough gooseberry jam for a small army. This year I doubt I’ll get the chance to make anything – strawberries don’t last very long in our house. In fact, E *may* have eaten half a punnet before we paid…

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I’ve written more about our local PYO over at childrenarewelcome, a fantastic site that lets you know about child-friendly places in your local area. Go, take a peek and see what’s on where you are!

It’ll be OK

2014 has been a hard year so far. H.A.R.D. We’ve had some rather large, awkward-shaped problems to wade through. Problems that can’t be side-stepped or shoved to the back of a drawer and covered with odd socks. Quite often it’s been a lonely slog. On the plus side (ever the optimist) I’m immeasurably grateful to the friends who have been an anchor, grounding me when all I wanted to do was float away. I can’t tell you how good it feels to have such honest and loving women in my life.

Another plus side to this horrible year is that I’ve realised how strong I’ve become. I’ve dealt with a lot of crap in my 33 years, often with little support, and it’s made me resilient. And do you know what? I’m proud of myself. Yes, I realise self-praise is very un-British, but I don’t care. Women are far too self-effacing in our society, and if the women I know are anything to go by we should all be shouting from the rooftops about what we’ve made it through.

That doesn’t mean I don’t wobble. Some days I crumble. But that’s because I’m human and we all have a finite capacity for heartache.

I’m not quite sure where I’m going with this post, it was meant to be a smattering of positivity to counteract the melancholy of my recent tweets, but honesty is getting the better of me again. I’m hoping that’s a good thing. Sometimes blogging can feel claustropobic, with it’s emphasis on happy, shiny stuff. I’d like to think those of us who have unhappy days, weeks, months, or even years, can offer something important and palpable to this often surreal online world. We are none of us perfect.

i will not compare

^^ can we just take a moment to acknowledge how awesome this print is? I love everything on Emily McDowell’s amazing website. I think I’d wallpaper at least one room of my house with her work if I could ^^

 

Be still

I am consumed.
Past
present
future
money
relationships.
Conspiring.

And my children,
oblivious,
rampage
like tiny elephants.
I envy their abandon
and sigh at their mess
and sweep them along
like detritus and lost things.

All
the
while
wandering
through
the
gloopy
quagmire
of
the
unresolved.

But when I am still
as an old tree,
with roots
spanning deep and wide
in this cloying mud,
I hear the blood
and breath
and bodies
of my boys,
nestling for warmth.
I see eyes flash with
sun and stars.
I see fragile chests rise and fall.
I see my tide, my moon.
I catch a glimpse
of babies not long born,
of men I don’t yet know.