My life is a lot like the crochet projects I have on the go at the minute. I’ve got things pulling me in different directions and can’t seem to finish anything I start. I’m like a kid in a toy store rushing from here to there, spinning on my heels to change direction.
I blame the weather. No really, I think it’s the seasons. Over the (very, very long English) winter I slow down, batteries depleting. I find it hard to muster up the energy to do much, especially as darkness falls. I’m drawn to the sofa where I binge on Netflix and dark chocolate. Then as the faintest murmurs of spring start to resonate with blossom forming and shoots pinging onto branches I can feel energy returning to my limbs. Soon enough there’s the first day I brave going out without my gloves and hat on, just at the ready in my bag. It’s followed by the first day I venture out without the big coat. Little baby steps into the new season that are so celebrated.
Just as the earth starts to trepidatiously spring forward, so I feel my mood gently humming into a higher gear. Slowly I feel like I can plough through my work a little faster in order to make that extra yoga class, and the gravitational pull towards the couch after dinner lessens, my grip on the tv remote loosens…
I didn’t mean to go into a blog hibernation, I just didn’t have anything to say and then the longer time passed without hitting publish the more it felt like I needed to return with something more than just a moan about the cold.
So here I am. It’s May. Since my last post the days have ticked over with my little boy celebrating turning 7 (going on 17), and my little girl blowing 5 candles out last month. I’m rubbish every birthday, my natural tendency to get a little sentimental (cough, wild understatement) ramps up a notch when the family world slows to celebrate a birthday. Try as I might to focus on feeling positive about looking ahead to new stages and developments, I often dread the advance and can’t help but feel an intense burst of grief that the year of them being 6, 4, [insert age], is over.
My urge to spring clean hasn’t helped. I’ve been on a mission to sort out the ever-growing pile of clothes and shoes they’ve grown out of. I’ve held little pairs of wellies that spark flashes of memories of their joyous faces as they jump over logs in the woods or stomp along muddy paths. I’ve folded t-shirts that now reveal midriffs, a blunt reminder I can’t ignore that my children are growing up.
Hmm. I couldn’t work out how to start a post all winter, and now I can’t appear to stop. I will though, and while I can’t promise to be back with another post next week I can confirm that I’m not abandoning this little corner for good either.