A dull day lacking in life. A day where the rain has washed away all the dandelion clocks. A day when the daisies hold their heads tight shut. A day of grey and damp and nothingness.
When I run in the fields the lambs always run to their mothers bodies for protection.
Work always made in a rush. A hurry. A fluster. Art work really needs slow, methodical thought. There is no time to process. Only time to act with instinct. Should have spent the day writing the conference presentation but instead I have spent it organising hair cuts, washing up, turning clothes over on the radiator to dry and playing with collaging photographs.
Couldn’t sleep again last night. Negative thoughts going around and around in circles in my head.
This morning. Naoise is a delight. I come downstairs and he is examining my lacy burgundy bra. Bras are amazing structures, a great source of fascination.
Me: Do you like my bra Naoise, they are pretty aren’t they ?
Naoise: Yes mummy but I think you should wear white bras, white bras suit you.
He says that he also likes the way that the bra fastens up with the little hooks.
I remember being curious and fascinated by my mothers make up that she kept on her bedroom dresser. A circle of greasy green, a bottle of mascara in brown and one red lipstick. Then there was the fascination with watching my grannie do up her stockings on her stocking belt. I loved the little clips and fasteners.
We managed to read Naoise school book this morning, quite a miracle. We walk along the canal path. Naoise is on my shoulders looking down at the geese. They are growing at a phenomenal rate. The geese hiss and honk at us as we pass.
As we reach the road to turn to school we meet his friend on his scooter. Naoise is so delighted and excited to see him, especially as he is coming to play at our house later after school. I get pretty anxious as Naoise keeps darting in front of his friends scooter wheels. This makes me cross. I ask him to stop, not sure he is listening though. I run along side the two boys making sure they are safe and don’t end up in the road or flat on their faces. We cross with the lolly pop man.
All is good, though Naoise had wanted to play in the willow scrub, I tell him that there is no time for this, that we have to go straight into school. Last night he played with a little girl in the junior school, he loved her attention. She was kind and nurturing, took him by his hand and helped him up the muddy bank. Naoise didnt want to go home he wanted to watch the girls play netball, but it was totally freezing.
The oven buzzer sounds. Beep Beep Beep.
Have to stop writing, have an appointment at the health centre to see if I have managed to loose any more weight. I haven’t been trying that hard lately so it will be a nice surprise if any loss is measured.
Beep Beep Beep…the oven buzzer is insistent that I stop.
A reference to a comic sent to me by my friend at York University. Sticking it here so I don’t forget to have a closer look. A comic about becoming a mom by Rebecca Roher, Guts Magazine, Issue 4, 2015