Thoughts from the week.


The weekly roundup is back. It’s been full of ups, downs and roundabouts and I miss pondering the week just gone in this space. So, in no particular order, here are some thoughts. 

I am tired.

I looked back in my journal from the year and most entries begin this way. Many of my thoughts are of escape. I ache for some undefined time in the future when I can get away for a retreat. Or I’m dreaming of January when I will have 2 and a half days a week to sleep. I’ve started counselling in the last couple of weeks and the theme of our time together this week was my body crying out for rest.  I’m still attempting to work out why I fear entering space and why I tend towards doing lots to hide from time alone. But that’s probably why I’m having the counselling. 

Which brings me to another thought. Everyone should have counselling. A space to dump things in each week is very helpful. Another’s perspective to notice, with you, the patterns of life is so valuable. Advert over. 

Space has happened in small amounts this week. 

Morning coffee in bed still happens most days. On Saturday morning husbandface took the small ones to the museum whilst I curled up on the sofa for some Blue Planet 2 time. Slowly my body is getting some rest although, as it does, it aches for more. Somehow we are trying to make sure I don’t crash as husbandface is able to do a bit more. But I’m learning to say yes to the offers of help and thus I am writing this from a clean and spacious spare room rather than snatching a moment of focus whilst the post school tv is on downstairs. 

It appears that God is real. 

This week was a week of two halves with the eldest. We clashed all weekend and by Wednesday morning I was despairing. Husbandface made the excellent suggestion that maybe we should pray. We did. It seemed to work. A friend wrote an amazing piece of wisdom on my facebook wall. (Is it still called a wall? Or timeline? Or…? Anyway…)

“The only truths I can offer you, my brave, creative, lovely, honest friend (Editor-I kept that in cos it makes me look good) are the truths we all know but forget or suppress:

1. These children really *are* God’s before they’re ours. 

2. He really *does* love them more than we do. 

3. We can’t fix everything for them. But God can. Just not maybe how/when we’d like him too. 

4. Being a mother is simultaneously more painful and more wonderful than we ever thought it would be. 

5. Genuinely, as they grow, all we can do sometimes is watch and pray. And cry. But what an “all” that is. 

6. They really do have their own story, and it’s not our story, though the two do overlap and that’s a gift. (Oh, how I wish I could write their stories, but there is another Author.)

7. This too will pass.”

As I read this, and other comments, I was reminded of reality again. (which might be an argument for facebook being a good thing after all…) Phew. I feel all over the place with faith at the moment but I love that God cares about our lives, is involved in our present and can be trusted for the future. 

Autumn is insanely beautiful. 

IMG_2204A preacher the other week talked about the strange beauty of the death all around us at this time of year. I’ve been reminded of one of my favourite lines in an Adrian Plass poem

“And autumns burning sadness that has always made me cry for things that have to end”.

Death and decay are all around, blazing beauty, as we dig into winter. 

I love winter trees. 


At Forest Church on Sunday we looked at trees, thought about our favourite ones and enjoyed the golden sun setting through stark winter trees on the sky line. I love winter trees. On my run this morning the red sunrise shone through the black outlines and again I was reminded that death is here but it is not the end. The leaves fall off the trees because the trees are conserving their energy to get through the winter. It looks like death but is actually an image of hope and rebirth. I love how the seasons remind me that hope is all around, this fragile world in front of our eyes is not the only thing that is real. There is more. 

Christmas is coming. 

I know, it’s early – but as my senses were assaulted in Marks and Spencer last Friday afternoon I felt the pull for more stuff in my heart. I caught the desire and gazed at it in the light. I have a cosy warm house, I have a family I adore, we all have pyjamas and we have red candles. I don’t need to buy a Christmas experience. I have so much and more and I am determined to be thankful this year rather than giving into the lie that just one more line of fairy lights will solve our problems. 

In other news son1 is one of the narrators in his nativity play at school (I’m intrigued as how that’s going to work cos he can’t read..). I imagine I’ll cry when I see him because I am that soppy. He told me he gets to tell the story and seemed pretty glad of his role. I’m just glad we just have to find a black t shirt for his costume. Also the song they are singing is already driving me slightly mad and they’ve only been practising it for 2 days. There are four weeks until the event. Argh. 

How’s your week been?


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Thinking aloud about parenting once more…

IMG_2050Once more I am sitting on the floor, facing the aching reality of my desire for perfection in this world. Once more I am undone by this world of parenting, by the large gap between theory and practice. Once more I am caught off guard by my inability to get inside my son’s mind and understand what is affecting his behaviour, what he’s been through in the days, how to help him be kind and gentle. Once more I am torn to pieces by bringing people into this world who might not make it better, who won’t live up to my perfectionist heart. Once more I am faced with the call to love, to love, to love. Once more I turn to the only place I know to find this source of love in the face of the unlovely.

It’s been a frustrating week or so with the eldest. Every now and again we connect but more often we clash and my head runs to fear of the future before it runs to hope for what might be. Too many times I’ve felt myself relating out of anxiety rather than patiently exploring what is going on in my son’s world, or indeed patiently waiting until he is ready to open up. I’m back in a familiar place in a vastly different context. Raising small people to live well in this world is pushing all my perfectionist buttons. I want to get it right, I want to be the parent who manages to relate well, connect deeply, be patient and kind, be caring, respect their rights, hold fairly to healthy boundaries and who manages to help their child be echoes of that in this world. Of course I’m not these things all the time. I am frustrated, exhausted, impatient, fearful and anxious. I am undone when they hurt each other, I take it personally, surely if I am doing my job as a parent well they shouldn’t hurt each other. Surely?

I wonder what we are aiming for in this weird world of parenting. I wonder where the room for failure is, on my part and theirs. I wonder how we can walk a path of grace in this world. I wonder if their behaviour is less a reflection of my parenting and more a reflection of being a human in this messed up broken world. I wonder if actually knowing their Maker more might not make them into better human beings but will help them know how to say sorry and know what it means to be forgiven. I wonder if I need to know that forgiveness more in my own heart and my need for forgiveness. I wonder if I need to kill the perfectionist in me. I wonder if I should read Brene Brown’s Daring Greatly again.

I ache inside with fear at my son hurting others. The sad reality is that he does and will. I do too. We are not perfect, we cannot convince ourselves of this anymore. We are broken. But we are loved, we are everlastingly loved and as I remember that I am halted in my tracks. When my son hits me I have a choice to gently remind him that we don’t hit, that I love him, that I forgive him. I have no idea at the moment how to access the vast pool of emotions inside him that are working their way out at the end of each day. I can guess at them and allI I can do is be there to connect, to forgive, to patiently keep on loving, to not fear the future.

I can only do this because I have a parent who is doing this with me. When I stare at my son in confusion at his behaviour, when I choose to connect rather than run in fear, I sense again the divine presence, the God who parents me, who never gives up on me, who holds me in my fear, pain and confusion at this messy world.

I take the world on my shoulders, I blame myself for their behaviour and I forget that these small people who were born out of me, flesh of my flesh are learning their way to being independent creatures in this world. I am responsible for loving them well. I am not responsible for the choices they make (is that true?). I do my best to provide an environment of love, nurture and care, and still it will not be a perfect environment. I can ask for forgiveness and I can say sorry. There is so much I can’t do and am not responsible for. I can cry out to the one who can bring change to our fragile hearts, who can grow love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, self control and gentleness in us and I can rest my sons in his mighty hands.

Anyone else struggle with this stuff? Anyone else got some wisdom?

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What I’ve been reading, the September/October edition…

As we seem to be speeding through November, I get the feeling it’s about time I did one of those ‘what I’ve been reading posts’. Time to look at my list in my notebook and see what the last two months has held. Weirdly this is the penultimate one of these I shall write this year. I’m looking forward to seeing how many books I will have read over these last 12 months. Mentally I’m already compiling a list as part of my end of the year blog posts. But, until then. Here we go. What I read in the months of September and October:

The Wonder- Emma Donoghue

I’m straining to remember this one. Ah yes, A girl who hasn’t eaten for months, a suspicious nurse and journalist along with the more horrible aspects of the Catholic Church. Not as good as ‘Room’ but a fairly gripping page turner.

The Missing Wife- Shelia O’Flanagan

The, ‘why do I buy cheap books for my kindle that annoy me?’, book of the last two months. Don’t bother. It’s another bad relationship escapism kind of thing. It wasn’t even that gripping and once more I curse the completer finisher in me.

Walking Home- Simon Armitage.

A beautiful book about walking the Pennine Way. I confess I skimmed some of the chapters but loved the majority of this walking tale. And I got insanely jealous of him. Must stop reading walking books.

Those who Wait- Tanya Marlow.

I’ve waxed lyrical about this one here. It’s a beautiful book. You must buy it for you and your friends this advent. It’s exactly the book I need in this mental period of waiting we are in right now and it allowed hope of a God who loves me creep into my thinking again. (in fact I’ve just ordered a hard copy for myself as I’ve typed this. It’s that good).

The Museum of You- Carys Bray

Finally a novel I can wholeheartedly recommend. I loved the main character in this book – a 12 year old girl trying to piece together information about her mother from items thrown in a room in the house she lives in with her Dad. It’s a lovely bittersweet read that I couldn’t put down.

Disobedience – Naomi Alderman

Really interesting portrayal of hardcore Orthodox Jewish life, rebellion away from that and within that. Fascinating characters and a non obvious ending. I liked it.

The Hate yoU Give- Angie Thomas

Written from the point of view of a teenage African American girl who sees her friend get shot by a white policeman for no good reason. Deals with the fall out of that event, family relationships, complicated issues with her white boyfriend and school away from the neighbourhood she lives in. Had me in tears on many occasions. Wonderfully written and hideous in the truth it contains. A hard read but a powerful one. You should read it. Now. (also made me want to go back and watch the whole of The Wire again).

Robert Webb- How not to be a Boy

All men should read this, all women should read this and then they should talk to each other about the issues he raises in the book. It’s a fascinating reflection on ‘manhood’ and ‘masculinity’, raising the question of whether we even really need terms like those anyway. It’s an interesting read from the angle of whether anything really defines us as men and women aside from our genitals, or whether we are people first before we have gender. I loved reading his reflections and there is much to still muse on and discuss. It’s particularly good if you’ve read any of the articles that seem to come up on my Facebook feed about the emotional labour women do each day and how little of that seems to be shared with men. He’s very honest about not being a 50:50 husband yet but also honest about his desire to get there and his responsibility in that. I really enjoyed reading it from that perspective. Mostly though I loved reading it because it stirred the big memory pot in my head from school and university days. I grew up at a similar time, in a similar country, went to a similar sounding school and a pretty similar university. It was all so familiar and as I was reading it I had to deal with flashbacks from those days. Mostly that memory pot is stored far away from any day to day thoughts, as it wasn’t a wholly happy time for me. But. It was good to revisit it again briefly, before shutting the lid tight and pushing it back in the past where it truly belongs.   

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Reflections from life around here…


It’s Wednesday morning. I’m sitting in an empty house. Before me on the table are scattered lego objects from the boys early morning play. I’ve been engaged with life admin for the last hour. To do lists lie next to me, photos have made it from my phone to my laptop, emails have been sent, bills paid. It’s the first time in a couple of weeks where I’ve had time to sit and sort. I am feeling happier as a result. Clearer in my mind.

I’ve been wanting to write for a while and now as I type away onto the screen I hope for words to come. Coming back to writing always brings the questions of why I am writing at all in my mind. The best thing to do is ignore that voice. Write anyway. Write just because.

And so here I am.

We have come through the long half term our council decided was good for us in this land of Brighton. I was unimpressed at the start but, this side of the last two weeks, I’m feeling grateful for the extra time with my eldest weirdo, glad of time to connect again after his first half term in the world of school. I’m glad that we had two weeks to hang out together. Glad of the many National Trust places visited. Glad of autumn fun in the cloudy gloom.

We had a great time away on the Isle of Wight with friends who are family. The boys and their girls had a brilliant time playing together. We stayed up late chatting into the night, putting the world to rights, drinking wine and praying together.  Faith still underpins and encircles all we are and do and it was good to remember, with others, that there is a greater reality to this world than all we can see, touch, taste or smell. The friends we went with are of the inspiring kind, the ones who help me want to parent better, to love more and to see the deeper stuff of this life. I came back utterly refreshed, not because it had been a perfect few days (the weather was grim and husbandface struggled with the days) but because we had tasted more of reality together. It also seemed that talking to the creator of the universe had it’s benefits and I can taste answers in the air since we left the island.

We returned to interesting news about the future. Husbandface will probably be let go from his job in the next month or so. Oddly this is freeing news, news that has set his mind free to not have to fear a place that it became impossible for him to stay sane in. In the last week it has felt like shafts of light have entered our world again. The clouds are starting to part and glimmers of blue are shinning through. Every morning this week I’ve been given coffee and half an hour away from the boys to start the day with. That kind of space hasn’t happened for a year or so. It seems like hope is peeking it’s head over the parapet. I am so so grateful for shafts of light and hope in the tunnel. (and if you pray, pray that finances will work out ok through it all…thankfully, at the moment, the wonder of light returning eclipses any worries about things like that…)

The last half of the holidays saw our eldest turn 5. I guess his birthday will always hit me harder than our youngest’s one. It marks the point where our lives changed forever, where we entered this world of parenting from which there is no turning back. 5 years on and I think I’m still processing the change in worlds and feel further than ever from the me that existed back then. I am in awe of our ever-growing boy. I am full of all the emotions when I think about life with him. Parenting is such a mix of wonder, fear, joy, guilt, new discoveries of where anger comes from, anticipation of the future and being dragged right into the present moment to ‘play with me Mummy’. One day soon I’m going to try and figure out what is my responsibility in this raising a boy to be a man thing that we have going on around here. I want to embrace my role, to know what I’m not responsible for and to be able to trust that there is a bigger reality of redemption at work in us. I don’t want to fear the future. I want to depend on the One who parents me so beautifully and who shows me what it means to love unconditionally, unrelentingly, patiently and with hope.

On Sunday morning I heard again of a God who pours out love on us, who does not give up on us, who promises love and delivers on that promise. I felt again the ache of missing relationship with this reality who I’ve been unable to escape from all my life. I felt again the wonder of a God who comes looking for us, who doesn’t wait for us to come crawling back but who actively seeks, who runs out to meet us on the long walk home and who throws his arms around us in delight. I will never grow tired of hearing of such love. I love how such simple words have always broken through my hard tired heart and melted me tender again. I felt like I’d drunk deep from refreshing waters after Sunday morning and I am glad.

And there we are, life continues around here. This week has felt lighter, the clock changes have enabled me to feel more awake in the morning. I am grateful for sunny autumn days. I am grateful for space to think and to have meandering thoughts I can pour out onto a screen. I am hopeful for more words around here.

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#Those who wait…

thoseHere I am, sitting on my sofa after a long day with the boys. Wanting to write something deeply profound to join in the lovely Tanya Marlow’s synchroblog thing about waiting, in honour of her new book launching this week. 

Here I am. The wine is waiting for me to drink it. Husbandface is waiting for me to come upstairs with chocolate. I am waiting to watch some Big Bang Theory before our eyes shut and we give into sleep. I am waiting for son2 to wake up and crawl his way into our bed to spend the night on my face again. Waiting.

‘Those who wait’ is a brilliant book, you should buy a copy now and several for your friends. If we had slightly more disposable income this month that is what I would be doing instead of instructing you to. It’s a book about waiting but about so much more.  It has amazing retelling of Bible stories from the perspective of Sarah, Isaiah, John the Baptist and Mary. It has incredibly moving benedictions and prayers. It has creative exercises that you actually want to do instead of just reading and feeling vaguely guilty about moving on to the next part of the book (as with most ‘creative’ exercises in books I’ve read). It has group discussion questions that sound like you might want to use them. It has 24 chapters for the season of Advent. It even has detailed historical notes on the background behind the stories.  It’s a beautiful thing.

You should buy it because it speaks to the universal experience of waiting. There is no-one alive who has not had to wait for something. Waiting is a mixed bag, it can be hard and weird, joyous and crazy, full of anticipation or full of dread and fear. Waiting can feel like limbo floating or eager desiring joy, or both things at different points of the day.

We find ourselves in the mad limbo of waiting at the moment. Husbandface is still sick, there is no nice neat chronological timeline for his recovery. It sucks. Life feels on hold and yet time moves relentlessly forward, the boys grow, we have to get through each day, head down, moving forward.  But the bigger picture of what this life is all about seems to have got lost in the never ending question of when will this end? Will it ever end? What will happen about jobs? What will happen when the money runs out? What will happen if this never changes? We wait but we don’t really know what we are waiting for.

It’s not like the pregnancy waiting of expectation and fear of the unknown. It’s not like the short term waiting on a job interview result. It feels a bit like the waiting for son1 to sleep through the night, a mythical future we could only dream of until one day it happened, just like that. But even that felt more concrete than this waiting world we live in. It’s not a world devoid of joy, there are moments of wonder, moments to embrace, but it does feel like sitting around in a room deeply confused as to why the doors aren’t open, or where, indeed, the doors have gone.

It’s too easy to look at others and think that they are handling waiting so much better, to worry about the ways we are handling waiting, if only we could get the faith together to believe God was involved in all of this, maybe that would turn the magic key to make this all better. In some senses then it’s like the odd waiting that I did when I was single. I was waiting for a husband somewhere in my subconscious but I was deeply aware that this was not like waiting for a bus. This was waiting for a possible future, a potential future, a future that might not happen at all. It was a waiting and not waiting all at the same time. In some ways we wait for husbandface to get better and in some ways we are not waiting for that at all. In this bizarre waiting we must get on with life, we must still live and breathe and love and hope in the right now in front of our eyes. We have nothing else, no certainty to cling to.

Maybe we aren’t in a room at all, but rather walking along a fog drenched path. We see what is in front of our eyes. We walk on, step by step, we put one foot in front of the other and we desperately cling to each other and our boys. Maybe the sun will come again, maybe it won’t. But the path still takes us on, to fog drenched towns, and people and places to live in and love in. Sometimes the sun shines through and we can taste hope clear. Sometimes it doesn’t. We are waiting for a maybe. We are walking on in the waiting and trying to make the best. We are waiting for the ultimate sunny day because that one is f**king certain and this life is so utterly crap at times that we need to cling to the future that has hope and sure solid clear blue sky in it. That future which will usher in a new kind of life for us all. That future which works backwards here and says that the weird waiting is worth it.

Here I am. Stream of consciousness on waiting over with. Go read Tanya’s book. It made me cry on public transport because it was so freeing to read tender words from one who knows what it’s like to live in an uncertain waiting world.

The waiting for the wine is over.

One day that will finally be true.

The holidays might just begin sometime soon…

‘This is part of the synchroblog on waiting, to celebrate the release of Those Who Wait: Finding God in Disappointment, Doubt and Delay by Tanya Marlow – out now. See more here and link up to the synchroblog here.’


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Processing parenting once more…

IMG_1490We stared at each other. Stubborn incomprehension on both of our faces. He looked angry and frustrated. I would have given anything to get into his mind and make him see sense. I asked question after question, knowing somewhere deep down that I should stop the interrogation of my almost 5 year old but not having the sense to walk away and breathe. We stared at each other. He blew in my face and walked away. I frustratedly sighed and huffed for a while. Later we hugged goodnight and again stared with incomprehension at each other. He, probably wondering what the fuss was about, me just wondering how I would ever understand this boy and help him navigate the world.

Later that night I turned to friends on Facebook for comfort. I felt like a failure once more in this odd land of parenting and wanted help. People expressed their support and care, people reassured me that I am actually a good parent, most of the time. There are times I get it right. A friend then dropped the line that set my thoughts free. Of course I have failed, I have not parented perfectly everyday of my life. But. There is forgiveness. There is grace. There is One who parents me and who sets me free to be ok with my failures. There is One who tells me that I am not a complete failure, but who is also realistic about the times I have been harsh, angry, impatient or lazy. There is One who always, unfailingly, offers forgiveness and a chance for a new start.

To be honest this is sometimes one of the only reasons I can find to still call myself a Christian. This good, insane, crazy news that I am forgiven. An external source is offering me grace. I don’t have to try and be perfect, I don’t have to sit and despair over my failure to be perfect. I can run to the safety of the arms that say I am dearly loved, that I am enough and that I am forgiven for all the ugly selfish behaviour that still dominates my life at times. It’s the only way I know to deal with the reality that I sin, that I hurt people around me, that I fail to love. I am forgiven. From a source I trust and believe in. I am forgiven. Words from the one who faced the worst so I didn’t have to. I am forgiven.

It’s also the only way I can face the future, when again I will be faced with children who are not perfect, who will be ugly in their behaviour to others. I will be faced with my fear, my anger, my ability to hurt others. It’s the only way I can look to the future with hope, knowing that I am and will be forgiven. Jesus died for me. Once for all. Once for all. I don’t know how else to live. I know those words don’t always sit well, I know those words can bring all the wrong images in the minds of some read these words. But I have no other ones. These give me hope and life. A way forward in the mess. A way to live without fear. It bothers me greatly that these words have been used in ways that don’t bring life and hope.

For now I live in the tension that I am not as I wish I was, but I am loved and forgiven and can be good enough for my beautiful boys. I live needing the encouragement to know that my parenting is pretty good at times. I live needing the encouragement that when it isn’t, when it looks ugly and wrong that I am forgiven, that I have a place to run to for safety and refuge. I long for the wisdom to know when I need to say sorry and when I need to say ‘go’ to the dark negative thoughts that swirl around me and trap me in fear.

I am grateful friends on Facebook provided that full picture last night.

This weird world of parenting can be so full of guilt, it’s hard to figure out what I am responsible for and what I am not. We are growing small people who will become big people and responsible for their own choices and actions in the world. I imagine there will always be part of me who feels responsible, who thinks if only we had done things differently…. But I think that’s the part of me who wants to think she can control everything. I can’t.

That’s been my ultimate lesson from the moment son1 blew our world apart. I could not control how he slept, or ate, or developed, when he sat up, when he crawled, when he spoke words, when he finally learnt to sleep all night in his own bed. I cannot control when he learns to read, how he interacts with his friends, what he will do next week. Together with the lovely husbandface we can try and provide an environment for him and his weirdo brother to flourish in, to be loved in, to be cared for in, to be listened to in. We can try and be his safe place, his touchstone to run to when the world confuses him but we cannot control him or how he engages with this world.  I sigh in relief that I know a God who loves him more than I ever will, who holds onto us in this weird process of helping a boy grow into a man and who works for good in our lives. I am so glad of redemption, forgiveness and hope. I am glad we have the Spirit who helps us make wise, good choices, I am glad to belong to something bigger than me and whether I have got it right today or not. I am glad that it is never the end of the story.

Your correspondent, once more writing to remind herself of Good Things and maybe finding a few more reasons why she’s a Christian along the way.


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Just another weekly roundup…

It’s Friday again. We’ve just returned from our first full on rainy school (amble down the hill) run. Mostly we’ve learnt that it pays to be a bit late on such days as then we don’t have to hang around outside the classroom. I think we need to move the wellies into the house from the car boot and I need waterproof trousers. Erm. Anyway. Where was I?

Ah yes, it’s Friday. We have survived another week of life on this planet and I feel like I should write a blog post marking how we did that.

This week was the first week of actual normal routine. I am very happy about this. September has been a very odd month, with settling son1 into school, no return to work for the husbandface, dealing with life in one place, trying not to wish our lives away in dream lands and facing a mental health blip of my own. I’m glad it’s the last day of it tomorrow. I’m glad to have a routine to finally settle into. I’m glad Autumn is around the corner. I’m glad it’s Friday.

Routine really helps my brain, mainly because it means I can do all the things I need to do for survival in our rather odd world. This week I have run, I have read books and I have, on occasion, related to the Maker of all things and been reminded of reality. This helps.

I read a preview copy of a friends amazing book (more instructions to buy it and copies for all your friends will follow). Tanya Marlow has written an amazing book about waiting, a creative retelling of Bible stories to help us process the ups, downs and roundabouts of waiting and some amazing prayers and creative exercises along the way. It’s beautiful. It made me cry on public transport and it enabled hope to enter in through the back door and seep around the edges of our world. More on that later in the month.

Reading the book has reminded me again that there is One with us in this waiting world of ours, that our ordinary walking around life has immense value and it has helped me keep getting up each morning. Phew.

In other news:

Son2’s sleep has gone mental again and I can only guess at what developments are going on in his brain, he was singing the alphabet song in his sleep last night so that might give a clue… He is also adjusting to a world where his beloved brother isn’t around so much, I should maybe cut him some slack. Hard to do when the whining grates. We are, however, enjoying pottering around together and I’m loving the chance for more actual conversations around friend’s houses as he happily plays.

Son1 has seemed to settle well into school life. I’m grateful for the slow start for him. I’m intrigued as to how this long term world of school is going to work. So far so good though.

Husbandface has had a pretty grim week, probably not helped by it being 6 years since his Mum died. It’s been a hard week and horrible still seeing him struggle. We have no idea when light will come in the darkness. We wait. We try and hope and we watch bad netflix shows. Sometimes life just feels on hold but there is also living and loving to be done down here in the hole. If you pray please pray hard for healing, hope and reality to break through.

And there you have it. Some slightly disordered thoughts from our world. Happy Friday to you all.

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