The Long Walk Home

Picking Blackberries

We are half way through the first week back into term life, post epic sharing parenting times for the last 8 weeks. It’s a weird transition. For 8 weeks we’ve been in it together, sharing the joys and frustrations of the small people, tagging each other in and out of naps and time on our own. We’ve had time to rethink some of our parenting (helped by the, so far, very helpful Calmer, Easier, Happier parenting book) We’ve helped each other learn new skills and practise together. I know we are in a very privileged position that this happens every year (with the addition of bonus times throughout the year).

It is however somewhat jarring to return to 5 days a week being the main parent with the small goons. Husbandface gets about an hour morning and evening with the small ones, time that is usually full of getting ready to go to work or struggling to stay awake post returning from work. Again I’m glad the boys do at least get this time. I am so grateful to him for leaving school to get home in time to hang with us before bedtime.

When we thought about having kids I imagined us doing it all together. It took until 4 months into son1’s life to process the reality that I was going to have to step up as the main carer in this relationship. I had to fight to own and delight in being a Mummy. 4 years later and right now (this can change on an hourly basis) I can say I really love this uber weird strange job. I love hanging out with the small ones. I love getting to see their growth and development. I love having fun with them. I enjoy less the constant reinforcement of how we do things, the battles over control and the times these reveal the darkness and impatience in my heart. I’m thankful that our lives are underpinned with insane grace and forgiveness as hourly I see my, and the boys, need for it.

Today we had a visit from son1’s new nursery. It was a lovely time where they got to know him better and he got to know them. It was lovely seeing him talk to them and get confident around them. I love the care taken to do the settling in well and the delight they showed in him and his brother. I sense and hope it will be a safe place for him to flourish and prepare for the world of school. I confess I’m looking forward to this next phase. I’m looking forward to getting involved in our community more through the nursery and school. (I’m also intrigued by the new challenges school life will bring and aware of potential difficulties. I don’t think school will solve things or be the worst thing ever. It will be what it is and we will work through the issues.) I’m looking forward to having more space to explore writing and a potential job in the future. But whatever the future holds I’m enjoying this last year of hanging out with son1 before his days are more full of school. I’m loving the strange privilege of bringing these boys up for now and the years ahead.

Mentally right now things are good. We seem to have come into a pool of light after the darkness of the first half of the year. My heart is once again soft to the existence of the Maker who forms our days, weeks and years. Stirring is happening within. Our house is being sorted internally with a new kitchen coming and the hideous carpet going. Husbandface is in a better place. I feel like we are releasing him to do his job well when he’s at work and not just wishing he was here all the time (ah the me of 3 years ago would have been horrified to learn that some days I’d have to wait until 5.30 or 6 until he came home.). It’s good to mark the change and see how life seems more manageable in this stage. It is good to embrace the days I’m alone with the boys and not just freak out that I have no friends. It is lovely to bask in September sun and notice the good. It is good to focus on the good in my boys, in encouraging them constantly and telling them what they are doing right (thanks helpful parenting book). It is good to know grace when I forget to do this and get frustrated and annoyed at them (let’s draw a veil over bedtime last night). Forgiveness is an awesome thing. It is good to find blackberries wherever we walk around our roads.

Your correspondent. Slightly rambling thoughts I needed to put down. You’re welcome.

September.

The cusp of newness. Rhythms that have been built into me from school, university and student worker days, now embedded in our marriage as teaching terms define our years. 

September. 

The end of summer. The start of my favourite time of year. New stationary. Fitting back into routines. Forming new ones. The turn of the earth. The dying summer sun’s last heat and the colder evenings. The launch into autumn. Misty mornings. Crisp blue skies. Rainy Sunday afternoons. Winter dark and the bursting light of Christmas. 

September 

Feeling the affects of change. The holiday that didn’t feel like a holiday but yet we stand this week tired but refreshed. Tired in body but not in mind. Sorting and clearing our house in preparation for redeeming work in the kitchen and living room. Clearing space in our mind. Making it easier to channel hospitality. 

September. 

The hope and enjoyment of new things. A new role at work. A new nursery. A new church. A new rhythm. New time with the youngest. New adventures for the eldest. New clothes. New bike for the Husbandface. New things, not to be feared but embraced. 

September. 

The marker in the sand of having survived this far in a strange and disjointed year. The surprise of standing together arm in arm, delighted that we are still finding joy in one another. The gladness of having come through the mire and finding that our eyes still seek each other out in wonder. 

September. 

Saturday evening. Husbandface cooks amazing food. I sit with small children and watch them drift into sleep. Wine sits on the table and the rain falls steadily outside. 

September. 

Hope. 

At last. 

There’s a feeling in the air. Maybe it’s the darker mornings and evenings. Maybe it’s the grass not needing to be mown every two weeks. Maybe it’s the slow creep of blackberries on every bush around here or the shadows changing in the garden as the earth slowly spins away from summer.

August is almost over. We are hurtling towards the new shiny page of September. Driven by husbandface’s job, each September is a launch into new routines and rhythms. I feel unprepared, still getting over my operation, not wanting to jump into a new year. 

So let’s not think about that for a while… We still have 5 days left of holiday to suck the marrow out of. For now here are the rest of my holiday diaries from earlier in the summer. They chart the progression of anticipation, euphoria, disappointment at the lack of perfection and acceptance that holidays are what they are and it is a good thing to come home.

Enjoy.

The Ferry 

Sitting on the ferry on the second day of our adventures. So far these are the most restful days we’ve had for a while. Sitting in a car, playing on a beach, discovering shells for son1s new

Pirate Treasure Chest, being taken care of by old friends and now enjoying gazing at the open water. My boys are enthralled by the boat and, for a moments quiet time, Bob the Builder on the phone. They are excited by all the new things we are seeing and doing. I am full of love for these goons and glad we are restoring and rebuilding relationship after the stress and anger of this last month or so. 

It is good to get away from our home for a bit, lovely to be out on the open road, changing the routine for a while, seeing new landscapes. My soul needs this beauty and the blankness of new things. No memories assault my senses yet, no things to do around the house, no jobs, no chores, just a call to love the three people in my immediate vision and to remember the love of my Maker. The one who makes sense of this world. The one, without whom I cannot understand life. The one who I find it so hard to get, who moves so slowly and silently much of the time. 

The sea stretches out far far into the distance. Our boat a mere speck in the vast landscape around. I read again the words in the old old book, that speak of love, provision, refuge, strength, shelter the words that call me to belief in the more than this of our lives. 

The sea is big. This boat is relatively small. The world is wide and vast and somewhere hope is stirring on the horizon that this holiday/adventure thing will bring restoration and joy. 

First day in Ireland:

The first day of holiday is over, I walk up creaking stairs in our cottage, pause outside the room our beautiful boys lie sleeping in and wonder whether to gaze on their faces. Common sense prevails and I move past, hearing their heavy breathing as I head to our bed. I slip in beside my pale exhausted husband and listen to his sleep. 

Today started with a run, legs steering me down a road until time told me to turn around. Morning stretched through coffee, tea, bacon sandwiches and dancing boys. Light rain stroked our faces as we pottered slowly around low mountain trails. Tea, cake, birds and the smallest grinning spinning in the rain. 

We stayed close to home, exploring seaweed covered rocks, waterfalls, playgrounds and fresh new air. Words spilled out of our mouths as soft as the rain on our heads. Words to encourage the small ones, noticing the good in their behaviour and character. Words to nourish and bring life. The immediate drew me into the present moments to listen, to see, to engage. Patient voices spoke softly over dinner. Two pairs of eyes closed rapidly as they lay in safe arms and beds. 

We escaped from Forbidden Island. We drank wine and I read and read. Encapsulated in the world of my novel, far far from home. The world I left behind seems a million miles away. All I have is here. This inbetween time, this place to notice the beauty around me and in my loves, the ones birthed from this body and the one who played his part in bringing blossoms onto a winter tree stark on the hill. 

We share this space, this tender raw hope lined place with friends who have walked so many miles with us and who now we dwell with in these strange times. Not knowing where the wind will take us or what our journeys will be like but knowing that now we have each other and that is enough. For the first time in a while we don’t talk about church, the crazy month we have just been through. We exist together, we drink tea and sit on sofas, we rest and are still and it is enough. 

Half way. 

Half way through the first week of ‘holiday’. The last couple of days have been interesting. Son1 misses his toys and parks and doesn’t really understand why we are still in this random cottage in a place where it doesn’t stop raining. Son2 is generally happy running around charming everyone in the cottage. Husbandface is in and out of reality and I spent a day throwing up. 

Today the sun shone for the first time and we went on a boat trip around a pretty inlet. Idyllic except for the whining voice in my ear demanding jelly fish and asking why were there no jelly fish and when were the jelly fish going to come? For a whole hour. A whole hour. I tried to appreciate the mountains but something went wrong with my beauty filter and I just got cross with the whiny whine whining. 

We ate mussels from a road side cafe which were pretty awesome. And this afternoon we might hit the beach again if the rain holds off. Oh once more I rue the difference between holidays now and holidays back before the small ones came on the scene. This year though I don’t even have the energy to be sad about not being able to run up the mountains around me. One day we may be able to do that but I sense the whining voice will be around for a while. 

The problem with holidays is that they are billed as events to get away from it all. Trouble is you generally take most of the tricky points of life away with you- yourself and family. I wish I didn’t have to compromise. I wish I was having deep profound moments with God. I wish I didn’t have to take care of my small ones for a couple of days, I wish they were happy all the time, I wish I could do what I want to do and that everyone else could be happy doing what they are doing. I want perfection. Dammit. 

Alas. I have been at this frustrating point before. Holidays are what they are. Strange weeks where we go somewhere else to get away from life only to discover life comes with us in some form or other. They have genius moments in them and hideous moments in them. In short they are a little bit of everyday life in a different place. It is still good to be away from home, to hang with friends, to see pretty views and enjoy the boys with others around to help entertain them. 

(We then had some fun times, I swam in the sea, we drove to Northern Ireland and had fun with the family. Son1 and I both lived on the edge of sanity a bit and we all craved a bit of routine) 

The last day

We’ve made it to the end of our challenge adventure with two small children. Just a ferry trip and uber amounts of driving to go and we’ll be home sweet home. The last day held swirls of emotions as we visited the house where Husbandface grew up and cleared out a bit of his mum’s old stuff, then a visit to her grave and more helping son1 understand what happened to Granny Cunningham. Chill out and final fun times with the family followed with a birthday celebration for our nephew. We packed the car up, ate cake, watched Sister Act and set the alarm for silly o’clock. 

And so we find ourselves on the ferry once more. 3 and a half hours of trying to entertain small children and help them not meltdown after such an early start. This ferry doesn’t have such soft play joy as the last one. But there is a tv screen and some toys so we should be ok for a bit. 

We are glad to be going home, as much as I love being away from everything, 2 weeks is a long time to be away from routines and friends. We love Brighton. We love our life there and our friends. We love our house, garden and bed. We love routine and normality and train track. 

And maybe that’s the point of holiday after all. Not the perfect moments or amazing experiences but the simple love of home once more. We go away to remember why we don’t move away. We go away to remember and appreciate the value of being rooted in one place as part of community. We go away so we can return refreshed by change and glad that we don’t have to spend more time away.

It’s Day 14 of my recovery from the tonsillectomy. I feel way way better than this time last week but still far far from any kind of normal. Thankfully there are pages and pages of blogs on the internet given over to recovering from an adult tonsillectomy. It’s a universal hideous experience which reassures me somewhat.

Anyway. I’m sure I should be having some sort of spiritual epiphany about living slow and immediate and how my identity is rooted deep in something stronger and more lasting than my work, friends, life, ability to leave the house etc. But mainly I’m mainlining Gilmore Girls (almost 5 seasons in 2 weeks) and listening to Harry Potter (book 4 now) and trying not to worry about the impeding arrival of September and new routines and the no church community situation and many other things I don’t feel ready for.

So, I have a lack of epiphany but fear not, I wrote some holiday diaries from our jaunt around Ireland that I shall share here for your edification. All out of order just to confuse things. First up is from the day we went to church. I’ve never liked going to church on holiday but we were with family who had been invited by friends and it was a Good Thing to do. But it got me thinking. 

Holiday diaries pt 4 or 5 

Sunday again 

We’ve made it to the north. A long long day of driving yesterday through mountains, green lands and into the familiar world of flags and separation that sadly marrs the landscape. We’ve made it to our second holiday cottage, an improvement on the last, and to more country roads for me to run around in the morning sun. 

Today we went out for a standard ‘fry’ this morning followed by a walk on the seafront. We then experienced church with the family, invited by a friend of theirs. Going to new churches is so so hard. It makes you remember that you can’t judge a church by one service or even any service. Going to a service at a church you don’t know is weird. Nothing this morning was really explained that well, the people leading didn’t introduce themselves, there wasn’t anything to even vaguely engage the kids in the first half an hour before their group (if kids are there I think there should be something to help them interact and help it not just be a how quiet can my child be exercise) their group in the end consisted of bible quiz knowledge, sweets and no welcome for the new ones. Sigh. I imagine if you are part of the church and know what’s going on all that is maybe ok. (Or maybe not eh) But- the people were friendly and one couple met us again in the car park later and started chatting more. It wasn’t a bad church. It just wasn’t a great first time experience. 
So if you get new people in the doors this summer, or even if you’ve just got a bit slack at explaining things – here’s my helpful list of things to check on… 

1. If you are leading- introduce yourself. I want to know your name and whether you are the leader etc. 

2. Explain what’s going to happen. And when/if kids will go out. (If they aren’t going out help me out as a parent and don’t have a 45 min talk or tut when they act like 3 years olds cos they are and maybe provide a space with toys we can go to. Or provide hooks they can grasp onto) 

3. If you are the kids leader, welcome my kids into the group, invite them to sit with the others, check if I want to stay or not and assure me that you’ll take care of my kids if I choose to leave and they won’t just be in a corner forgotten about. Also be clear about the end of the group and what happens next. 

4. Explain any in-church jargon. We were told it was Cornerstone week- what that was I still have no idea… 

I’m sure there are more things we can be doing to help people feel at ease about stepping into the weird world of a church service. I’m pretty comfortable with churches and church jargon, I’ve been doing this for 38 years. I still find it hard. Now imagine I’ve never stepped into a church in my life. I’m not sure what I would make of it all. At best it seems to me like going to a club I’m not a member of. We need to get better at being really clear about what we are doing and why. Church services are weird. Maybe they need rethinking altogether. Maybe I can say things like that more easily in this odd inbetween churches world we find ourselves in right now. 

Today’s experience kind of put me off even wanting to start looking for a church back home. It’s so hard and alien to rock up somewhere new, or even familiar if you don’t know the routines and where stuff is and how things work. 

Urgh. Aside from the thorny issue of church we are enjoying catching up with my father and sister in law and our nephew. The boys seem to be getting on well at the moment and although we only see each other a few times a year it is good to do the familiar routines of holiday over here. I hope these weeks are highlights of our boys year and they grow strong awareness of their northern Irish heritage.  

It’s the 19th of August. I have no idea how that happened. The summer appears to be starting its final lap and I’m feeling a little discomforted. This summer is a different world to the ‘normal’ summer holidays we have around here. It’s been a summer full of one of us being exhausted or one of us having minor surgery followed by major recovery. Or, let’s face it, both of those things at once. 

I’m 10 days into recovery from my tonsillectomy.  I’m told it’s worth it. It had better be. Adult tonsillectomy’s get a bad rep for a reason – mr anaesthetist who tried to reassure me. Recovery sucks. The only benefit so far is felt by Husbandface who says I no longer snore. After 7 years that’s got to be a pretty good result. Anyway. It’s not been a fun 10 days. My fears from childhood came true as I bled and had to rush to A and E earlier this week. It led to an overnight stay in hospital feeling somewhat of a fraud as I was the only one who could walk on my ward. However, since then I’ve been able to eat more, sleep with one less pillow and for 2 hours at a time instead of 40 min. Woot. 

This morning my brain has started to stir.  I still can’t talk much and yet I need to process. It’s been an odd week. For the first time in 4 years I’ve been off duty. Not primary child carer, not the one sorting out stuff in the house. I’ve had a week off. (I mean I’ve been in hideous agony but my back isn’t and that hasn’t happened for about 2 years now…). I’ve been mentally out of it most of that time so it hasn’t been hard to hide away and let the excellent Husbandface take the reins (thanking God for the timing of this and his summer holidays etc). 

As my brain begins to stir I find I am missing ordering the chaos, I’ve got pretty good at it over the years. I’m missing hanging out with my insane boys, I’m almost missing getting frustrated with them. It’s odd watching Husbandface go through the rhythms of the day, the same ups and downs as I do, the getting dressed fight, the eat your breakfast exhuasting battle, the fun of imaginative play, the joys of chats and cuddles and Lego and hilarious fun. It’s reassuring seeing how hard it is. It reminds me that it isn’t easy and that mostly it’s not me, it’s them. 

After the exhaustion of this year, holding this ship together and the ugly ways I’ve taken out frustration and stress on the small ones it’s been lovely to not have to do the hard stuff. To not have shouted at them since I can’t remember. I’m glad that I could totally zone out, Husbandface is amazing with our boys. He does things differently from me, and that’s a good thing. I’m appreciating the balance our personalities bring to this Team. It’s been hard being a passenger for a bit but not that hard. 

As I wake up I sense it’s going to get harder. I still need to rest but I want to jump back in and pull ropes, steer a bit and swab the deck. I need to make myself hold back and not jump in before I’m ready. My overwhelming desire to control needs to be tamed. For now I’m still a passenger on this ship. But being a passenger makes me realise how much I love my actual job, how much I love my boys and how glad I am to have a co-captain who is pretty good at steering himself. 

When thinking about recovery time I had a silly list of things I wanted to do and achieve in this time. No prizes for guessing that it’s not really been the time to read 100 books or map out the book I want to write or anything like that. I’ve been unbelieveably sore, in and out of sleep, maxed out on painkillers and unable to eat. I have managed to watch 3 whole series of the Gilmore Girls which has been the perfect gentle thing to get me through the days. It hasn’t been what I expected and that’s ok. Life rolls along. There will be time enough to read and write. Right now I’m just grateful to be almost believing that I could eat without pain at some point soon.