Five good things

A bit late, perhaps echoing the disorganisation of our home at the moment, but here are my five good things from last week.

A new pair of jeans that fit perfectly and were cheap.

A poppet in pain after a wisdom tooth extraction needing my cuddles and attention.

Bright bright blue skies and leaves on the ground to kick.

An end in sight to our decorating/building work nightmare.

Beautiful lights in the darkness.


Please join in. What good things did you find last week?

Wave of light

I lit the green candle for George, our beautiful, perfect son; I lit the purple candle for the brief, tiny spark of hope that was Little Poppet and I lit the red candle for your babies who are missed with mine.

Fatigue

I'm tired of wishing that the last two years hadn't happened.

Of course I couldn't wish the last two years away because they are years with Ray.

I'm tired of the contradiction.

I'm weary of impossibly wishing for George and Little Poppet and a bit more youth. The wishing takes so much energy and I don't have that much to spare.

This impossible wishing catches in my throat and unleashes a horridly panicky feeling through my chest and stomach. It's over. They are gone.

In six days it will be two years. How impossible is that?


Do I sound miserable?

I'm not.

Not really.

Well maybe a little bit.

Sometimes.

Misery is downright obstructive at the worst of times and bothersome at the best. So I put on my happy face and go about as if everything is normal and force the pretence into reality. Sort of.

I'm not sure there is such a thing as normal anyway.

I'm ok. I can still laugh. I can still get excited.

I just really really really miss the life we should have been living. And I'm still having a hard time getting used to the one we've been handed.

And every so often the façade slips and I'm in trouble if I'm not close to a source of tissues or a sleeve.

(Un) Happy home

We walked for miles on our break; over marshland, on beaches, on shingle, along uneven cobbled streets, down tunnels and up castle towers with spiralling never-ending well-worn steps and all with no problems save a few aches and pains and yet, I turn the corner into our kitchen, reach for the kettle and... OOOWWW!

So here I am lying on the sofa with my twisted swollen knee carefully arranged on a cushion. I could hardly walk on Saturday, on Sunday I could just about hobble and today I have an ungainly limp. Fortunately it's not serious and it's definitely getting better. You know what though; I'm beginning to think this house doesn't like us.

Our bedroom...

Wait, let me show you it's current state:

The colour of the wallpaper and fireplace were NOT of our choosing. Who paints a fireplace lime green!? The holes in the ceiling are for insulation. The bare wall you can see is the original Victorian plastering complete with scorch marks from a fire many years ago.

The rendering on the outside wall of the bedroom needs removing so they won't plaster the inside in case knocking off the outside ruins the inside...

Two weeks is the estimate now.

*Sigh*

Does anyone know of any ritual that I can perform, however bizarre (remember the tampon sacrifice?), or item that I can place to get this house to like us again or do I have to make up my own?