raspberry knitting

I can't remember having had such a bad morning as this one. I am sure I have, but am also glad these are not the norm. I mean what if they were? Well, I'd probably do a runner. I ended up in that state of being so hyped up, so furious with everything and everything that I went totally calm. I went to the point that is the ultimate of the worst you can be - and then? Then I sighed and everything melted away. And it wasn't really so bad. In the end.



The Man handed over the puppy to me at 6am as he was leaving the house. I am learning to deal with earliness, but I have learnt the hard way that at all costs I must not wake Esmé before 8am. No one must. She must have her sleep, because she is, actually, worse than me without it. Which is pretty hard to top I'll admit. The dog (who is not *allowed* upstairs) bound into the bedroom with The Man at his heels and woke both The Beauty and I (who really isn't all that beautiful in rage, I do pity her future husband, should she ever have one). I rubbed my eyes a bit too frantically in in effort to waken myself fully and ended up with bloodshot eyeballs and puffiness, so much so that five minutes later, outside in the drizzle with pup I had a proper shock when I saw my shoddy reflection in the window of my car. Throw the ball many times and then back to house where Isaac is now also up and I shout at him to go back to bed! Right now! Why would he choose to be up when he could be in bed? is he crazy? He looks at me like I am crazy (because possibly I am) but he trundles back up stairs, imaginary daggers shooting off at me and I shout pretty loudly that he shouldn't wake his brother too! No! I don't want everyone up! At 6am! Girl crying in kitchen because dog has bitten her finger. Put a cardigan on her, for some reason, maybe this will help her finger? Slippers too? Are these items helping? She sobs louder hair sticking all over her face, glued in place with snot and tears. Cat runs through window with a vole it sets free. Dog mad-happy to see cat starts chasing the cat, who is now occupied in fun with vole/mole/mouse creature. Might be funny cartoon like if dog did not get caught up in cable which pulls ceramic lamp shattering to ground. Scream at Isaac to get downstairs to help me, throw screaming girl over my shoulder and run upstairs dumping her back in bed because her screaming is *really* jarring on me, causing me to convulse slightly with gritted teeth. Isaac useless with sweeping brush and vole thing, Felix (now awake and grumpy - now he is a boy after my own heart who loves a lie in) can't catch cat. I grab dog by collar (first time for everything) and take her to puppy pen. She whimpers and then lies down. I sweep the vole out of the door and throw cat out after it (take your own chances mole), I slam the door and hear Esmé now screaming because the bedroom door has shut on her, this is also my fault as being Victorian in attitude I always seem to have every window in the house open and we are generally all impervious to cold therefore, the results of my breeziness is that doors tend to slam at odd moments if I don't position door jams and such. Isaac chooses this choice moment to remind me he has a school trip today and needs and extra set of clothes and packed lunch and wellies and had I remembered? And he has no clean boxer shorts in his draw where are they all? I wonder how two days of rain can set me back three weeks in the laundry department? How is this possible? It doesn't seem mathematically correct, yet is pysically true. I wonder if The Man with his maths brain might be able to work out how I am failing in this area with some fancy equation to solve this perpetual crisis of clean clothing. I trip and stub toe on the tiny chair the girl is always dragging about and knock a cupboard door open at the same time. Out falls a box of weetabix, an open box, left at jaunty angle. I try to make a grab for it and as I swoop down the cupboard door rebounds and knocks me on the brow. I also missed the box. I rant, 'why the f*uck can't people put their shit away properly?' To no one in particular, just out loud so that everyone can hear my misery - a true blue low point (I honestly *swore* never to swear in front of my children, but it really didn't last long goddammit...). For myself, Miss Gluten Free, I add sweeping up crumbles of wheat flakes to the sweeping list and hope that some animal comes along and licks the floor clean first. I tell Isaac to wear Felix's underwear and that no I had not forgotten his trip (big lie). Rush upstairs to girl who I feel furious with for some reason, possibly the pitch of her screams? My sore toe and head caused by her chair? Rescue her from prison-bedroom and take her back downstairs to find a plaster for her finger. Can only find a really old looking green one in the stupid unfitting shape of a lizard (don't buy cheap band-aids from Lidl would be my offering in to the vast pit of shopping knowledge). I sweep. And sweep, and sweep.



I breathe out. Go and stand next to the comfort of the Aga where three little children stand, at 7am, looking tired. The puppy is snoring softly, the mess is gone. We all smile at each other and I say 'good morning'. They play along with my fallacy, telling each other good morning and smiling, laughing a bit. I make breakfast and packed lunches and assemble clothes and remind and put away and the day takes a better shape. I am easy, free now. Because what more can this house throw at me in one hour? Come on! I can cope! So it doesn't matter. I do some sort of maths with Felix who has his book out, wave bye to Isaac, read Felix his Beast Quest book and finally finally sit alone for five minutes and attempt to drink my cold tea (I don't know how I could ever actually drink hot tea, it would be a novel and new experience).



There needs to be balance to this post, in life too, I know it. And there have also been moments of sweetness these last couple of days. Jesus didn't always weep. I am sure (sometimes he just looked at women like me and shook his head, maybe inventing the you-made-your-own-bed line as he did, why not?):



Sleeping puppy by my feet and raspberry knitting in my hand. Breathing in the scents of my garden in the heat after rain. Laughing out loud reading my book. Biting into a juicy sweet, salty lamb chop. Arranging Sweet William in a jug on the table. A silent walk all alone in the evening. Finding eggs again in the nesting box, lemony sorrel delighting me daily, the sun turning my skin a shade less white, a girl who pretends to be a dog (try not to notice that the hug resembles a headlock) and who wants to sleep with the dog..... and of course, the dog. She too is sweet, regardless, well she'd have to be, really. Raspberry knitting, finally the raspbery knitting. Alwasy knitting is a sanity saver. Praise the humble sheep.