drowning, on a good day

My home and life feel very messy right now. No matter how much I sweep the floor or sleep, it's still the same. Mostly I just convince myself that there is nothing wrong with mess. That it's tidy and neat which are more problematic. But I'd be lying if I didn't say I much prefer the mental calm which comes hand in hand with clean. And peaceful. It's the inability to find the pause button whilst in that supernatural state. Which lead me on to thinking (grasping) at the faint thread of notion that it's not what happens in my daily life or how things are but how I choose to view it. That's what makes the calm. The peace. So. It's a very fine thread, often invisibly so. But at least my garden is blooming.



I have surrendered to the mess that is my daughter. She may wear what she pleases and do what she likes. I can no longer make excuses for her, or cajole her into conventionally pleasing clothing/mood/attitude/activity/food eating/hair brushing/washing). So I don't. It's actually quite nice, in a way. Less noise. Besides I am sure she is going to grow up to be someone who probably cares far too much about this sort of shit if what I see in every other teenager is anything to go by. Bird nest hair and only wearing tights all day is fine, really. Just don't kill me when you see these photos aged 15 (the worst age ever I reckon).







We seem to have been pretty arty here this week. Whilst I went out to feed and water the chickens Felix quickly sketched his dragon and painted it all in the space of about ten minutes pre-breakfast.





Sick of the bulky pointless thing taking up space in the airing cupboard (where else does one store this sort of thing?) I started painting the belly cast I made at about 38 wks pregnant with Esmé (although I am pretty sure it's going back in the very same cupboard). I am astonished at the then size of my breasts. Wow. They were massive. I'd forgotten that. Each one looks to be the size of my head. Or a curled up newborn. It's fascinatingly grotesque. In a way. I have placed it on the dining room window sill for ogling and marvelling over whilst we eat. I looked sadly at The Man who wrapped me in plaster of paris way back then - you must miss these huh? I asked him, prodding the nipples the size (and plaster hardness) of brazil nuts - he just looked at me oddly - hardly, I seem to remember you telling me they were out of bounds anyway..? Really? Who knows, can't remember, the pregnancy thing all befuddled and hyper sensitised me to everyone and everything. When I was pregnant with Felix I absent mindedly painted my sitting rooms walls alternate colours of green and orange. After the birth I looked round in pure disgust, it was vile. But my breasts? I reckon I am at least five sizes smaller now.



The girl who was in my belly took this photo (and look! Frickin dog is biting my pocket which contains a dried fish) so hence this being The Worst Photo in the World since we were all wobbling. But at least there is the size comparison, which I am rather Glad About. Big breasts are all very nice, but I am glad they are a thing of the past. I really shall spare you the naked ones my dh took of me during the making of this cast. But they too are fascinating and grotesque.



So sick of the chicken situation. Fox strikes again. Almost boring me now. Yawn, same old. On the plus side I shall not have to find chicken sitters when we go away in a few weeks. Even Felix the animal lover acted like I told him I was taking down a fence when I told him some were gone - oh? Well, they were not very nice ones anyway were they? He said. So that was two days ago and the only three the fox didn't take was the bastard cockerel who I totally loathe (I'll tell you why in a minute) and two old gimpy ones that don't lay. But then today one of the good layers limped back along the driveway and up to the chicken house where she began tucking into the food out in the run. Wow, well done choocky I cooed to her, you came back! Then she turned around. And I felt sick. How she was still standing up (and eating) was a mystery. About a third of her body was missing. She can't possibly live like this, but is. I vowed to multiple upset/disgusted children that if she was still living tomorrow I'd take her to The Vet. They were impressed. In the scheme of animal life cats and dogs get vet trips, anything lesser gets garlic in their drinking water and some good luck vibes. Least you think I am cruel I would have taken her today had I had a car, I don't though, by the misfortune of seeing a lone magpie. I am cursed by birds. I saw one whilst driving and craned my head trying to see another so as not to be cursed by the doom of a singleton. Whereupon I hit something (a curb probably) and got a puncture. Which just goes to show that seeing a lone magpie really does bring bad luck. And a cracked windscreen! Ok, so that wasn't bird related, but I am still without a car. If you still think I am cruel for not calling in the animal rescue helicopter (come on, there must be one) think on this: on seeing one of his women return to the flock, the cockerel ran up and mounted her, apparently not noticing half her body was missing. I screamed at him. Not the first time today either. He is such a bastard. I'd be half tempted to bestow him with intellect and cunning if I could not plainly see his head is no bigger than a walnut. Every single morning he takes the lengthy trip down from the hen house and stands directly, directly(!!) under my bedroom window and crows. Every three minutes from 4am onwards until I get up and throw a shoe or two at him. My wardrobe of fancy going-out shoes (that I never wear so no major loss) is diminishing fast, mainly because I lack good aim at 4.30am and they end up in the stream). But they do make him run off a bit, even 50 metres gets me a few more minutes sleep, that distance is just good enough that I can almost sleep properly again, even though I still hear him hooting triumphantly at me in my dreams.

I sort of want to tie him up and gift wrap him for the fox.



Esmé asked me to make red playdough for her. I did, she stabbed it a bit, said thanks and went back outside.



Together we invented Finger Print Cookies this arvo. They are gf, cf, flour free cookies made with ground almonds, arrowroot and coconut sugar. They were kind of nice. No one complained, but I doubt they'd win any prizes in a fancy show (mainly due to the finger prints jerked into the final look - not a hygienic sort of decoration). The girl read me out her remembered version of her Harry book while I did the bits she deemed too boring. Her version is miles funnier than the real one. She adds lines like - oh fine then, you win! When the dog submits to his bath.

We also made arrowroot, almond flour and lemon ones which were much yummier.



I seem to spend a lot of messy time picking up chewed and mangled things the puppy has been near. Today (so far): a wooden spoon, a newspaper, a lavender sachet (who even knew I had one?) Isaac's shoe, a sweeping brush, a pig's ear, a pair of socks, a potato, a sweeping brush....a playmobil man? It looked like one, we have hundreds so no great loss as I could see. Plus it kept the pup both quiet and occupied while I did something important (like emails or facebook scanning).

Felix and I have been playing so much Star Wars Top Trumps that I am forced to amuse myself by giving them all new and more interesting names. Count Dooku becomes Coconut Doughnut (I sort of squint and then give them the name that most resembles the one they already have with a foodie theme). Sigh. Who knew I'd ever spend so much time thinking/hearing/talking Star Wars? Still if he likes it it can't be that bad. Plus he's reading the cards (sort of) so I'll happily play every day if that's what it takes to get him literate. Hence the stoopid name game. He likes that bit though too so it's ok.



Had removed baskets of handy conkers, acorns and pine cones from the play kitchen as they were too tempting for the pup. Retrieved a basket of acorns from the study to find every single one nibbled through and the centre juicy nib removed. Disgusted and horrified I hoisted basket outdoors. There! Job done! That.... solves everything.... sort of. Don't go in that room much anyway so shall leave it to own devices (and handy cat - who I imagine brought the tiny rodent indoors in the first places, it enjoys that sort of thing). Except to mooch and loiter around bookshelves, remembering and selecting and discarding and trying to find slots for new finds, that room and it's contents are a mystery to me (snooker table, really?).



Felix took this photo. I am surprised I look like a normal sort of person.

Esmé then took another one, and I was doing a yoga move so I looked liked I had been assembled all wrong.

I took this one and you'd never know that my hair is a foot and a half long, would you? I look like I have none at all. Not a good look for me. But I'll put it here because you'll now see I really ought to wear make up, and it will be reminder to self when I cannot be bothered :) And probably fancy shoes too, if I had any.



Drying calendula flowers for oil making.



Could you resist this cute face staring up at you constantly? Not me. My doggie eats pigs ears and fish heads (and sticks) all day.





I try at get to the Thursday market. Just to watch. There's always a load of junk. But also fresh fish. I bought the dog an entire fresh mackerel all for herself. Chopped it in half watched the guts ooze out and fed it to her blissful self.









Felix found a 5p and Esmé ate an ice cream very happily.



The dog only gets a second or so of peace because she wants to live with it every minute.







My dentist totally annoyed me by fucking my mouth up this morning. He randomly removed an old amalgam filling I'd been umming and ahhing over whilst I was rendered speechless with a clamp holding jaw open. I'd like to have been prepared with a proper supplemental protocol (charcoal tablets, seaweed, chlorella etc). As it was I just held my breathe for the entire extraction (impressed?) and then swished my mouth out a million times. Then I went and bought the charcoal and took some seaweed stuff when I came home. Still, not sure if immune issues are helped by amalgam removal. I shall report back on how I get on this next week.

If I am still capable. I drown every day and then resurface, bobbing and treading water each morning anew. Some days I cling to my dh and would quite like to beg him to stay at home, because this life is often more... more everything than I had bargained for. But I don't, not through lack of pride (I have none, and have begged in my life for many things, many times - it's just what happens when you have children, starting whilst in labour before you even see them - please just fucking kill me!). I don't beg him because I'd be afraid he'd refuse and I like to imagine I still have the option of his availability available to me, on one of those worst days. This was not one. Mainly because it was sunny. Sun changes everything. Bare skin a shade darker, and clouded minds/hearts a touch lighter.