The scone of life… (sung to the tune of The Cup of Life by Ricky Martin)

I was sitting in a cafe with a friend today and we noticed an older man sitting outside on his own.

His wife (?) was inside using the bathroom (possibly snorting cocaine… probably not) when his very large scone and coffee arrived.

The scone looked amazing. HUGE and fluffy. Perfection on a plate. Possibly not enough cream. Is there ever enough cream?

But now for the part that made us smile.

He just looked so pleased with his order. Other people were walking past and looking at the scone and smiling at him.

He smiled back.

Secure in the knowledge that he had ordered wisely.

He sat there looking at the scone.

He sipped his coffee.

Probably a cappuccino. Possibly a weak, skinny decaf cap. I’m not here to judge. (Of course I am but I’ll keep my quiet smirk to myself.)

He looked again at his scone.

And he waited for his wife to return.

And I smiled.

Maybe he didn’t know if he should put the jam or the cream first.

Maybe he had gotten it wrong in the past.

Maybe he just wanted to wait for his wife.

But he made me smile because there are lots of people enjoying simple things every day.

And I was one of them.

Eggshell heart…

I seem to be taking a lot of things personally at the moment.

If anyone says anything even remotely critical to me I feel like I’ve let them down. And let myself down. And let the universe down.

Have you noticed my tendency to overreact?

I have been feeling so good lately. Life’s gotten more manageable.

I’ve carved my life into bite size pieces and it’s like popcorn chicken for the soul.

I’ve managed without my afternoon nap for 3 days now which is a new record. I have maintained an almost steady level of cool, calm and collectedness.

I just can’t cope with people being unhappy with me.

I am working so damn hard at being happy with me that any cracks that I could usually smooth over now make me feel like I’m dancing the Zorba with tectonic plates.

Of course it is all in my head. People probably don’t even realise that I am taking their words/actions/non-actions to heart so much right now. It’s my fault not theirs.

It’s harder to be happy when you’re second guessing yourself off the metaphorical cliff.

Plato said “Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle”.

Be kind to yourself too.


A Saturday in Spring…

I got a little bit sunburnt yesterday.

My shoulders aren’t too bad but my chest is pink. It was the first day of real sun I’ve been out in for a long time and my body is wearing it proudly. (Please note that I do not endorse any kind of tanning. Especially fake tanning… at home, with your socks on.)

I sat in the sun yesterday with 2 beautiful women. 1 who is a very close friend and 1 who I felt comfortable with immediately… possibly because of the saloon door in her bathroom.

I sat in the sun. Eating too much French toast with extra maple syrup, discussing tattoos.

And then because the waiter was eavesdropping we all got to look at some examples of the local tattoo artists work on his phone.

The blue bird did look very realistic.

Back to me though.

The weather was so good. The sky so blue that there was no need to wait for the washing machine to finish its business.

There would be time later for that.

We wandered back the way we came.

With me trying on the blue spotted vintage playsuit that I couldn’t justify even if I had liked the flappy bits on the side.

Stopping in at an amazing florist shop with a court yard that was dominated by a sleeping dog. Admiring the bonsai. Smelling the candles in the brown jars. Gazing at the peonies and the shower head flowers.

Saying goodbye to the girl with the spider bite crop circled hair which will fade but not without further comments from random Greek men.

Posing for photos against paper scarred walls.

Buying cakes and snot blocks for later.

Taking our time. Because it was ours to take.

And the sun got me along the way.

It’s not a painful burn. Just a touch of pink reminding me that I haven’t been outside that long in a while.

A memento (or keep sake if you wish) of 2 perfect hours that happened to me on a Saturday in Spring.

Uniquely me…

Im the only one of me that I know.

Let me explain…

There are other people with the same name as me.

There are other people who look like me (Christina Hendricks, Kim Kardashian and Brad Pitt to name a few… okay not Brad Pitt).

There are people I’m sure who also have 2 sons, work as a preschool teacher and enjoy their coffee.

There are probably people who get ridiculous hiccups like me and still occasionally make a child like slurping noise when they drink too quickly from a cup.

There are lots of other people who get so tired that they don’t know how to cope for a little while.

And there are some people out there who think its okay to have chocolate with popping candy for breakfast… but only when they’ve skipped breakfast and have an early appointment.

But as I said at the start I’m the only one of me that I know.

Which is probably a good thing right?

Misty water coloured memories…

I was talking to my Dad the other day and he asked me what my earliest memory is.

I can’t remember. Which is a strange thing in itself isn’t it? I don’t have a list of significant (or insignificant) events in my head that I can put in chronological order.

I know I don’t remember being born or learning to walk and talk.

I vaguely remember my Prep teacher coming to our house when I was 5. I remember her asking me not to worry so much at school.

I remember playing the part of the Big Bad Wolf in a primary school play. Or maybe I don’t. Maybe I just remember being told that I mispronounced chimney as chibeney so often that I think I remember it.

Are they my memories or are they an imprint of constant reminders disguised as my childhood?

I remember primary school and making mud pies in the bushes and the tyre bridge when I was 6.

I can remember being the President of the 4 leaf clover club when I was 10 and making the other members of the club carry me around. I would also like to take this opportunity to apologise to Kirsty, Sarah and Adrienne for my tyrannical dictatorship of the club which of course led to its premature demise.

I remember my first kiss like it was yesterday. It wasn’t. But it was awkward and sloppy. (Although I probably shouldn’t have pointed that out to the then love of my life and wiped my face with my sleeve in such an obvious way.)

I don’t remember my birthdays before I turned 10 or what I got or how I felt.

Which is strange.

*And please indulge me a small rant on the pointlessness of 1st birthday parties. They aren’t for the kid. It won’t remember. My eldest sons first birthday was celebrated with dinner at a pub. I had the lamb. He slept in the pram. Win/win people.*

My boys turned 4 and 6 recently and if they’re anything like me they won’t remember these milestones.

They won’t remember the things that are filling my heart right now and will probably sustain me through their grunting teen years.

They won’t remember telling me that they love me all the way to the moon.

They won’t remember our movie nights and cuddles in bed.

And that’s okay.

It is my greatest wish that they live long and happy lives and that their childhoods are remembered as a time of being loved and occasionally being over indulged.

When I look back on my life in the years to come these moments now will probably become my fondest memories. Being wanted, loved and replied upon by the 2 most precious little people in my life.

The idea that this could be as good as it gets scares me silly… but hopefully I won’t remember feeling this way.

Sun resistant…

The sun is shining today.

It’s bright and warmish and up in the sky and doing all of the things that it usually does… just without clouds getting in its way and stealing its limelight for a change.

Approximately 5 weeks ago there was a glorious sun shiney day where I live. The sun came through my bedroom window on that sublime Sunday morning and made me want to scream.

I was angry at the sun. Nay, I was fuming at the sun and it’s sunniness.

(And let’s face it if you are going to be irrationally livid at something, one should always think big.)

I was so cross at the sun that I literally couldn’t get dressed that day.

Now a fairly obvious question to ask at this point would be why? What did the sun ever do to me to justify such an unloving and unkind hatred?

And thankfully my answer no longer makes sense to me.

But I was angry at the sun and the way it made everyone happy because I knew that it wasn’t going to last. I had seen the weather forecast and knew that cold, cloudy, rainy days were coming back again.

Why were so many people reveling in the sun and it’s ability to entice people outdoors? Why couldn’t they see that their joy was to be short lived? That the sun was flirting with us and wouldn’t be sticking around? Kind of like a one night stand… but obviously during the day.

Looking back now I can see that perhaps I wasn’t taking life one day at a time and that I wasn’t capable of living in the moment.

And then yesterday I needed to use up a roll of film in an old camera and it was the opposite.

There is a frivolousness in taking photos of things that you don’t need to take photos of just for fun.

I took photos of my sons laughing together, the cat staking away from me and my husband standing artistically (highly unlikely) in front of a fence.

Tomorrow I’m going to get those photos developed and keep them as evidence that I was happy in a moment… and happy being me.

Borrowing trouble…

“I didn’t want to borrow trouble.”

I just read this line in a book and it made me stop.

To put the quote in context the lady in the book is starting up a class made up of a small group of people who she isn’t sure will all get along. “I had my doubts about the women making up this class, but I didn’t want to borrow trouble”.

Arggggghhhhh! This is me. Or more precisely this is what is wrong with me. I borrow trouble. I worry about things incessantly. I worry about conversations I’ve had with other people. I worry about things that are happening next week and I worry about things that will never happen at all.

Borrowing trouble.

Convincing myself of the worst case scenario and then playing a quick (and always losing) game of double or nothing.

Apparently I need help with this.

Most people don’t obsess about how others feel and think.

Off the top of my head I can tell you word for word conversations that I had weeks ago that I should have phrased better and how I should have said nicer things.

And when you spend your time worrying that you might have said the wrong thing all the time, well sometimes it’s easier to stop having the conversations in the first place.

And it kind of makes sense that if you’re not talking to people and reaching out to others that they will stop reaching out to you.

And suddenly you’re rather lonely, and sad.

And a massive black hole just swallowed up the sun and you’re the only one who noticed. But you’re also too tired to care or tell anyone and that makes you feel guilty too.

And everyday you get up and wonder how you’re going to fake it through the day.

Yep. This is the sad post. The one where I sound all down and dark and gloomy.

But I’m okay now.

I know that there are people far worse off than me and that all of us have problems and issues and that I’m not the first person to feel like this.

But this isn’t just in my head and it won’t go away just by wishing and hoping.

So it’s probably time to buckle up, enjoy the ride and get on with it.

And for those of you playing along at home the quote came from the book “A Good Yarn” by Debbie Macomber.

It’s a pretty crap book actually and I seem to be reading them (yep, there’s more than one) out of order because I already know that Brad and Lydia will get married but you can have it after I’m done if you like.