And no, they don’t have different dads.
Over the years I have had many a strange look from the general public while out with my brood. When they were younger we did take on the appearance of the Pied Piper with a gaggle of little rugrats trailing behind, but these days it is much less likely that we are out all together, so I had forgotten the age old questions and stares. These days, the only regular evidence I have of them is my huge trolley full of food as I make my way around my local Aldi store once a week. Perhaps mildly more offensive than the sidelong stares have been the comments regarding their parentage, although in all honesty, you’d have to be blind not to see the family resemblances in them all. And, what does it matter anyway? The is reality, most people have been happy to see my small tribe, and even more so when they have spent time with them and observed their relatively good behaviour.
So, today is weekly trolley dash day. I have got into the habit of planning meals for the week and writing shopping lists as it really helps when you’re on a budget. I work out before hand how much I can afford to spend each week, and plan meals accordingly. This means having to know at 6am on a Wednesday morning what food I’ll need for the week, so that I am ready to head to the supermarket as early as my youngest will allow (ie, when she’s gone to school). Keeping children fed is a bit of a mission, as is keeping clothes clean and the house liveable. I have realised that to manage all that, on top of my own work means I am up half an hour earlier now, than I was when I was at university full time. It is just as well I am a workaholic, and that I enjoy it! 😀
Possibly the strangest thing of all in this house full of teenagers is how quiet it often is. They are all so busy doing their own thing/working/studying/at college and school that it is easy to forget they were ever charging around screaming and shouting, or that I ever had to herd them all up and get them into the bath and bed. Sometimes I miss the hustle and bustle of small children. But mostly, I don’t. (Peace mannn….).
So, yes, they are all mine, and my cupboards and refrigerator are full again, but not for long.
I was going to be all grown up and set out my goals for the year, but I can’t. I feel that writing them down will jinx them, and will also somehow prevent me from doing other things as well. Last year I set out to graduate, which I did, and I also did a whole load of other stuff besides. This year I am doing the same sort of open book/blank page type of thing. Don’t get me wrong, I have a list of things I want to accomplish, but I do find as soon as I have written them down, the power has somehow dissipated and I am more likely not to do them. But saying all that! I did put the word ‘Bless’ in my art journal yesterday, having said I would. So it isn’t impossible that I can’t set out a promise to myself. I have just realised I am less likely to do something if I verbalise it too. I am now wondering why that is…maybe I am just good at keeping things under wraps, but maybe, as I said the other day, I am just afraid of failing and would rather say nothing that disappoint myself.
That sounds about right.
I saw a post on here yesterday and just the title made me shudder. I couldn’t even steal myself to click on it to read, not because I feared the content, but because the title reminded me of something I would much rather not think about again. This caused me to give myself a little bit of a ticking off. I mean, I can’t go through life avoiding phrases/scents/places/objects/people/the bank manager just because of a little discomfort. I’m not talking life or death here, just that sense of “Ugh, not right now thanks”.
Of course, there are some ‘innocent’ remarks/etc that can open up a whole can of worms that, once escaped, wont leave you alone until you have dealt with them. When no matter what you do, they hang over you, threatening to ruin your very existence. Now those ones, need dealing with, as quickly and safely as possible. But remember not to shoot the messenger, and definitely not those who, without realising or knowing, dangle the can opener of doom in front of you.
Years ago someone said the word “bless” quite frequently me, who went on to be anything but a blessing in my life. Now every time I hear that same word I am catapulted into a mess of fury that anyone should dare to bring up such awful pain in my life! Only of course, that isn’t what they are doing at all. That is what I am doing. The word bless itself isn’t a bad one, it’s the memory of its usage that is. But truthfully, the word itself can’t hurt me, and even the memory of its use can’t hurt me. The events have been and gone and haven’t repeated themselves. Yet still I have this irritating association with an otherwise innocent word.
The only person who can fix it, is me. I can’t wipe the word from the English language (it would mess up a few Church services if I did!). But what I can do is forgive myself for using the word as a can opener in the first place. Maybe I need to create a whole piece of art dedicated to the word ‘bless’ by way of asking forgiveness for turning it into something unpleasant! Actually, that’s not a bad idea. I think I will add it to my missions for this week and add a page to my art journal just devoted to the word ‘bless’.
I will post a photo or maybe a video when I’ve done it. But for now it’s time to rouse children and young people! Happy Monday 🙂