Beginning from the start or where one left off feels impossible. Continuing as you once did feels equally implausible. The numbness of heart that comes in waves from not 'doing' anything at all hurts like a medical condition as yet undiagnosed, the sort that leaves you silent and unable to sleep, the one that cripples you with worry but scares you into stillness and absolute silence. The silence. The quiet. Not of the good kind. There is so much and so little to say all at once. Much of what I want to say relates to those offspring of mine whom I speak little of here now that they are older. The not saying works me up into a tight ball because I know that the not saying means not remembering. Others have said 'not so' but I know me and I am all too aware of my inability to retain information. In years to come will I remember the date that my eldest took his first GCSE exam yesterday? Will I remember that it was in the afternoon and that I prayed for him whilst sitting on the toilet at work? Will I remember that I spent the half term holiday preceeding said exam revising with him? Will I remember that I learned all about the melody and accompaniment textures of Baroque, Classical, Traditional Indian and Greek music amongst others? Will I recall that it was during this same half term break that I finally took him to the hairdressers and that we cut off half of his afro, possibly the shortest his hair has been since birth?
Bench marks and rights of passage and the passing on or passing down of traditions and 'the way I like things done', all of these are being talked about a lot in our household of late. Like right now for example, whilst I tap the keys and try and remember how to gather and write down my thoughts, I can hear above me the loud bangs and thwacks of my ten year old changing his own bedding upstairs, which happens very infrequently and normally with me alongside for support and encouragement. Tonight, by hook or by crook, I will write I say over and over again in my head. I look at the time, 6.10pm and I am knee deep in me time. This is strange. But I have factored this into my routine. One load of washing. Done. Dinner complete. It's 'Burger Wednesday' so it was straight forward. 'What's 'Burger Wednesday' I hear you say?' Burger Wednesday was inspired by 'Sandwich Night' taken from one of my favourite films from my teens: About Last Night. So Debbie says 'Two nights a week I cook, two nights a week Dan cooks, two nights a week we go out and then ... there's sandwich night.' So around six weeks ago, feeling the mid week inertia about cooking I decided to give the household a cause for celebration and 'Burger Wednesday' was born. It won't be around forever, perhaps another couple of weeks or so. I'm already thinking of replacing it with 'Wednesday Afrique'. Pause.
(Scurries off to investigate loud bangs and thuds up above)
I had to leave to help said child remove himself from the layer of duvet cover that he had climbed into in a bid to change bedding. Now the husband wants to work out, it's also Date Night and I still have jobs to do and this fluid post I long to write is not going to happen. I guess all of this is to say that life is full and busy right now. There isn't much time in the week for anything and all we want to do is spend quality time together and the more we get, the more we want and that's no bad thing. Our week-ends are meaningful and we work hard at that, all of us. I have pictures, lots of them to remind me of the places we go and the things we liked. Hundreds of them, mostly on my phone which angrily reminds me that it had zero storage. It too, is too full. The youngest is as I type trying to show me a lego helicopter/ shuttle thingy he has recently made in his return to lego phase since his Rubix cube broke last week. he peers over my shoulder and shouts triumphantly: 'You're blogging again, you've said for ages you're going to do that! Yay!'.
Yay! Indeed.
