You know the ones? The kind with the underlying vibe of scratchy? The flare ups of irritation, the descents into grump? With the possible exception of the dog, (who needs a fur-cut, so reading any doggy expression is difficult), we have all been a bunch of BLAH. Work stuff, out-of-the-zone parenting, siblings with one weekend objective: W.A.R.
Sunday afternoon and enough was enough. Everyone skulked into the car and sulked all the way to the beach.
Time to turn things on their head.
Thank ye Weather Gods for wind and sun and cool around the edges. Conditions: perfect – for the blowing away of cobwebs and rowdy, crazed, BREATHING OUT.
The two war veterans wrestled for a good, solid, twenty minutes...
giggling, yelling, roaring,
...right up to the nineteen and a half minute mark and there was a duet of inevitable tears and conniptions. (Nineteen and a half minutes of GOLD).
The Small raced off to find her inner runner, all knobbly knees and back to front t-shirt.
The Mr and I took turns with ball hurling for Esme the Dog, (who not only needs a fur-cut but appears to be developing the art of beach camouflage).
The war-weary Middle took to dolphin-watching over the bay, (cos you just never know your luck).
I took the eldest flying.
A thrillseeker activity in itself: lying on ones back, kid with legs outstretched, (mostly) balanced on ones feet, camera-yikes!-aimed...
After a while, I tried for a spot of literary peace and quiet. Did I tell you? Cripes, I think I forgot. I’m not about the ‘craft’ anymore. Thanks to your well-read suggestions, now I’m all about the ‘word’.
That Maggie O’Farrell woman has been keeping me up til the wee small hours. No more: Just one more row! it’s all: Just one more page! (I gave up on that ridiculous simultaneous knit/read business).
Driving and half way home, the first niggle niggled. By the time the key was in the front door, it was all back to HOLY MOLY GET ME THE HECK OUTTA HERE. Tonight, tucking three kids into bed, it was all about the apology and this Mama taking three deep breaths and reminding the three precious horrors that tomorrow is a Whole New Day.
While I’m waiting for tomorrow, I’m only thinkin’ the good stuff, the beach. While I’m thinkin’ beach, I might see how a little craft therapy fits into the end of my Sunday. ’Cos, actually, I hope I’ll always be about the craft.
Craft with a healthy dose of Maggie O’Farrell.