I have been rather rubbish at this whole blogging thing of late, something which I am constantly berating myself about – at least, I berate myself in between watching whatever new series I’ve got hooked on, or book I can’t put down, and work and chores and children and all the other things that seem to be filling far more of my time than it used to. When I stop and think about it, then I berate myself.
I think what I find most annoying is that I actually enjoy it when I do sit down and write, it’s just getting myself to sit down and write can become a bit of a chore in itself, and the problem is, the less you do it, the harder it becomes and so the more of a chore it is.
Anyways, there’s my excuses over and done with. I will try harder.
Life, of late, has been a pleasant maelstrom. Which in itself is good, as this time last year I would have said it was a maelstrom, but less pleasant and more smelly and brown – you get the picture. I don’t know if it’s the kids getting older, but I am actually enjoying (shock, horror) spending time with them.
Don’t get me wrong, I am not now one of those mothers who coos over her darling children telling them how perfect and lovely they are, they’re still knobs, but they can be quite entertaining in their knobbishness rather than just really, really annoying. The boy still regularly has his outbursts, but now they tend to be ignored, or the pedant in me comes out, and cacklingly corrects the nonsensical insults he comes up with. The girl continues to pass through life believing she is the axis around which the rest of us spin. As the boys violence has abated, the kitten seems to have picked up the baton, and now regularly leaps up my legs whilst I am unsuspectingly dancing around the kitchen (scarily similar to what my mother used to do in front of the TV when there was something on I particularly wanted to watch). The dancing quickly becomes me shrieking and trying to prise claws from wherever she has landed, whilst making sure to keep eyes and nipples out of her firing line (I assure you am not dancing naked, but those claws get through layers surprisingly efficiently). Being the kind mother I am, the kitten then gets thrown into the living room for the kids to deal with so I can resume dancing in peace – under the guise of cooking tea of course.
Bob remains Bob, my almost constant companion, I’d say my shadow, but seeing as he runs off ahead of me when we’re out and about he probably thinks of me as his shadow. If Bob had his own way we’d spend all day every day out walking the Cumbrian hills, but unfortunately life and work gets in the way of his plans for our days, and so he has to make do with wandering Cumbrian farmland with a tennis ball – until he gets distracted (he’s very much my dog) and drops it somewhere, usually the river. I can’t help but feel guilty about the number of balls in the ocean due to Bob’s carelessness, and have to admit that I lectured him about littering and called him a litter lout the other day when yet another ball was dropped into the river (though he did manage to retrieve this one following the 5 minute lecture from myself, which included a lot of frantic pointing at said ball).
And work remains work, I’m at three farms now, two feeding calves, one being the general lackey that gets distracted and moans about sore arms / back from carrying heavy feed bags. I saw some kettle bells in Aldi the other day and am now wondering whether I should rush back and get them to try and improve the strength in my pathetically weak arms. Though working at a farm set up for 6ft 2 plus men when you’re a wee 5ft 4 (and a half!), makes me wonder if purchasing a rack wouldn’t do me more good.