Dark, grey, gloomy...

Today makes me think of studying Shakespeare at school. When the weather was believed to be a direct reflection of what was going on politically etc. Like the storm in Macbeth. I've just stepped outside in my pyjama socks to let my neighbours gentle giant of a German Sherpherd out for a quick wee in her cramped, little pebbled yard. Today hasn't been a 'good' day in the conventional sense of the word. i.e. no housework has been done because I'm just too damn tired. And it's that deep kind of tiredness you feel in your soul. The kind of exhaustion that you have to just try and ignore, because if you don't, it'll consume you. Until you feel like you're drowning.
The miraculous thing about being a mother, is that somehow, out of nowhere, you are suddenly blessed with a fresh abundance of energy. (I'm counting on this to happen for me tomorrow!) When I let go of this feeling guilty about being tired, and allow myself to chill out for the day (in pyjamas, with a sink full of dishes and a basket of laundry to be folded and packed away, and ... and... and...), then I am usually guaranteed to wake up feeling like the proverbial million bucks! So today, Layla and I have napped together, played together on the floor, shared a sarmie for lunch, cuddled and laughed and giggled at each other... I have learnt (though it's taken me 31 long years) that these darker days are there for a reason: to stop you in your tracks so you're forced to take stock of what really matters to you. Otherwise, with a constant supply of perfect energy, I would whizz through life and take everything (and everyone) for granted. I wouldn't pray. I would never be still.
Supper tonight? A quiche bought from a 'boutique-deli' : feta, spinach, sundried tomatoes and pine-nuts. I'll bang it in the oven and chop up a few tomatoes with some crisp slices of cucumber, and voila! Maybe I'll get really lucky and Craig will stop to pick up a bottle of vino on the way home from work. It's usually a bottle of Cape Red for 3.39 GBP from the Co-op in Brixworth. (I'm really struggling to concentrate... I find that when Layla is asleep, my ability to focus on writing, painting etc is quite good. But when she's awake - my brain turns into a primitive survivalist machine and all that matters is my child: is she cold? is she hungry? is she thirsty? is she happy? Eish...)
*Sorry, Mel - another short entry. Blame it on motherhood.