“It’s not what you deserve. 

It’s what you believe.

And I believe in love.”

 

So declares Wonder Woman to Ares, her archenemy, the God of War, the God of Conflict.

 

And then she crosses her Bracelets of Submission, not just in a physical Girl Power action, but in a way that is representative of the submission to emotional control to create equilibrium to the human ego. The force is enough to deflect any arrows, bullets, hatred and more.

 

5 months ago, when this weekend was first discussed, I wasn’t able to even contemplate being able to attend;  the emotions controlling me, disgust, despair, humiliation.

 

3 months ago, 2 even, it was still an emotional topic.

 

But eventually, I leant into submission and let the love in.  And I let the love out.

 

My inner WW clashed her cuffs and deflected pain and shame.  I didn’t deserve any of this.  But I do believe in love.  And this power allowed us to have one of the best Super Sundays ever, with our extended family;  splashing in the pool, long breakfasts, a round of golf, the driving range, movies and popcorn, pizza and topped off with tea and Poldark.

 

And yet, like WW, this triumph is tinged with sadness for the loss of love too.  To know it, she lost her true love.  And me, I feel I have lost innocent love.

 

And so the fight goes on.  Between the heart and the head, that sometimes, less often now, is clouded with conflict.

 

Today there was only thing to do and that was be with and celebrate the glue that has always held this family together. She is super Gran, super Mum and super glue. 

Today, I went back in time.  About 30 years back in time.  To the sights, smells, sounds and even the feelings of boarding school.  The haunting sound of the organ through the chapel, the bustle of the dining hall, the rubber smell of the sports hall. And the slightly sick, stomach lurching feeling of half excitement and anticipation, half anguish of separation.

 

I loved all of it; from the sound of the bell to the stacking of the dinner plates down the long wooden tables; from the lumpy beds to the tidy beds; from tuck boxes to the headmaster bowling balls at the boys; from the freedom to roam and the comfort of a dog in a classroom; from seeing boys being boys and my boys being themselves.

 

I had wondered what the puffin was doing in my reiki session yesterday.  I often get birds, but the puffin was unusual as it signified childhood abandonment, the need to understand parental child relationships and the ability for the young to thrive in darkness.   Would the boys think I would be abandoning them if they went to board?  I couldn’t bear that.  I couldn’t bear not lying down next to them in bed each night to hear about their day, snuffle their skin and hair, feel their arms around my neck and lips on mine.

 

But yet, I loved boarding;  I loved running through the school in the dead of night, both petrified and exhilarated; I loved knowing which boards creaked and which didn’t; I loved knowing which nights the housemistress would be entertaining and would have had one too many a tipple to notice a stream of nightie clad girls creeping past her door;  I loved weekends on the field picnicking, sunbathing and deciding which activity to do next;  I loved the community, I loved the camaraderie and the bonds that have lasted decades and formed the ‘iron ring’.

 

Would I deny the boys that experience?  If they wanted it?

 

There was also a book, an old book, in an open window with the pages flying backwards in the wind from end to start, until the end and then they all flew out of the window turning to cranes, flying off to the sunset. 

 

I didn’t understand that symbolism yesterday but it fits with today so well.  An old dusty book denotes forgotten knowledge or memories of previous chapters in life.  Flying birds symbolise hopes and dreams, a sunny outlook and freedom.  But the crane, the crane signifies happiness and maternal love.  And cranes , many cranes made of paper set free into the sky are a symbols of wishes coming true, of hope, and healing in dark times. 

 

And top it all off, we followed a van covered in Kingfishers and the first class we went into, one of the boys had created the most beautiful paper mache Kingfisher.

 

I think Mumbo liked it.

 

The boys clearly loved it.

 

So there is only me, sitting with my V&T, anxiously wondering if I need to start counting down my cuddles at bedtime….  We are writing a whole new chapter.  I wonder if this is going to be part of it?  Do I let them run free or do I keep them in my nest…  ?

 

I am going to sleep on it. And ponder the puffins and the cranes.
I

In a day when the future of the country, lies in the hearts and minds and hands that tick in a box of the country, it was also a day to stay positive and remain calm.  It was a day to make a choice, and decide to the best of your own knowledge and opinion and then move on.

 

What will be, will be.

 

Que sera, sera.

 

Whatever the outcome is, in my perspective, sound and solid or disastrous and disappointing, the only thing to do is to keep moving forward, with positivity, seeing the good in the moment, rather than trying to change something that cannot be undone. Something as an individual I can commit to doing and based on events in London and Manchester this year, clearly as a country we can also commit to doing.

 

I take many photos.  Several a day and if a special day, then I am snap happy.  At the end of the week, I delete some and highlight some as favourites.

 

After my own personal and disastrous events of 7 months ago, I didn’t think there could possibly be any joy or light in the future.  And yet, this morning, as I was thinking positive thoughts and ways to make me smile, I scrolled through those favourites and all I saw were happy faces, smiles, laughter, love and joyful times.

 

Life goes on.  Happiness resides.  Even In the darkness, there is light. And whatever happens tomorrow, the same will remain true whatever the outcome and whatever the tick in the box.

 

 

 

Yesterday morning, just as he was leaving to go to school, Tom turned to me with a quizzical look and asked, ‘Mum, how come we all have to go back to school and Dad to work and you get to stay on holiday?’

 

I was rather amused.  So I asked him, since leaving holiday, who had filled the fridge and washed all his clothes?  ‘Daddy’ was his answer!  So I asked who picked him up from school… ‘Daddy’, he said with a cheeky grin.  I said that my ‘job’ was to look after him, Willy, Daddy, the house and our family.

 

‘But you don’t get paid, so how can that be a job?’

 

My answer to that was that there are some jobs you do for more than money. You do it for satisfaction and enjoyment.  But most of all, you do it for the love of the ‘job’.

 

I may have been outwardly confident, but there was a little voice in the back of my mind that wasn’t.  My thoughts of being not enough, wasting all that talent!

 

But the voice was small, and after 4 years, I am now loud enough to squash those damning voices, with other words.  Reminders of why I made the choice to be a housewife and full time mother rather than sat behind a desk, ill with stress, too tired for romance or to listen and guilt stricken for missing out on my son’s life, even more, my life!

 

But perhaps, the niggling thought lingered a while yesterday and added a little to the storm and discomfort I felt.

 

Today, I was so grateful for my ‘holiday job’.

 

I got to see everyone happy having nailed a Willy tantrum-free peaceful morning …. (for egg and bacon he had to be fully dressed and ready!)

I got to sit with the Big Man while he ate his omelette and give him my 2 ears and full attention.

I got to wave everyone off, well fed, happy and skipping.

I got to do some simple mind and body exercises and read my book, my time to practice self compassion and fill up my cup.

I got to listen to music and dance as I  filled the washing machine and unfilled the dish washer.

I got to catch up on my trash TV series as I did a pile of holiday washing for two hours.

I got to organize birthday presents and have my nails done in preperation for important occasion this weekend.

I got to listen to Brene Brown  as I drove an hour to watch an U9’s cricket match.

I got to hide behind a bush and shelter from the wind and admire my son’s flowing bowling action and feel immense pride.

I got to jump and shout as he hit a 6 to take them to a close finish, and commiserate as it left them just a few points short of a win.

I got to hold his hand in the car and head bang to Thunderstruck and sing loud to California Dreaming.

I got to be in a Mummy sandwich as we pilled on Willy and blew raspberries on his cheeks to make him giggle.

I got to smile as the Big Man walked in the door and spend a moment or two in his embrace, without reaching for a blackberry or thinking of anything but the moment.

 

Yes I get paid nothing, but I have a job that makes me feel as good on being holiday!

 

I’ll take that.

 

 

It seems that after the sunshine, there are the raindrops and after the raindrops, there is the storm.

 

I have been in a beautiful flow for a beautifully long sustained period, possibly the longest one so far.  So why today, did my day, my mind and my heart darken with shadows?

 

Why was there the overwhelming feeling of self destruction and sabotage?

 

Why did I turn back to review the past and all its murky problems, rather than continue living in the light and bright solution?

 

Why?

 

On driving back from the hospital after being given the either good or bad news that my ankle wasn’t broken, but that all the tendons and ligaments were badly torn, I decided it was time to stop listening to the diabolical political election debate on the radio and listen to one of my favourite thought leaders.

 

And once again, Brene Brown answered my question.    A random, pot luck choice found her talking to a room of teachers about how to teach daringly.  Within the first 10 minutes, she had answered my question.

 

As always, her topic is based on vulnerability, talking through the many components that make up the Big V, the first one of which was joy.  And she actually stated that joy is one of the hardest emotions for people to feel.

 

Crazy!  When joy is the most uplifting, happy, life giving experiences to feel!

 

And yet, the moment we feel it, the majority of us find it so overwhelming we “dress rehearse tragedy”.

 

The moment we look at our sleeping babies or children, the love, pride and joy at admiring them overwhelms us, makes us feel so uncomfortable, we immediately turn to worry about what might happen if something bad happened – like stopping breathing, or running in to the road and we could never look on them again…  As a parent, I am no stranger to this feeling.  This holiday, my tragedy dress rehearsal as I watched them leap and dive in to the sea or pool, was what I would do if I could see them stuck in the bottom of the pool with a hand stuck in a grate …  What would I do?  Dive in? yank their arm off?  Saving them without an arm was better than no child at all?  And in those moments of pride and joy watching their lean strong bodies and blond hair and happy smiles, I turned to panic.

 

I squandered the joyful moment.  For what?  No amount of planning or worrying would help me if and when the moment of tragedy arose.

 

I wonder and now realise, that by applying this logic to the joy I have felt with the Big Man and as a family, content and comfortable in the moment and with the future ahead of us, experiencing this joy, like the joy of watching the boys, has also incited vulnerability and threat of loss.

 

The way I turned the joyful moments turned to tragedy poolside, back to joy again was by being thankful.  Thankful we were here, together; thankful we had a beautiful pool, the sea, the sun; thankful for my strong, able bodied, adventurous boys; thankful.

 

And Brene reminded me that is exactly the way you can deal with the ‘tragedy dress rehearsal’.   That the moment you feel the chill of the bad thoughts overturn the feeling of joy, you turn it around by seeing the chill as the reminder to be grateful.

 

So I rang the Big Man and asked if he was free for lunch and felt grateful.  Grateful he was free, grateful I wanted to be with him, grateful he wanted to be with me.

 

And so I passed through the storm and I am back to raindrops and the sun will be out tomorrow.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

This morning, I was admiring my show stoppingly beautiful pink and yellow creeping roses, tall enough, this year, to be peeking in through my bedroom window, when I became mesmerised by the raindrops.

 

I watched as the rain slashed against the window, leaving the small droplets behind.  I continued to be fixated as I watched the little drops at the top, start and stop, jerk and falter their way down the pane.  I can only imagine that it was the force of gravity and wind, outside circumstances that triggered the little drops to meander their way downwards.  They would glide until hitting another drop, and stop.  And then together they would glide, drop… and stop as they hit another droplet.  Getting bigger and gaining momentum until they slid, tumbling quickly and gathering more droplets and more speed, gravity and water weight pulling them down, faster and faster until they flew off the windowsill.

 

When I look back at other traumatic events in my life, fortunately just the 2, the unexpected loss and first miscarriage at 13 weeks and then the unexpected and sudden quick departure of my Mumbo, many people said that time would be the greatest healer.  Time.  And that I couldn’t rush the process.

 

Again, after the unexpected revelation of the truth about the lodger, the same was said.  Time.  Time would heal, would help me move on, if not forgive and forget, at least learn to live with everything.

 

Time has definitely been a contributing factor this time.  And, as part of the reflection, it seems that 7 months is my typical ‘healing time’.  7 months for my body and mind to let go of loss and conceive Tom, 7 months for me to feel joy in my heart and soul again after losing my Mumbo.

 

7 months on from being plunged in to the depths of the sea, to find my rocky bottom and  today I was able to answer honestly to my friend who asked if life was feeling more ‘solid’ again. Yes.

 

But is it just time?  Was it just time that got me to this place of ‘solidness’?

 

Watching the raindrops, I feel this particular period of healing did include the passing of time but also something else.  The raindrops gathered and grew.  The welcomed other raindrops to them and grew.  They gathered, they grew and then they flew, the last raindrop embraced gave them everything they needed to tip them into flight mode.

 

If I was a little small rain droplet 7 months ago, after the initial shock, I did begin to gather.  I jerked and slid until I found my first lifeline.  Held on and then found my next one, holding them close, taking strength and moving on to find the next lifeline.

 

I am told I am doing well, been so strong.  I am strong because of the strength I have gained and learnt from others.  I am strong because of my family, immediate, given birth to and married into.  I am strong because of the friends that put themselves in my path and held me up and leant me their strength and warmed me with their compassion.  I am strong from the help and guidance of professionals from their sofas and their books.

 

But I am remaining strong because of the first raindrop I found and that has remained constant and consistent throughout.  He was the first. He has never let go, never wavered.  Together we will continue to jerk and slide, grow and now leap and fly off the ledge and into the unknown.

A picture, or photo, can speak a thousand words.

 

My favourite photo, out of the hundreds I snapped or the hotel photographers shot, is one that can perhaps tell the whole story in one glance.

 

You can’t see the scars, or the sadness and relief way back, in the deep dark well of their eyes, nor the ready laughter or happiness showing in the corners of their lips and eyes.

 

What you can see are strong linked arms, straight backs, proud shoulders with only a slight tilt of the head showing delicate concern to the most emotionally sensitive and the sheer delight of the youngest as his family, his whole life, walk towards the sunset and into the light.

 

On reflection and despite everything, this unexpected and last minute holiday has been the perfect start to the next chapter.
Or is the finale to the current one…?
Whatever it is or wherever we are, we are ready for what happens next. The month ahead is panning out to be an exciting one as we see closure on our life and links to London and new beginnings in a new city. 
I feel perhaps we are at the top of the mountain. All 4 of us. Linking arms, about to leap off the rocky summet and throw ourselves back in to life, ready to hold each other up if we stumble, but all exhilarated, all happy and altogether.
A bit like we did all afternoon today as we one by one leapt off the pontoon and into the clear waters of the bay, careful to avoid the sea urchins!

I don’t remember the last time I didn’t remember to write…
I see it as a good sign.
But I also know that I always love and loved to journal and that is why I started to blog.
And my journal always started with gratitude.  Today I am grateful. I have so much to be grateful for.
And in my last day of holiday, alcohol induced stupor, I am grateful.  
For early mornings and mirror calm seas, for perfect condition waterski’s, big smiles and deep water starts.
For a day on my sun lounger with a good excuse, or no excuse, a good ending to a book and a good start to the next.
For happy boys, their independence, the friendships they have made and the skills they have learned.
For new friends, fun friends in the moment, shots of jäger, sambuca and goodness knows what else.
For one last full day and one final day left.
For finally feeling happy to go ‘home’, even though I don’t have one, but to go back to routine and life and normality. 
The last of the Greek good days.