Not sure what was wrong with me this morning.  I totally got out of bed the wrong side.  Why was that?!  Whisked away for 4 luxurious, stress free days… woken up my little people snuggling in for cuddles and little kisses… only to be left alone for a bit of a lie in.

 

So why was I so grumpy?

I was grumpy before I even got out of bed.

I was grumpy before I even started to sort washing.

I was grumpy before I even realised I had 10 piles of washing to get through.

I was grumpy before I saw what chaos the boys rooms were in, clean clothes I left in their rooms, still in the piles on the ends of beds where I left them.

I was grumpy before James said he was going to go running, while I was still sorting colours, darks from lights…

I was grumpy before James said we had to go for lunch if he was to get his train for London at 1, and I hadn’t even had breakfast…

I was grumpy before I tried to get dressed and realised I seemed to have come home wearing a fat suit.

 

I am not sure when the grumpy left me.

Sometimes there’s nothing for it, but to just push on through it… keep sorting the jeans from the gym kit, delicates from the kids uniform..  get them loaded and washed.

Sometimes  there’s nothing for it, but to stomp around in your PJ’s barking instructions and getting order back …

 

Maybe it left me when I read my daily affirmations out loud – ‘I am happy’… one I have been reading daily since Mum died.

 

Maybe it left me when I kissed the Big Man goodbye at York station and realised it was only for one night, not 5.

 

Maybe it left me when the boys took me for lunch, ipadless, they talked and chatted and we giggled our way through pizzas, pastas and salads.

 

Maybe it left me when the boys were dicking about in Morrisons, making a boring job fun…

 

Maybe it left me when I sat with the boys while they ‘mohicanned’ their hair in the bath and splashed me with water..

 

Maybe it left me when all was quiet and I poured a cup of detox tea from my favourite tea pot and realised the grump had gone.

 

I seriously shouldn’t drink wine… I seriously shouldn’t drink wine washed down with goblets of genepi and shots of jäger! (I have no recollection of writing my post yesterday….)
But hey ho…. That was what this few days was all about. The middle bit of my sandwich. The filling. Time for me. Time for me and the Big Man. A sandwich with no filling is just bread… Pleasant enough, but not tasty, delicious or exciting. 
As I wait to board our flight home, I feel tired… a good tired. Not emotionally drained or tense from stress….rather an overindulged tired … A little achy, a good achy. Tired, achy and with more than a little glow of happy. 
Happiness comes from within. I am aware that I can be so focussed on everyone else’s happiness and wellbeing that I forget about my own. As a mother, a lot of my happiness comes from seeing and making my boys happy… But this few days was purely selfish happy making…
And yet the icing on the cake will be the joy I get the moment I kiss my boys hello…. They will be asleep, but it won’t stop me giving them death by kisses to try and wake them up, feel their little arms wrap around my neck… That will be the relish for my happiness sandwich, the unexpected extra pickle … 
So my ‘life sandwich’ is looking pretty good, a little more balanced … My Mum is in her happy place, my Dad is looking good, relaxed, remarkably self sufficient… Tom is bouncing into school again and excited his little brother is joining him in a few weeks. Everyone is happy that Big Daddy Morts is back home for good, in Yorkshire, no one more so than the BM himself…. 
So then perhaps it’s time to look at my rather neglected, forlorn ‘career sandwich’…. ? Would that make me happy? Or just the Big Man? 

I might just hold that thought just for a little bit longer….  
 
  
  

Do you believe in magic?
Today I did.
The forecast before we left the UK  was wall to wall snow storms. One of the reasons we hesitated to book to head to the Alps and considered chasing the sun.
Do you believe in The Secret?
Today I did.
We woke up to clear skies and wall to wall sunshine.. I only imagined and expected the sunshine, skiing on fresh powder and the sun glinting on snow.
Do you believe in the power of love?
Today I did.
My Mumbo was a tour de force in life for those she loved. Today, she was in every diamond glint of snow, in every powder bowl, every snow flurry… She was the reason the sun defied the forecast and rose behind the mountains at first light and stayed well after it was due to be hidden behind the clouds. She was the reason we could ski on fresh powder, dance on the tables outside, enjoy the sunset… 
Today. 
Today was the medicine, the tonic, the bomb.
  

I have a lot to thank my sister in law for… Today is what she would call ‘perfect conditions’ for a day skiing…. 20+ years ago, I did not agree with her …. I would reluctantly pull on my ski boots and trudge after her, her enthusiasm enough for the two of us and any other poor soul with us…
20 years skiing with her, the Big Man and many others far better, more natural skiers than me and I am inclined to agree with her.
The snow is falling, the light is ‘flat’, visibility nil…. Not your typical ‘perfect blue skies perfect condition’…
But… The slopes are quiet, the lift queues non existent…. Conditions putting off the fair weather skiers. and the fresh snow is like icing sugar, light and fluffy… The dream stuff
When you can only see a few meters ahead, the only way to move forward is to relax, let your knees soften, take the bumps and obstacles as they come, dig in your edges over the slippy ice patches and lean into the resistance of unexpected snow piles… Enjoy the ride… Keep calm. If you fall, pray for a soft landing as you fly through the air…. And then catch your breathe as you watch the clouds of snow dance around you… Pick up your lost bits, poles and skis… Dust yourself off and get back on it as quickly as you can….
On the flat, dull, quiet transition roads…. It’s time to coast.. Then get out your tools, your poles and get back into momentum…. Swing those arms, glide those feet…. Begin to feel the pace pick up… Feel the adrenalin! Anticipate what lies ahead…
In moments of clarity, when the sun comes out and lightens up the path… ****** let yourself go! Pick your path…. Speed up! Feel the wind in your hair and the sun on your face… Practice your balance over the jumps and bumps and tight turns…. Find your rhythm. Become self aware, mindful… See how your body responds to the terrain, practice your good habits – lean in, be grateful for the light – let them become second nature so that they continue into the darker periods. 
At the top of an icy, black mogul field… There is only one way to tackle it…. Launch! Throw yourself into it…. It’s always good to challenge yourself … Put into practice everything you have learnt….and just get down. Find your rhythm. One turn at a time… Find your flow and keep going. Feel the burn!….. God forbid if you stop…. Legs turn to jelly and fear can set in… Get through the pain as quickly as possible… And as soon as you hit the bottom, reach the end of the torture…. Let the exhilaration wash over you, give yourself a massive pat on the back. And then pour yourself a massive glass of vin chaud with a shot of something badass and give thanks that you got through it unscathed, in one piece…. 
If you hear good music and a party going on…. Head over, let your hair down and join in… Dance on the table and drink from the bottle!

Life on the slopes, is like life off the slopes… Whatever the condition, whatever the road travelled… Throw yourself in and Enjoy the thrill!  
  

We had planned on being in the Serengeti this weekend..   It’s incredible what can change in 24 hours, how much you can get done and organised in a few hours and how much distance can be travelled.

 

Last night, I was sat on my snug sofa…

 

Tonight, I am in a bed with a floor to ceiling view of the French Alps… piste bashers and shooting stars…

 

We had been playing with the idea, but had thought it would be too much effort, too much co-ordination, too much hassle, too difficult to organise, not worth the expense for just a few days, especially with the Big Man heading to London on Sunday.

 

As I walked out from my mentoring class yesterday afternoon in Armley, already buzzing from the experience, one phone call changed my plans for the afternoon!  “Flights, car, hotel all booked, Granny and Grandpa moving in… we leave tomorrow 7.30am… can you be ready?”

 

I love a bit of impulse and firm decision making… but with two kids to pick up, feed, beaver and bath, a backlog of washing, an empty fridge, a full diary of planned meetings and most importantly personal grooming a touch behind and definitely not up to par for a romantic weekend away… I felt slightly on the back foot and definitely not on top of a plan!

 

But with a deadline laced with a bit of pressure, there is nothing like clearing through the clutter to get the most important stuff done…

First off, emergency call in for “intrusive waxing” as my lovely friend calls it…

Second, meal preparation – big batch of chilli and a cottage pie – DONE! Granny has enough food for an army of small boys and Grandpa.

Third, enough of the boys school uniforms on express wash and aga ironed to last the week…

Woven around the big jobs to check off… picked up the boys, fed the boys, got them to beavers and back and in to bed… dug out the ski kit, packed… cooked and ate supper and drank a glass of wine to calm my adrenalin…

 

So back to the Serengeti..  and the great African Savannahs that can be discovered in Poppleton, Yorkshire this weekend. I explained to my fundraising friend that we wouldn’t be in Yorkshire / Africa this weekend to join in the fun to support orphanages in Tanzania.

 

Her wonderful reply, spoken in her sultry French Canadian accent… ‘Go!  Go and have fun!  Go drink wine!  Eat cheese!  Get fat!  Make love!’…

 

She is so right.  We all need times to just ‘Go!’…. get away…

 

For the Big Man and I, 6 months apart through some of the most upsetting and emotional times has been a strain, a test of our marital strength…  barely any time for ourselves as individuals, let alone moments for us as a couple, with weekends focussed on family, being together as a 4.

 

So for 4 days, we are 2…. Just 2.  With free flowing wine and plentiful cheese.  Bucket loads of snow and strong expectations of the sun glinting on the snow.  A big bed and a beautiful view…  Time to find ‘us’ again.
  
 

 

 

I only cried 3 times today… and it wasn’t while I was standing in front of the Mother’s Day card selection.

 

It was only after the event, when I was driving home from school pick up, Tom playing DJ Morts on the tunes, the big sun shining over the Yorkshire countryside that the tears began to prick my eyes.  I don’t think it was sadness or grief, my heart felt  as if it were swelling, not shrivelling… exploding out of my chest, full of love for the little man beside me who I am lucky enough to be a Mummy to…. and full of gratitude for my wonderful mother in law who I was buying the card for, who has always treated me and looked after like a second daughter.

 

I don’t have my own Mumbo to spoil next Sunday, but I am honoured to be one… and still have someone to show my gratitude for… for all the Sunday lunches or suppers in the bottom aga, for all the babysitting, for the shoulder to cry on, for the always open door and open mind, for the morning tea or morning alka seltzer… for the ready glass of champagne when something or evening nothing is worth a celebration.

 

The first time I cried today was reading a card, that I thought was a thank you note…  I had to read twice the kind, touching words before I really understood what I was being asked… to be a Godmother.  A Godmother to a very special little princess.  It took me rather by surprise… and the tears reflected my gorgeous friend’s as I accepted, totally honoured to be part of this little person’s life….honoured and excited to be in charge of all crises – particularly the ones relating to shoes or handbags!

The second time, was just as I said goodbye to my new little goddaughter.  As I turned on the ignition, Bette Midler was singing one of Mum’s favourite songs… already emotional, the words … just the words… and that was it.

 

The perfect words…

 

 

Some say love, it is a river

That drowns the tender reed.

Some say love, it is a razor

That leaves your soul to bleed.

Some say love, it is a hunger,

An endless aching need.

I say love, it is a flower,

And you its only seed.

 

It’s the heart afraid of breaking

That never learns to dance.

It’s the dream afraid of waking

That never takes the chance.

It’s the one who won’t be taken,

Who cannot seem to give,

And the soul afraid of dyin’

That never learns to live.

 

When the night has been too lonely

And the road has been too long,

And you think that love is only

For the lucky and the strong,

Just remember in the winter

Far beneath the bitter snows

Lies the seed that with the sun’s love

In the spring becomes the rose.

I ran my usual route today… the first half is always up hills… and this morning it was into the wind.  It was tough going.  Eyes down, head down, legs and arms pumping … a lot of effort to go very slowly.  I kept going… eyes down, head down, little steps… moving forward.

 

As the hills started to ease off, I picked up the pace.. pushed harder against the wind.  Eyes down, head down, grimacing..   At one point I did have to stop, crippling stitch – I must have forgotten to breathe…

 

But as I turned the corner of the circuit, the wind changed direction and started to push me forward… I eased off… let my legs find their flow..  Eyes up, heads up… free flow running, coasting along the flat and the gentle hill down back towards home… Appreciating the blue sky, fluffy clouds racing, new bursts of daffodil yellow…

 

The last few weeks, months have felt like my run today… an uphill battle to get through, a crippling pain to remind me to breathe.

 

Today, it felt as though I just turned the corner… I can breathe freely, I can lift my head, eyes up, face forward…

 

It’s time for free flow.  It is time to coast.

 

It is time to look up and appreciate the life around me… The Big Man on the sofa next to me on a Monday night, Tom skipping down the corridor ‘Daddy isn’t going to London!’, Willy sat at the top of the stairs at 9pm quietly ‘doing his numbers’….

 

It’s time to breathe a sigh of relief.

 

 

 

It seems that living through a grieving period is like swings and roundabouts….
Today I woke up without the haze of sadness…yesterday’s lacklustre a distant memory….
I made brownies with Willy and gluten free Yorkies…. All before 10 am.
It makes no sense. Or no sense to me?
 The same thoughts flying around in my head yesterday are the same ones today but the impact is drastically different…
Yesterday I was caught up in the cyclone of questions… Of confusion.
Surely I shouldn’t need to grieve as Mum is in a better place… We wanted her to be free?
Surely I shouldn’t need to grieve as Mum had a good life, all the trimmings, she was 74, 4 days short of 75. So many lose their parents so young… I had 40 years of knowing her, I am lucky?
Surely I shouldn’t need to grieve, my mum hadn’t been hugely present, no consistent daily involvement in our lives for the last few years given her condition… Does that mean I shouldn’t miss her? Does that mean I should have made more of an effort? 
Why did she get Alzheimers? It could have been all so different? How would she have been with the boys as a granny, with me as a middle aged daughter?
Yesterday the questions were in balloon bubbles floating and banging against my head and the associated guilt, the sadness, the loss, despair prevented me from enjoying daily life.  
Today the same questions still ring true but the balloon bubbles are floating high in the sky on long colourful ribbons… I am aware of them clashing and bumping around way above me…but I am able to be free to enjoy the present, the boys, family and a lovely Sunday afternoon with close friends drinking wine and singing songs…. 
Swings and roundabouts, balloons and bubbles… Who knows what tomorrow will bring as the boys head back to school and life returns to ‘normal’… ? I will anticipate the highs and the lows… Let the wind ruffle my hair and learn to relax in to the flow… For after each ride down, there is always the ride back up…  

 

My godmother said there’ll be days like this.. There’ll be days like this, my godmother said…
I managed to get out of bed and make scotch pancakes for the boys.
I managed a few conversations at a kids party…
I managed to make lunch…
I managed to get back into bed and get under the covers…. I didn’t manage to sleep but I managed to savour the quiet.
Now all I need to do is manage to get up and make the boys some tea and get dressed and go out and be sociable. 
It seems that grief takes many forms… If it is grief at all, or the mix of grief and everything else that has happened in the last months. Today’s form is exhaustion… Complete and utter exhaustion. 
  

I’ve always loved books.  I have said that before. Today, I have loved my cookery books.

 

Pre-kids, every weekend, I would get all my Jamie Olivers, Nigellas and Delias out in a big pile by the sofa and flick through each one, designing my dinner party menus and scanning for week day simple suppers.  I would make a long list of ingredients… draw up a plan and hit the supermarket.

 

Call me strange, but one of my favourite past times in those days was walking the aisles of the Sainsbury’s or Waitrose in Wandsworth, slowly pushing my trolley, ticking off my list, looking at new products… and if in Sainsbury’s, I would double up with some work tasks – such as checking the shelf edge labels to see if they had updated properly, showed the right price per lb, did they have the right promotional marking… generally, making sure any technical changes we had put in in the buying systems were filtering through to the store correctly.. (I could sometimes lapse into geek mode in my spare time.)

 

I would then spend my Saturday cooking up a storm, using every pot, pan, dish and utensil… lay a pretty table and take my time to get dressed while the Big Man would wash up, open wine, light the fire and the candles.

 

Fast forward 10 years….

 

I could never understand why my Mum, an amazing cook, said she hated cooking and food shopping.  When questioned about the fact, she said it was never the act of cooking she disliked, but the daily monotony of working out evening menus for us as children and then for her and Dad later on.

 

I can now totally relate.  Cooking has now become a daily chore rather than a weekend enjoyment…   Shopping with two toddlers in a supermarket is my hell in real life… many a shopping trolley abandonned.. Baking has become something we do on a rainy day and while the boys love it, the mess takes me just as long to clear up as it does to cook! It’s the trying to decide what to cook every day, day in and day out that gets tiresome.  And then sitting in front of the same food week in week out that dulls the food senses…  I have gotten to the point sometimes, I just can’t be bothered to cook… willing anyone else to just put a plate of food in front of me…  If I haven’t had to decide it or cook it, it is, to me, manna from heaven…. even if eggs on toast!

 

There have been periods of reinvigoration…

 

Nearly 6 years ago when Willy was diagnosed with Coeliac Disease and wheat and gluten was removed from our household diet, I got out my old books, ordered new gluten free cooking books on line and drew up a whole new weekly meal plan for us all…

 

Just about 3 years ago, when the Big Man came home from seeing a PT and a nutritionist and said we had to eat grass fed meat, full fat dairy, quinoa and sweet potatoes, lots of veggies and protein shakes… again, I was spurred in to action, bought new cookery books, looked on line for latest trends and got excited for our healthy lifestyle…

 

With the Big Man in London, my evening meals became lazy, bowl foods… greens of veggies or salad (sometimes both) and a lean protein on the top and if I had been working out, added carbs… if I couldn’t be bothered to cook, then leftovers from the pan from the boys’ tea.

 

In the last week, cooking has become an activity that has soothed me.  I have pulled my old friends off the shelf and been a little more adventurous… I have cooked a lentil curry, a gluten free protein loaf, spicy chicken burgers.. .make smoothies for the boys…

 

In the last week, cooking has become an activity that has calmed me while in the eye of a storm…Keeping me focussed on the moment in hand.  It has soothed my head and my heart,  not only in the process of page turning, chopping, stirring, mixing and blending but in the eating, the savouring and the satisfaction of making something good, for me and for those I love.