I have spent the morning asleep, curled up as snug as a bug in a rug, utterly flat out and dreaming about all manner of shaky house shenanigans after a night of no sleep at all, due to Finley being ill for the second night on the run. There is no rest for the wicked don’t you know?
And so here I am. Eating a breakfast of sorts at three in the afternoon after taking him to university this morning because he refused to miss one more day, and then crawling rather shame-faced back in to bed, half-worried that the terribly kind window-cleaner might just spot me through a crack in the curtains and invite the neighbours up his ladder to gawp at she who has taken refuge under a mustard coloured quilt.
Yes, here I am, a plate of hard-boiled eggs and a cup of frothy coffee before me, staring this smirking universe straight in the eye for when a person announces her intention to catch up with herself in any given week, said universe is sure to retaliate with a slightly sarcastic, oh yeah? and deliver to her door the kind of kerfuffle designed purely to put a stop to her pre-planned gallop!
And so it was that I found myself putting off my long list of must be dones, in favour of sitting alongside my boy-man again. As I have done so many times over the years, when I can’t do anything about the afflictions that are part of who he is, but can sit beside him, reassure him that he will not be sacked if he has to call in sick for work, feed him when he wants to eat and agree that he who owns our wrestling company of choice might just be borderline deranged. And it IS enough. Because he, more than anybody knows what he needs, when he is, as he describes it “out of sorts“.
But today is a new day, albeit one getting on rather late, and once eggs are demolished and coffee used to inject a little can-do in to sluggish veins, there is stuff to be done.. Phone calls to make and emails to respond to. A couple of new lazy Susan’s already bought for the fridge to be utilised so that the condiments can be somewhat controlled or else the pickled red cabbage might just be lost for always. A little bit of robbing Peter, to pay Paul (Paul it seems is rather pushy) in YNAB. Fin’s bed to be stripped and re-made again. A TV to be lugged upstairs out the way. A very awkward bulb indeed to be replaced. The smoke alarm that keeps falling out of the sky to be admonished and the gang of spiders (a GANG I tell you!) shivering on the kitchen sill to be dealt with with a long brush, for they and their resident webs are just a teeny bit too comically Halloween for me to be tolerating, even if there is a pane of glass between us.
And then later. Time for me. A stop of sorts to right myself. My menu plan went out of the window about five minutes after writing it this week and the food I needed for tonight’s tea is not available, so instead I will be whipping up a store-cupboard Marmite Tart and serving it with salad and a smile in a room I am going to make as twinkly as can be. Not as reward, or for celebration: but because I need to keep on reminding myself that making life lovely for ME is just as important as doing it for an audience. For too often lately I am accepting second best on my own behalf. Declaring that which is only half-cared for, “perfectly fine” and stuffing pride into the big cupboard under the stairs with the carrier bags and coats. And I know it will not do. I know that this way lies depression and when a person can’t quite fathom the timer on the thermostat sufficient to take a distinct chill off the air, she really doesn’t want to be chucking her badly behaved black dog into the mix to run amok too.
So yes. A twinkly room and a warming foot spa as I watch something light and silly. Perhaps with my phone in hand to say hello to those friends I haven’t wanted to harass recently. And then an early night in a bed with clean sheets, fairy lights, Starlight by Stella Gibbons (aff) (wonderful and not at all what I thought it would be) and the top quilt taken down from the top of the little walnut wardrobe and unrolled, for I do believe Autumn is ready to climb into bed with us all.
Invite her in and may your evening too, nurture your heart and warm your toes.