Lost, not found

I feel lifeless.  Just one blog post in June so far.  I’m finally not ill anymore but it seems as though I’ve been zapped of all my creative juice.  I haven’t crocheted, crafted, or stitched in days and it is a lonely and confusing feeling.  I am happiest when I am making and when I come up against a creative block, I feel lost.

I want to run away sometimes. Hide from life. I would love nothing more than to have more space. Space to create, to stash my fabrics and papers and yarns and hooks.  Space for my children to play, to stash their own treasures, to stop the cascade of toys that is currently overtaking my bedroom and living room and kitchen…

I have an oppressive feeling of being trapped. Of not being able to dig my way of this tangle of a mess I call my life right now.  Each time I feel I am moving forward, creating a plan of how to do great things, I feel knocked back.

I. HAVE. TO. GET. OUT. OF. HERE.

My kids are constantly fighting, screaming, jumping, pinching, whining.  Running amok like caged animals worked into a frenzy by their imprisonment.  I’m tired of being referee. And I’m tired of yelling. And tidying. And cleaning up mammoth messes. I have a collection of cleaning sprays and scrubbing cloths at the ready to tackle the endless finger smudges on walls and pen scrawls on the furniture.

I am a single mom. In every sense of that word. I single-handedly take on the job of mother and father, judge and jury. I am the “fun” parent yet also the one who has to mete out punishments.  I do school runs, parent-teacher meetings, grocery shops, doctor and dentist appointments, ballet classes, homework help, baths, bedtime stories, kisses, cuddles…  I don’t remember the last time I managed to eat breakfast before rushing out the door to get Emilie to school.

I’m not complaining, I guess I am venting.  My kids are what keep me going. But I’ve almost completely lost my sense of self through my devotion to them.  My name is Liam’s mum/Emilie’s mum/Zoie’s mum.

Who am I really?

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How does my garden grow?

Out of control.

On my way to take Emilie to a playdate yesterday, I came across a landscape guy working on my neighbour’s garden.  The sun was shining and as I thought guiltily about the jungle that was currently brewing in my backyard, I succumbed to the urge to solicit him for a quote.

I pointed out my embarrassingly overgrown hedges, weed choked flower beds, and swamp-height grass.  He promised he’d give me a great deal on sorting out both the front and the back gardens. And he could start in the morning.  It sounded too good to be true.

It was.

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He turned up an hour late and brought his little brother and wife (neither looked a day over fifteen) to help out.  After approximately 45 mins of the fastest grass cutting and hedge trimmer wielding I had ever witnessed, I was left mind-boggled by the mess they had made!

As I began to protest the horrendous workmanship an older man turned up.  I presumed this was the father of the operation. He had one eye and was covered in tattoos.

I parted with the cash post-haste.  Let’s think of it as a charitable donation.

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In the aftermath, I’ve been ringing reputable companies for quotations to sort out the disaster.  I’ve certainly learned my lesson.

If it seems too good to be true, it probably is.  And in the words of my mother, “cheapness is never good.”

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Perhaps I need to take up a spot of DIY gardening?

New additions

My owl family has grown by two.

Meet Imogen. A sweet little owl bank (sorry piggy) scooped from the local supermarket.

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I will be using her to collect toward a holiday treat for myself in honor of my upcoming, ahem, 2nd 29th birthday.

Savings so far: 10 pence

I’m staying optimistic!

And now to introduce the newest family member…

Meet T2.

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Tarquin lives on in this little guy. He’s pint sized but perfect.

Owls. I am even more fond of them than I thought!  My girls have owl pyjamas, owl hats, owl wall stickers, and even owl bedsheets!

And I now have my heart set on a very fetching owl sweater I spied this weekend in a shop window. This may become an addiction….

Love Lane

The morning school run rarely differs from day to day: speedwalk 15 mins down the hill near our house and slowly trudge back up the hill which is a 25 min foot-dragging debacle.

Yesterday, however,  once I had safely seen Emilie (and poor Tarquin) off through the school gates, I decided to take a different route home. A shortcut.

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An old footpath that meandered behind mansion houses and bordered on a meadow of docile horses.

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As I began my walk down the muddy lane, the thought did cross my mind that I was the perfect target for a crazed early morning axe murderer hiding in the damp bushes. I started to look more closely at my surroundings out of mild paranoia and as I did I saw some lovely things…

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The path eventually led me to graveled road called Love Lane. A fitting name for the sentiment I felt while strolling along and observing the beauty of nature.

Farewell Tarquin

Today’s post was supposed to be titled “Tarquin goes to school”.

This is Tarquin.

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Last night, I gave my little owl friend a mini makeover. I added some stitches around his wings and repaired one googly eye that had popped off and rolled across the room. When I had finished he was looking very spiffy indeed!

This is Tarquin this morning.

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He was happily hanging out with his bookend owl buddies.

Then I had a not-so-bright idea.  Let’s send Tarquin to school.

I got him all ready to go,

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and off he went.

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Sadly, Tarquin never returned home. My forlorn five year old informed me after school that Tarquin had disappeared somewhere between the playground pirate ship and the dining hall.

I will admit that my bottom lip quivered.

I’d like to think that dear Tarq has gone travelling home in some other child’s bookbag and will have many great adventures…

In the meantime I can only say, farewell my friend.

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Owl always love u

Owls.

They are a little bit creepy, but I like them. Especially the colorful cartoon versions.

And Hedwig, of course.

Recently, I’ve noticed that I have been amassing a small collection of owl ephemera.

Like these:

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A mobile phone case from a craft market in Brussels, a coin purse from my local high street shop,  and a teeny little notebook from Paperchase which currently stocks the most amazing collection of owl bits and bobs.

Today I was feeling ambitious and fired
up my glue gun. I grabbed some felt and googly eyes and made myself an owl friend.

I shall call him Tarquin.

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He looks like a Tarquin, doesn’t he? 🙂