Monday, December 16, 2013

Books and tissues

I've got to stop reading books that make me cry....
The Christmas Box (just a slight welling up) led to its prequel Timepiece (tissues required) - both written by LDS author Paul Richard Evans.
Next in line (and requiring even more nose blowing and tear wiping) was The Fault in Our Stars, written by John Green.
Maybe it's simply my emotional state that allows the words to extract such a soggy reaction. Maybe it's experiences, or empathy.
There's the possibility that the writing itself drags this emotional response from me! Perhaps it's
........a matter....................
                 ............................of.....
Timing

I've got to stop reading books that make me sob ......

Wednesday, December 11, 2013

Work widowism

Well, this year has been eventful in many large, and in even more small and simple ways.
As always, the balls are in the air and I'm not sure exactly which one I'm supposed to catch next to prevent the whole lot tumbling and bouncing and dropping all around me.
One large ball this year has been the gaping hole left in our day-to-day Family life by the necessity of Husband having to travel away to slog out his daily grind of bringing home the bacon. Poor darling!

I have to admit right here that I do, occasionally, envy him!

But in the next microsecond I shake my curly head and thank my lucky stars that I am lucky enough to be at home for my four little darlings.
Being here is what I do best. It is my job, my vocation, my destiny to be Mummy.

Being a work widow is not easy. There are times when I dread the phone calls from far away,  simply because I know that the phone call will not be enough for me, for him, for the kids - not to express and communicate all those daily, impossibly ordinary moments that make up our lives. The funny ones (like Niece#5's experience with "the wrapper") or the cute ones like watching No2 son bouncing our baby dumpling on the tramp to help her feel happy after hurting herself. Or the maddening ones like the infuriation of a prolonged bedtime ritual (usually No 1 son), or the dramatics of my little Princess. Why is 7 such an age of difficulty, melodrama and angst? 

When you deal with these "issues" on your own all the time, the joy of Mummy-dom does sometimes lose its glow. I often find myself having to remember that poor Husband working away does not need/want to hear my every gripe, grumble and disssatisfaction. He needs me to be his support. The one who holds the fort, keeps the home fires burning and just manages to keep the balls in the air so that when he does make it Home it's nice for him to be there.

Being a work widow isn't much fun at all. But being a wife to a good, generous, hard working man is a true blessing. Honey, I am so grateful for you xxx