A New Broom

Approaching the end of my tether I am employing a cleaner. 2 hours once a week.

I am - lately - losing control of my home. To a husband and children, 5 and 1. A house bought for love has lost it's shine. Increasingly due to a lack of time. And a never ending sea of stuff - the paraphernalia of growing up.

I managed when it was just my son. But these days where have the hours gone? To hoover and mop and wipe and dust. I wish not to spend life cleaning whilst my children are young.

The bigger the house the more the work. Our cottage in that case is big enough.

I relax not, in a mess. A clean sweep and a clear deck. But I don't have the time or the energy left.

And 2 hours a week costs not very much. (Thanks to my friend for pointing that out). Saying that this is the time to shout. Admit that it's not working now. When my instinct would be to struggle on - trust no other to do the job.

Someone once said that I run up mountains when I could be strolling up the hill. She had my measure pretty well.

So today I asked another to help. I have to tell you that felt great. Change a habit and lift a weight.

Roll on Tuesday, cleaning day... x

You can find poetry and prose from other bloggers every Thursday over at Prose For Thought

Hold On

We walked today, my girl and I. Holding hands and but a little at a time. From one sofa to another and around the room.

Small steps. In purple leather shoes. Stripey tights and a shaky walk.

And the five year old watched. Wanting to know when his sister would run. Shout and chase and catch and fall.

By the look of things not long at all.

And I remembered a day, with this boy. 2010  - had I a time machine the last place I would go. A house with a window full of sun - some friends, their children and us. And a babe, I no longer recall which mother or name. But my son held my knees and whispered then, 'One day Mummy we shall buy a baby and he will be my friend'.

And it happened then. When blood rushes and goes to the head. When you lose your way and cry instead. And those around you stop - assuming in an instant it was something that they said.

And I wished - in that moment - that babies were trade. That someone would name me a price to pay. That I'd move on and we'd be whole again.

I can't remember now if we'd lost 4 or 5 babes then.

It worked out - in the end. In our girl. Who for a time I believed was not to come. And in a room with a consultant - a day or so from hitting the wall - I begged that something else be done.

Low dose aspirin. Increase the flow and thin the blood. Proof or placebo I frankly care not. Where others failed my daughter walks.

And lives and breathes and talks.

I grew stronger as those months went by. That which warms your heart and that which makes you cry.  

'What is for you, won't go by'.

I believe not - in that. But rather, 'what you yearn for may yet be in your grasp'. Through perseverance - and sometimes - the questions you ask.

There is always tomorrow and there is always another door. Today my daughter held my hand and walked across the floor.

Life finds a way - when all has gone wrong.

When you can't hold on? Hold on... x

This post features as a guest blog on Loss Through The Looking Glass, which may be of interest to anyone affected by this story.

Cousins

My children have no first cousins. 2 brothers and a sister between my husband and I, but no likelihood of kids. Never say never but chances appear slim.

A family or not. For the lucky - their own choice. Some independent and strong, who wish not their world to stop. Or one day look around and feel they’ve grown too old - missed the boat. Some who simply crave it not at all.

And me. I mourn their missing babies more than they should know. Flesh and blood of our own. Hands I would hold and children I’d watch grow.

But I say not a word. Of baby skin or over-whelming love. Of summer limbs and winter bobble hats and gloves. Of tired smiles and hungry cries and gabbled early words. Cheeks and lips and baby fists and home from school with Mum.

A drop in the ocean to list the above.

And I’m not sure they quite see this love. Recognise instead the trying stuff. ‘Running you ragged and keeping you up?’

‘Yes. But my biggest love. For now and all the years to come. It’s bloody amazing being a Mum.’

I don’t say this - or not as such.

But I feel their non-existent loss. The path they’re happy not to walk.

Cousins for a girl and boy. A non-existent pride and joy... x

Today I'm linking up to 'Wednesday Words' which can be found every week over at Crazy With Twins

Washing Line

Spring - not yet arrived - is on its way. Striped blinds reveal morning light and black outside lamps need not be lit for those returning from work.

Our garden is small, a courtyard of stone walls. A length of line where washing may be hung on dry, bright days. But come October we lose the light, beyond the pitch of a roof and surrounding woods which filter the sun.

Relief then, for spring to come. To unload washing and hang it up. 

In the breeze and below bright skies. So I may open windows and reclaim the house. From pants and socks and cotton blouse.

And when warm enough, sit out. Sunhats and a woven mat - a garden of pebbles and not of grass.

And a bluebell wood, by our home. Where I tell my boy that fairies go. The ruins of a walled garden and a grassy slope.

And the mountains of an island, glimpsed on tip-toe. Wooden gates and race you home.

With a girl too young last year to know. Come spring the first one out the door... x

Good News

Sat most of the day at a local event, an old school friend I've barely seen since our teens, tells me she has happy news. 13 weeks pregnant, a late summer baby due.

Overdue. For a girl who has longed for a family of her own. Who has cherished a niece, congratulated friends, then wondered - and wondered - when it should be her turn.

Who has found her miracle in IVF.

Who glowed today, whilst we speculated over a daughter or a son. This lady who embellishes hand-made wooden plaques with messages of love. Names and dates and family stuff - weddings, anniversaries and births.

And now my friend can make her own - fill a nursery if she so desires - hang a wooden plaque on the front door.

And her Mum, as excited as her daughter for all that is to come.

A scan tomorrow, and then she can tell the world. She brightened my day, this happy girl.

In life bad things happen to good people. We all - in our own time - realise that. But today I was reminded that sometimes, while the sun shines, good things come to those who wait... x

Today I am linking up to the inspiring Magic Moments

Tag - You're It

The baby girl loves tag. Taught by her brother she jabs then crawls as far as she can.

And she is fast. Knees not yet favouring feet. Across our floor at high speed. Wishing to be caught - scooped up and tickled - then off like a shot.

But a slap on the cheek today - poke in the eye and dive away.

'No darling - I'm still yet fond of my face'.

I wish not to add to my gallery of scars. Inflicted by my tiny foe - who for Christmas gouged a chunk from her mothers nose. This warrior girl is taking control - as if to say 'I'll claim my throne'.

You took it child 2 years ago - push and pull and kick and grow. (What make-up hides the stretch marks show).

So my rose - without a thorn. A right hook and a steady arm. I hope it's just a phase - tummy yes but not the face.

Then followed with a kiss - baby lips and flying fists.

My little independent girl. Fit for her mother and fit for the world... x

St Valentine

We shopped today, the baby girl and I. Heart shaped gifts suitable when you're 1 and 5.

My son is keen for Valentines Day and promises extra hugs. Excited over tiny tokens of love. Fridge magnets and foil wrapped chocolate hearts. Home-made stars and hand scrawled cards.

It has changed then, Valentines. No butterflies and heartaches of another time.

And love has changed. A friend once told me it goes up and down. Life and work and worn out.

And children - the very stuff of love. Unconditionally adored and - sometimes - hard work. Still every moment of the day, the best thing that we've ever done.

Our love. The mundane to the heady rush - without which things wouldn't amount to very much.

So Valentines Day for me - up for school and home for tea. Bath and bed and then we'll see.

A few hours left for patterns of old. Wine and dinner for two not four... x

You can read poetry from other bloggers today and every Thursday over at Prose For Thought

Water Wings

Twice a week I swim. Every Sunday and sometime in-between. A dress size down and exercise to which I will regularly commit.

Water, often cold, was today warm. Breast stroke, back stroke and 20 lengths - loosen limbs and clear a head. Then home.

And a costume yesterday, bought for the baby girl.

Her brother when only 6 months old, shivered amongst toddlers in swimming shorts. Not at all sure. Happier out than in the pool. And these days sent to lessons on a Tuesday afternoon. For peace of mind - the only past-time I insist he do.

So my daughter comes to water late. She has been missing out - a girl who's bath is the highlight of her day. Her mothers fault this years delay - but 6 months seems like yesterday.

A turquoise suit, pink fish and frills. Girlish limbs to splash and kick.

And towels - for when cold air hits - pink and large and soft and thick... x

Sleep Tight

I have struggled this week. Held my children too tight whilst they wriggled free of my grasp. Turned the volume on our baby monitors to max. Tip toed into darkened rooms and lingered over beds.

I have wept.

For a mother I have never met. But a member of our writing community who, a week ago tonight, put her little daughter to bed. For the last time.

A happy, healthy girl - 9 months old. Who late last Saturday evening simply slipped from this world. No cause of death found.

The cruelest, cruelest loss.

I cannot help this family. Can do or say nothing to bring their daughter back again.

If I could I would. Today.

This week I have read utter heartbreak. Written as it unfolds. I am struggling right now to find words of hope.

But let a baby girls legacy be love. The brightest star in the sky above.

Today, tonight and each day forth - cherish your children, and your loved ones, all the more... x

A Clean Slate

In an upstairs shower-room, with barely the space to swing a cat, my little daughter cleans the glass.

In shower tray - facecloth in hand - she polishes and rubs. Glass screen and tiles. And dusts the floor with her cotton romper'd bum.

I wonder where she gets it from? In a house where glass panelled doors reflect fingers and thumbs. Where time runs fast and grubby marks are often left un-rubbed.

I imagine it will remain so whilst my children are young.

Yet my daughter has learned to scrub. Peers at her mum putting make-up on. As if to say 'Why dirty that face? You'll only have to wash if off.'

I tell her it's my mask to face the world. That one day she'll wear make-up of her own.

Or maybe not - rosy cheeks and golden locks.

And small clean hands, which bear not to be sticky with porridge or jam. High chair bound she holds them out - to be fed, to be wiped, to be lifted up... x

Angels Gather Here

Were I beside you I should take your hand. Pull you from your corner seat and place your computer down.

We would wander the rooms of your home. Every corner and every door. Rest a hand on those awake, and place a kiss on sleeping babes.

Your own.

Your reason to wake and your reason to come home. No matter what the day has brought.

I'd help you tell them they mean the world.

I'd steady your hand and I'd give you the words. To smooth a cheek and whisper love.

And you'd rest better knowing it's done.

For it is angels work - to talk of love.

Enough now, in our uncertain world... x

Little Women

Quite the chatterbox - the baby girl. And a language all her own. A limited grasp of simple words deters my daughter not. Days spent in happy conversation with her mother, her rabbit and the walls.

She has plenty to say. And she sings aloud. Smiles at strangers and waves at the face in the crowd. Gabble and chatter and later on - tired, angry shouts.

She is an easy friend who confides her every thought - from the moment she wakes. Who learns at the speed of light, and is young enough to find magic and beauty all around.

Who trusts - entirely - and speaks her mind.

If I could but turn it into words. To know my daughter better - before she grows shy of the world.

Whilst small and slim and growing up.

Before she bites her tongue... x