{this moment} - Dressing Up

{this moment} - A Friday ritual. A single photo - no words - capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savor and remember.

Inspired by Soulemama.Soulemama

Poopie with a Chance of Vomit

I awoke this morning to a soft log of cat sick smeared into the end of my dusky pink lambs' wool blanket. Thankfully the new aqua blanket is my current favourite. It was washed twice in two days last week after poor Wawa sicked on it the day after I bought it.


I showered and dressed, then headed out to give the chickens their scratch. I collected their poop in a bucket and threw it in the compost while I was there, then headed back inside to deal with the kitty litter, naturally stepping in a steaming pile of spoodle-poop as I went. Cleaning that off my shoe gave the kitty time to go outside, eat a heap of grass, then run back inside ahead of me and do a big grassy supplementary sick on the kitchen floor.


You know it'll be an interesting day when you've handled three lots of poo and a couple of vomits before the toddler is even awake.


Here's a picture of a couple of chickens in lieu of the obvious.

The Cuckoo's Nest

Kitty's tail is thumping the window rhythmically. She stands on her hind legs and mews plaintively. One of the neighbour kitties is in the garden bed beneath the window defiantly doing what kitties everywhere do wherever they damnwellplease.

Wawa (Ly) is sitting on the couch enthusiastically 'reading' aloud to herself, having spent a good half hour already this morning with my iPhone, navigating YouTube with disturbing competency. Remember that slippery slope? We are on it. Somewhere near the bottom, in fact. She spent most of her time looking at videos of diggers in action. I find it hard to believe these even exist, let alone in such numbers.

Ni is building something Minecraft-esque on her iPod and absent-mindedly singing the theme from Play School, replacing most of the lyrics with the word 'spoodle'. "There's a spoodle in there. And a spoodle as well. Spoodle-oodle-oodle. Spoodle-oodle-oodle-oodle. Spoodle-oodle. Spoodle-oodle. It's spoodle time."

Doot (That Guy) has left for school. He's finishing a traineeship, so he gets paid to study and has to turn up. Today is their last real day. In his mind, he's already done, so he really wasn't making any kind of effort to be on time. It at least made for a relaxed morning. It was a nice departure from the usual chaotic rush.

I said, "Do you see how nice life could be if you weren't always rushing to be on time?"

He said, "You're right, Babe! I should just stop caring if I make it to work on time and have nice, relaxed mornings." (Grin.) I was probably asking for it.

They're doing a unit on mental health. Yesterday they watched A Beautiful Mind, because, apparently, Russell Crow was the best person to teach them about schizophrenia. He's hoping for One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest today, I suggested The Shining might be more instructive.

Me? I'm not sure. I'm happy - feeling the new season with my whole being; a beginning and an end in the best possible way. It's the midpoint between the sense of hopelessness I inherited in childhood and have carried all my life and it's opposite. But I am struggling; really struggling to re-engage socially. I remind myself that I used to just walk away without a glance behind. I'm improving. Maybe. I'm thinking too that it's time to engage differently. But that's another post. Or not.

Good Morning

I think I've become a morning person. It's odd. I never believed it possible. My need for night time darks seemed set in stone all these years. In spite of this, I like being up early. There have, in fact, been long periods where I have woken with the sun and left my bed to greet the day, but regardless of how long this lasted, I never ever stopped feeling foggy-brained and exhausted. Until now.

Now I realise how some people manage to be so productive. Not that night people can't be productive; just not me so much.

So we finished moving out of Mouldy Manor and we dealt with the real estate agent's attempt to steal our entire bond (yes, that's right, after having to evict us when the house became derelict due to lack of maintenance). I finally found my inner warrior and told them where they could go in a rather formal and forthright letter. They made a far more reasonable counter offer and I accepted, avoiding a Tribunal hearing. I'm calling it a win. At least I didn't let them exploit me one last time for the road.

I'm still slowly (oh so slowly) unpacking and giving things away, but I found the cutlery tray last week, so that's good news. No more eating with the baby fork when the third fork is in the dishwasher. I make progress every day, but there is just so much stuff. I have stacks of boxes packed with objects that seem to bear no relation to one another.

I also paid all of our bills last week, a few of which were more than a little overdue. This week it's the post office. (Sorry if I owe you mail. You're not alone. I'm on it, I swear.) And hopefully many other things from my seemingly endless list. As each item is crossed off, it is as if another burden is lifted and I become a little more carefree.

I'm chuffed to the point of manic infantile giggling that spring has finally arrived. Sun and warmth and blossoms exploding everywhere are working magic on me, body and soul.

I'm catching up on my favourite blogs (which I think is pretty much my natural state). I don't like to write before I read. It doesn't feel right. I like to know what's going on with you before I start blathering on mindlessly about cutlery, but there are a lot of unread posts in my reader. Some of you are impressively prolific. Some of you write extraordinary pieces that demand that I ponder the inscrutable. Curse you and your self-discipline, intelligence and talent. Curse you all.