As the rain pitter patters on our windows which incidentally haven’t been cleaned since they were installed (but we live in a cull de sac and we can see out of them), I sit quietly and think of the past. Boy is about to finish Reception, I remember the excitement of going to school. In Reception we played with water, we sat and listened to Peter and the Wolf. I remember the Horse Chestnut tree which dominated the playground and the thrill of finding chestnuts for the first time. It troubles me a little that the Boy does not appear to have these happy memories.
I sit here with baby Ned and am reminded of when Boy was a tiny baby and then Fifi. I felt rushed off my feet then too, however I didn’t have the awareness to remind myself that this is a precious age. These moments when they are truly yours are few and far between in life. I am completely spent, so bone weary that I have trouble seeing straight. Yet, I do in some strange way feel like my life is complete. In many ways it feels like this is it, that there is no more for me to do. I am complete.
There is something about this weather which makes one feel quite insular and reflective. I’d happily never go out again, I’d happily live in a tiny little cottage on a cliff in the middle of a field, I’d happily eek out my days reading books and cooking magnificent cakes. None of which I have the luxury of being able to do.
The peace is shattered as quickly as it comes in our house, perhaps that’s why I enjoy the moments when I can hear nothing but the rain drumming against the windows. One of the things that I struggle with is the constant noise and the endless physical contact required by small children. I read once that nuns eat in peace, total silence. I can understand the reverence in this now.
When I have had moments in my life where I have needed to mentally take myself away from the situation I am in and find somewhere else I always think of the seaside. A cold, windswept place with no-one about, except for oystercatchers and their distinctive cry.
Stress is a funny thing, I find myself stressed about the small things and about the big things. It’s a vicious circle and a trap which once you fall into is difficult to escape from. A certain amount of stress is derived from worry about your children, your life; where you are going and what you are doing. For me, I am also stressed by the constant harassment by children to entertain or attend. I don’t think this happened to Victorian women. Children were sent out into the street to play. I find it hard to deal with.
Sometimes I wonder if I am living in the wrong time, the wrong place or living the wrong life. I am not unhappy, I just don’t have time to think. Space. Time to sit and think and listen to the rain is so rare that my brain goes into overload. I quite like this rain, I quite like being reflective. I wish I could do more of it.