Categories
Writing

Super Mum

She hides in the bathroom and cries.

She places her palms over her ears and breathes into her belly. ‘Don’t wish it away. Such a precious age,’ she’s heard it a million times. She smiles politely. Tells them, silently, they’ve forgotten. Blocked out the bad times, remembered only the good.

She wants to say to them that every coin has two sides; every story, multiple themes running at once. And love. Even the love of a parent has two sides, always. When it’s easy, and when it’s hard.

Bathroom days are hard.

She counts the hairs stuck to the bathroom tiles. She won’t have time to pick them up, piece by scraggily piece. Too busy being an excellent mother, not wishing too loud for peace and quiet to find her once again.

She belongs in the bathroom.

They belong in fresh-white homes, lovingly tending to their overgrown toenails.

Photo by Ketut Subiyanto on Pexels.com

Categories
Life

Deeply

I think about her, sometimes, when my heart turns to sun. Nan. Her heart used to shine like that, too, which is why I can’t help but think of her when I feel intense love radiating from my own chest. As an off shoot of the kind of love she gave to me (and, let’s face it, probably genetics) I am who I am. And I love, as deeply as I love.

We fluff our ways through life, bothering about the silliest of things: when really we should hold the beauty, longer. Feel the love of our loved ones, longer. Express our love to others, without fear: give them the beautiful gift of sun that Nan gave to me.

I often think of Nan, and when I do I wonder why I loved her so deeply, why I still feel her today just as beautifully as I did when she was here. I loved her because she loved me. I loved her because there was never a question when I felt her energy how much it meant to her that I was alive. What a gift to be given by someone. What a gift: to know that you have touched their life, that you have meant something to their moments.

I shine when I look at my children with the same kind of love my Nan did when she looked at me, and I can only hope the depth of that love sinks into them as deeply as it has me.

I’m waffling a bit today, and that’s okay. I’m in my love place. I’m in my world of grateful and I intend to make the most of it and spread Nan’s sunshine, while I’m here.

She would have loved that.

She would have loved that I’ve given her sweet sunshine to you.

Photo by Edu Carvalho on Pexels.com
Categories
Life

Awake

Sweet bloggy friends. ☺️

How are you all? Well, I hope, and if not: that’s okay, too, because even rain is beautiful when you look at it a certain way.

I’m so sleepy but I wanted to say hello. I’ve been a little disconnected from here of late, and though most of you may not have noticed, it’s been weighing on my mind. There are some busy, happy reasons for my disconnection, which I’ll share over the coming months, but for now I’ll just say this:

I’m here when I am, and I’m not when I’m not. (Those of you who’ve been with me a while will know I’m a bit like the wind. Full on one day, not so much the next. This is a bit of a quiet season, I think. I hope that’s okay with you all. xx)

Anyway, I’m about to fall aslee…

Sorry, where was I? Oh, that’s right, awake. Good. Okay, good, I’m awake. But not for long so I’ll say goodnight.

Until we meet again. (Which may be soon, or not for a while, says the wind.)

xx Brooke

Categories
Poetry

A Moment

There it was, quietly mine.

A moment of the greatest love: a Mother’s love.

My love.

For them.

And I know they tire me senseless,

and I know I wish them away

(too often for my heart to understand)

but they are the precious hands

I long to hold

a lifetime.

Those two small ones.

I choose their little arms, forever.

Categories
Life

Sitting Up Here

Maybe I’m sitting in a tree, somewhere, looking down at it all. I’m sure my feet are dangling, and I’m probably whistling in harmony with the wind through the branches.

What do I see when I look down at my life? I see myself sitting quietly at a little white desk, typing away, visualising a peaceful version of myself up there.

Peaceful me would look down at the small children running circles around the house, see me wincing at the too many seconds of loud for comfort and she’d send a little caring my way. An invisible hug, maybe. Whatever I might need to soothe me.

She’d also look down and see me laughing to the point of holding my belly. The six-year-old. The most HILARIOUS trick anyone has ever played on me. He’s managed to pull it off, and I highly doubt he’ll be able to top such brilliance in both wit and execution again, but I’ll remain on guard, just in case. Peaceful me would know that’s the first time I’ve laughed like that in a long, long time.Then she’d send a great big smile my way.

Peaceful me would see the good and bad of it and whisper to me: it’s all good.

It’s all good.

Photo by Artem Beliaikin on Pexels.com
Categories
Life

Grateful.Tired.

Life is busy and overwhelming at the moment. I’m better for the tools I’ve found to bring me back to softness (walking, gratefulness, meditation) but it’s a mammoth slog I’ve been through.

And a mammoth slog that lay ahead.

My husband and I are merging two houses into one. House work must be done. Small children must be both survived and parented beautifully, given the monstrously high standards I set for myself.

And I need to write, or create (more than I have been) or I might die. No one is dramatic here. No one at all.

I’ve never been through a period of life that has been so truly exhausting, from all angles, for so long. A million different balls hover in the air around me and I do not know which one to reach for in order to catch it and bring it down.

Not only that, but my spirit is quite literally breaking free from my body, shouting (well, more buzzing and glowing, really) to be let out, to be set free. From something. From everything. The energy that moves through my body so often brings such beauty to my life, but I can also hear it asking to be apart of something more. I wish I had the time, clarity, and grit to give it what it is asking of me.

I’m grateful.

I’m tired.

And it’s tough. And it’s oddly beautiful.

Photo by Kristina Polianskaia on Pexels.com
Categories
Poetry

Parents

To the parents.

Sometimes it is hard.

It is.

It just is.

Always remember the storms do pass.

Always remember the softness

and the sweetness,

the rose beyond the grey.

And we will grow them

perfectly

horribly

beautifully.

And all will be as it should.

All will be as it should.

I see you.

Photo by Josh Willink on Pexels.com
Categories
Life

Quite Frankly

What is love, you might wish to know.

Love,

quite frankly,

is you.

Photo by Josh Willink on Pexels.com
Categories
Life

Explore

I’m sitting at a table with one kid beside me, and another kid beside the kid beside me. My kids. Precious and two (although given they are six and three years old— it sometimes feels as though there are ten of them. Bless.) 🙂

We’ve just watched the most beautiful, beautiful show thanks to the wonderful program my little boy’s school is remotely running for school. It’s a fish thing. A deep blue sea thing, to be exact, and this week we are learning all about the beauty and majesty of the deep blue sea. I say we are learning because it seems there is quite a lot I don’t know about the ocean. For example, I’ve only just learned that, not only is coral alive, it also gives birth to real-life coral babies! Mind blown.

It just goes to show how sound asleep I’ve been for the majority of my life, sticking to the lanes I already know. The beautiful news is: there is a brighter shine to my perspective now that I’ve opened my eyes. The world seems magical and alive, again, more than ever before.

There is a small problem. There are so many wondrous, exciting, beautiful pathways to explore, and yet there is the lingering truth that finding time (and energy) to explore them remains a challenge. I’m part parent, part human with desires of my own. I’m not sure I’ll ever find the balance it takes to successfully master both at the same time, but I’ll never stop trying.

Let the life within me swell from the excitement of possibility, and let these sweet babes of mine feed off the shine in their hopeful Mum’s eye.

Life is beautiful, and mine I will use to explore as I will.

macro photography of white coral
Photo by Egor Kamelev on Pexels.com

Categories
Poetry

Home

Home is in this house.

The quiet of my love for them.

The dreams of my essence, racing into a fresh new world.

Home, you are my refuge.

Family, you are my home.