There’s a pacing going on tonight. He’s my cool, calm and collected farmer and I’m pacing. I ask him all the possible what if’s, the impossibles, the catastrophes and while I really should be more of a support, he ends up shushing me, reassuring me. We’ll be fine.

But, but on a fine day, the Atlantic makes herself known to us and now they’ve said Hurricane. Were there hurricanes before or is this a new thing now? What about the cows? Do we keep them in or put them out? Oh God.

They’ll be fine.

I’ll make bread. Will I make bread?

Do so.

And torches? Do we have batteries?

We do.

What about the sheds? We’ve lost shelter with the build?

Be grand.

I’d better bring in more supplies.

Do.

What about the vets? Should I run to the vets?

No need.

It might just be a big storm. I hope so. The last one was hard. It shook us a bit. There was a bit of damage. But. But.

Somehow, you just can’t worry being married to this man. You can’t have yourself one big auld worry.

It’ll just be grand.

Stay safe. x

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

They say the cup of tea you have in the labour ward after giving birth is the best you’ll ever have. Agreed. I’ve have three of the best cups of tea in my life with toast in labour wards on various occasions, my children’s birthdays.

But there is no doubt, that the cup of coffee you put to your lips when the children have all left for school, might just be the best you’ll ever have.

It’s taken me eight and a half years but I’m home alone.

Surrounded by dirty dishes in an almost eery silence not dissimilar to a war zone after the battle, I sit with my silent, powerful cup of coffee, in peace.

And the shoulds are out in the washing basket for that crazy hour that is 10am to 11am that has all radio broadcasters scrambling for housewive’s attention. Ah, we’re important now aren’t we? But the shoulds don’t weigh as heavily as when the children are at home. You should for example, at 10am and not before, get up and empty the dishwasher. Uh really? Think again. Little did I think that emptying the dishwasher would be a thing of joy. For it will be emptied without the children.

I will pull open the top drawer and take the cups out and place them into the cupboard without number two telling me he is hungry. I can if I want, rearrange said cups, without the children. I can find a place for that awkward bowl without number three telling me that number two just hit him. I can daydream whilst pulling the cutlery out of the thing (for what do you call it?) without having to make appropriate impressed sounds about number one’s latest building in Minecraft.

I can and will empty the dishwasher in peace. It only took eight and a half years (who’s counting) but I can now empty the dishwasher in peace after a solitary coffee.

And friends, there are many shoulds; I won’t list them. But for now, I’m enjoying this well earned moment’s peace.

It is a type rebirth in it’s self.

Over to you.  x