The writing bug

This year I have been overwhelmed by moving house. The planning and organising has dominated my life: packing and unpacking boxes, trying to keep the family fed and watered, being there 100% for my children to settle in. My life - my aims and goals - have taken second place to the family chaos.

Yesterday, for the first time in ages, I sat down and thought: I want to write my book. I want to get this back into my time schedule. I want to make this space for me, for expressing myself, for being creative.

So what happens as of 3.15pm tomorrow? School holidays. Am I really likely to get a moment's peace?

Now I'm planning: take the laptop on holiday. Work out how to blog from mobile (have to confess this is highly unlikely to work!) Consider booking children into holiday camps for entire 5 weeks. (Would Grannie like them?) Insist on a couple of hours a day, uninterrupted, simply to write.

Or ... accept the reality. Enjoy the children while they are still prepared to tolerate me. Plan for a solid routine when term starts in September.

Which do you think will win?

Questions you cannot answer (2)

"Mum, is lion's wee red because they eat blood?"

Sports Day

Son had Cub Sports Day last night. His pack was competing against the other two in the village (there would have been a fourth, but they didn't turn up). It turned out that his pack were defending their victory in 2008. The trophy is enormous.

I assume (oh, terrible mother that I am) that he will succeed in sport as much as his mother did (i.e. he won't).

But before I had a chance to test this out I was approached by Arkala to score! Doesn't she know I am an accountant?

Accountants don't do numbers. Nor do Maths graduates. I am an utter failure with numbers.

There wasn't even a calculator available.

At least I got a seat.

Of course, all the mental brain exercise didn't stop me screaming like mad for my son to win every race he took part in: Three-legged race (for 8 year olds) and Obstacle race (for 9 year olds). I suppose that aged 8.5 this is permissible.

And guess what?

He won!

The strains of domesticity

I've had a week of feeling rather down: overwhelmed, I suspect, by the move and the changes. I seem to have little direction and focus in life, nor any great achievements at the end of the day. Instead I have become a domestic goddess (or perhaps slave, given my lack of enjoyment and gross incompetence) and spend my days washing, ironing and cooking. It hardly seems the best use of all my qualifications and abilities.

(But the raspberry jam is very tasty.)

So I was delighted to receive an award from Maternal Tales - a lovely blog! How good does that make me feel? Thank you so much for bringing a ray of sunshine into my life!

In my turn, I shall pass it on to Working Mum on the Verge ('cos she's fun and witty and lives near me - oh, darn, you've already got one), Gareth Bentley (simply because everyone should take this link and look at his wonderful photos of Zambia), Hadriana (who inspired me into active blogging) and Ladybird World Mother ('cos I never fail to laugh at her writing).

Today I bravely faced a local writers group. This seemed particularly foolhardy, given my current fragile state, but I was blessed with a group low on criticism and high on encouragement. I'm not sure it will help improve my book, Singing in a foreign land, very much, but it will provide a welcome respite from the cleaning and tidying for a short while once a fortnight.

I had an interesting (and quiet) weekend at home whilst my son was at cub camp. I got a chance to spend some time in the garden and hope one day to know what the plants are that I attack. (They were definitely raspberries. I think it might be an olive tree behind them.) Unfortunately, my son was sick and had to come home early, which I have written about on my other blog here. Thankfully a day without food or excitement (except the Wimbledon Men's final) and he was right as rain for school today.

Tomorrow: I resolve to get back to the writing. Surely the ironing can wait just one more day?