Sometimes I find it hard to find the right balance when blogging about the mundane minutiae of life.
My friend Beth calls posts like this “full and thorough reporting” and she does a cracker job of using words to illustrate her life’s goings on. I’m not finding an easy way to tell the same old story.
I’ve sat staring at a blank page for a while now thinking about how the fact that I narrowly avoided pneumonia last week is only really important to me. It’s not amusing or inspiring, it’s just life.
That the fact the Big Sister missed her very first ever school camp this week because she caught influenza is only devastating to those of us who love Lil and know that’s she’s been looking forward to it for two whole years.
It’s hard to find a way to amuse or entertain with yesterday’s discovery that whomever built the farm house decided that waterproofing the bathrooms was an unnecessary expense. This is just another bit of useless information to anyone unaffected by our lack of bathroom/toilet/laundry until the damage is fixed.
My Nanna turned 94 on Saturday. She’s only recently relocated to the Sunshine Coast from Sydney, so it was wonderful to have the opportunity to celebrate with her.
The occasion meant an overnight visit from Baby David which was double cause for celebration.
Somewhere in last week’s haze of illness the colour plotters arrived for the cookbook and I approved them. Being taken for a ride by a US publisher wasn’t part of the grand plan, but the end result is a book that I’m exceedingly proud of (that is ultimately far superior offering to the one they marketed last year).
Truth be told, I know why I’m in this funk; why I can’t find the lighter side of the discovery of roof sheeting where waterproofing should be. David’s anniversary is on Saturday.
Six years since he went to work and didn’t come home because some dodgy company lied about the cargo the plane was loaded with. But today I’m too tired to be angry that David and Tomas died for the sake of smuggled bags of rice. I’m too tired to see the secret message in a well-timed rainbow or the cheeky magpie who comes strutting through the dining room like he owns the show. I’m tired of missing him. Sick and tired of it all.
It’s the same old story every September. The good news is, I know that this won’t last. Next week I’ll be back cracking jokes about the best ways to style a camp toilet in your living room and sharing Mum’s delicious satay chicken recipe. Until then I’ve learned it’s important that I give myself the space to be sad.
how are things at your place? tell me your same old September story…..3