Nesting

I’ve been sorting stuff and tidying a corner of the bedroom. This enables me to get to the windows and de-mould them. If you sit on the end of the bed and look out of the window everything seems calm, ordered and lovely.

The rest of the house is tottering to hell in a handbasket. I’m not sure if feeling a bit wobbly means I’m more than usually sensitive to the mess or if feeling wobbly means I’m less on top of picking up and restoring order. Is it the chicken or the egg?

It’s the beginning of half term, Steve has the week booked off, I want to feel light airy and able to embrace a bit of family time wholeheartedly. It’s a bit like when you can’t get to sleep and you’re clock watching. Thinking “Christ! I have to get up in five hours, I’m going to be sooo tired – I HAVE to go to sleep…FECK – I have to get up in four hours – what is wrong with me? I REALLY have to get to sleep…BLAST – I have to get up in THREE damn hours…etc etc”

 The more you push for the feeling, the more elusive it seems. Right now happiness is the bluebird on the horizon. Which means you should just let it do its own bloody thing and get on with some hoovering.

I’m pretty sure that’s what the Dali Llama (I see him as a Llama in a  watered silk smoking jacket consulting a melting pocket watch) would say.

I’ve managed to finish two wobbly crocheted christmas baubles. (Thank you Lucy.) I’d like to embark upon something bigger. My friend Erika has offered up a pixie dress pattern, I might bridge the confidence gap with a tea cosy. I’m trying a ripple. We shall see. I’m also trying to knit a hat – the most basic kind. I really want a project to put on ravelry as my notebook seems very bare. Not seen any other scarfs…might be like joining a gardening forum and posting a photo of your Mr Cresshead eggshell. (Hell – I’m not knocking him, he’s a regular sight around here.)

Not blogging for a couple of days has left me feeling cross and unsettled. I feel unsatisfied and itchy. I can bear the state of the living room if the inside of my head is less messy and writing these posts helps a lot with that.

Right now Ida and I are engaged in a battle of wills about bedtime. She’s out-and-out winning. Of course. I distinctly remember this point with Zeph. The night you put them into their cot and close the door and they think – “why would I stay here? I don’t have to..” and out they pop. Both mine could climb out of their cot really early, in Zeph’s case before he could walk. But it took them both a while to hit this boundary being more about – I don’t have to do what you say than I can climb.

Zeph’s was short and sweet. We refer to it in this house as the night of a thousand returns. We were in a flat and I remember it clearly because we’d got a film, takeaway and bottle of wine in a hopeful, much-needed, look – we are still people and not just parents kind of night. The thud and then patter of hopeful feet and his small beaming face as he appeared in the doorway were pretty cute the first ten or so times – less so on the five hundredth. I kid you not. I insisted we stuck out the silent returns to the cot until he gave up. Which he did,  at about midnight, waaay after Steve had retired to bed. Still I got to say I told you so (I’m going to again – I TOLD YOU SO) as he didn’t do it again.

Ida has not been so straight forward. For a start we’ve got stairs now – makes the whole thing longer and in a strange way more complicated. After the first hour she just got wise, stayed very quiet and built herself a nest with all her bedding and cuddlies on the landing outside our bedroom door. We didn’t find her til we went up to bed and had been merrily downstairs congratulating ourselves on nipping it in the bud. Ha! This has set the pattern. She just waits until we go downstairs – gets her stuff – builds an alternative bed, wherever she pleases – and, basically, cocks a snook at us.

I’m at a loss – talking in bed with Steve I say we need to impose our will as Alphas. He points out we’re not wolves. I huff – instinctively I feel we need to, but this could because I spend long days as a toddler doormat. I mean – she’s going to sleep.

 Just last night it was in the bath.