The sound of….

I just want it to stop raining for a day… or five!

I spent years living on a drought stricken farm, so it’s been beaten into me that you just don’t complain about the water falling from the sky… but… oh. my. god! I want a break… I feel like Noah. It just goes on… and on…. and not even a gentle patter. It’s a downpour. A never ending downpour. My drought born and raised kids are asking how the clouds can actually hold that much water. I’ve run out of answers…. The sound has become fingernails down a chalkboard. My shoulder blades have almost met with it all….

And the alarms around us keep being tripped. The rain? I hope so. I hope this is not ‘normal’ around here…. It’s not even a consistent alarm sound. It’s one of those irritating ones, designed to grab your attention. At least it’s morning this time – 3am two nights ago.

Needless to say, the kids are bickering… they go outside to play in the rain, but I’m over the washing – the laundry is downstairs… outside… through that torrent…. through the waterfalls created by the house and it’s overflowing gutters….

There is a mantra in my head: stop bleeping, stop thumping, stop screaming, stop tapping, stop talking, stop slamming, stop, stop, stop! I need silence. My sanity is almost completely shot.



Today is one of those days…. Actually, to be perfectly honest, it’s one of those weeks… One of those ones when I know I would have been a better aunt. One of those weeks when I just don’t have the patience…

Or perhaps, what I really need is an Alice. Someone to cook the dinner that they inevitably refuse to eat… or to take them to gymnastics or soccer… or to just get them in the damned car. Someone to convince them to clean their teeth and to go to bed and to just stay in bed. Someone to deal with the squabbling about who knows what this time – and really, who actually cares…

But I’d have made such an awesome aunt. It was always the plan… I’m still not sure how I came to have 4! Yes, yes… I know how it actually happened… and I even wanted more! But I had always planned to just be the really awesome aunt. The one who traipsed around the world, and would zip in every other month, take the kids on grand excursions and sleepovers and bring them incredible presents…. and then I’d traipse off again… That was the path I meant to take….

I want a week… or a moth? a year?…. but let’s start with a week… A week of not having to get out of bed if I don’t want to, not having to cook a single meal or clean up, no lunches to make, no pick ups or drop offs, no sport or play dates, no bedtimes, no teeth brushing, no getting dressed, no homework, no squabbles and no getting in that damned car…


I miss the days when I could tick the NO box on all the forms. Are you on any medications? No. Have you had any surgery? No. Do you have any pre-existing conditions? No. I’m still trying to convince myself I am not getting older. That my body is still 23. I’m sitting here just about coughing up a lung… but I’m convinced that it is a passing cold… ignoring that niggling reminder that this is becoming far more frequent in recent years… that this is significantly more than a common cold… I’m ignoring all of this but….

…on the other hand, I want to cry and complain and be looked after. I want chicken soup brought to me in bed. I want to be in bed. An insane part of me wants to end up in hospital so I can shout (silently because I have little voice left) – see! I told you I was sick! I’m not quite wallowing enough to actually want that on my tombstone… just an announcement on social media perhaps. An acknowledgement that I am not exaggerating. Oh… and a holiday. A little break from the world and a chance to sleep… Yes, I know the reality would be machines bleeping and nurses with a sadistic need to check your vitals every hour and to pull the curtains back at the crack of dawn… but I’m going with the fantasy here – the idyllic ‘time out’ in which I am mothered and can sleep….

I woke from dreams of you… still dark… still half asleep… I reached for you but… How do I explain the air thick with the scent and taste of you? The sense of you…. The threads of you woven through my mind and soul… The absolute knowledge you were here with me… and so I slept again… content in you…

But then I woke again… a different dream…. different sense… you pulling away from those threads… trying to break them… my soul shattering with each tug….

Awesome mum moment #367… Giving your last hair tie to the 8 year old who loses a new one every single day… so now your hair (which you cut quite short last week) is in your eyes and tickling your nose as you try to unpack…. desperately hoping that THIS box has the hidden stash of hair ties… or chocolate?

Of course it’s about you my dear! Please forgive me. I am so selfish. Occasionally, I slip up, and I try to talk about things that interest me… or things in my life… I am eternally sorry. Of course I am in the wrong. Yes, you do ask – you ask me every single day “How is your day?” and I reply “Fine. How was yours?” – and we talk about you of course… Every. Single. Day. And if I don’t respond within an hour, you are sending out search parties. The texts and phone calls become endless. Yes, again, so terribly selfish of me to not give you a detailed itinerary of my day.

But oh… if you were the only one like this in my life, it would be bearable. You ARE the only one who is quite so intense… but you are far from being the only one who does not care about my day… If I do not willingly share, who ever actually asks?