I wish I was a Gentle Person

Photo of my son. It looks like he will become one of the Gentle People.Image

This is a real thought in my head. When I was growing up, I knew a Gentle Person. Actually, my own father is pretty close to being one himself. You may know one of these Gentle People. The type that will take ten minutes to make a proper, perfect cup of tea, rather than the insipid cup of milky water you are likely to get given in my house (apologies family and friends).

The type that (don’t read this if you are squeamish) fold, nay, IRON their clothes so that they are flat and sit level in their drawers. I am ashamed to say that my folding ability is lacklustre, to say the least. I have more of a rolling action with the washing. Bundling things into piles, then looking on furiously as the piles topple over at the merest provocation. The drawers in our house are a barely contained maelstrom, I actually sometimes have to kick the drawers shut, and once with my fingers enclosed trying to force in some stray bit of shirt or pant leg.

These gentle people are truly a joy to watch, even if sometimes you want to hurry them up. You want to scribble over the borders they have lovingly given their assignments, the ruled, squared off, triple checked documents they will inevitably hand in for marking. Gentle People excelled at bubble writing in primary school, they also always have neat tidy haircuts, and never the double crown/cowlick I grew up trying to reign in.

Ah, I wish I was a Gentle Person, instead of the weird juxtaposition that I actually am. Slightly perfectionist with a healthy dash of complete feral.

Aaaaand, here is a completely irrelevant photo of the hill behind our house.

It’s lovely.ImageAs is my wee daughter (most of the time.) Excuse the photo, it was dusk.IMG_2905Although, I suspect, like me, she will not be a gentle person, this makes her no less lovely.

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This is my life now.

 

 

 

First of all, it is key to note that it’s Friday night. Also key, is that it is not an unusual Friday, sadly, the opposite. This is my view.ImageExcuse the image. Grainier than a desert. Don’t despair for me, somewhere under 2 billion items of clothing/bedding misc, there is a light at the end of the tunnel. Oh, no wait. There is no light, just a constant, never-ending stream of folding /washing /hanging out/ getting in /folding /washing /rewashing due to leaving the wet clothes in the machine too long…And the ultimate, PUTTING CLOTHES AWAY. Worst job ever!

And so it goes on.

Somedays, I would like to incinerate the entire lot and just wear one hemp sack, between the lot of us. But then I suck it up, and go and get the washing in so it can be folded… … …

Heavy stuff, I know!

ImageMy father and his partners linen cupboard. I can barely look at it without withering with envy. Everything these two touch turns to fold. (See what I did there? No? Meh, I’m delirious with over-folding).

Anyway, I’m off to put the washing away, along with the kids I can hear sneaking around the house behind me.

.m.

On becoming a parent and maintaining some semblance of myself

Look at this brittle husk of wood. This time ravaged, sun bleached, paint peeling, grip tape damaged, poor aged plank of wood.

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Like many other folk, I had a life before children. I used to do all sorts of stuff, sometimes really fun stuff. This ‘fun’ stuff is now logged as surplus to requirement most of the time. If I can fit it in around answering ten billion questions about frog reproduction, or dishes, vacuuming, work, washing, washing, WASHING, then kudos for me. If, said ‘fun’ is had, I never really have it guilt free, without wondering if I put the recycling out, or if the school bags are packed. 

(In case you didn’t notice the full extent of its degradation, here it is again.

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Heartbreaking isn’t it. Look at the rust!

I suspect I am coming across as sounding a little whiney. I don’t mean for this. I utterly adore my children, they are two wonderful and perfect creatures, and I am constantly surprised and humbled by them. 

Aside from this, I do crave my old self sometimes. The self that could just wander out of the house with a good friend and a surfboard and not return for two days. Or the self that could sit and think uninterrupted for half an hour, and then go on to read an entire chapter in a book.

Ahh well, we humans would be an entirely different creature with out change and evolution. Whether we would be better or worse who could say. All I can say right now, is that I am ready to reintroduce my past self to my present. Try be a little more proactive, and achievey – (not a word, but again, for the sake of the context.) Ready for a bit more interactivity and action. (Although, more than likely, I will regress and become even more of a hermit, lets hope not though…)

 

.m.