I had a job interview on Wednesday, and for once, I left feeling pretty good. I did well in the interview, but, apparently, not quite well enough, because I didn't get the job. It's a disappointment, and quite a big one, but we'll keep soldiering on. So, as much as to keep myself from wallowing, and letting the Black Dog snap at my heels as anything else, I'm going to list some of the many ways I and my family are blessed.
We have a house that's big enough for all of us, the boiler works, the roof doesn't leak, we have running water, and comfortable furniture. We have a table, and plenty of food to put on it.
The kids have plenty of toys to make a mess with, we have DVDs to watch, and books to read. We have plenty of clothes.
We have each other, we have trips to the park, and snuggles on the sofa, and songs to sing, and things to imagine. We have giggles, and tickles, and love, and silliness. We have walks by the river, with boats going by.
We have dinner and togetherness when the kids are in bed, we have turns taken making dinner, and seats on the sofa, and hands resting gently on legs. And kisses.
I have my garden, dirt to dig in, salad to harvest, flowers to smell, stroke, and cut. Plans to make, and seeds to sow.
We have each other, we have family and friends we love and are loved by.
And we have a God who gave us it all.
Sunday, 20 July 2014
Thursday, 26 June 2014
Words Hurt.
'F****in' Bitch' said to me by my beautiful, blue-eyed, kind-hearted 3-year old boy when I wouldn't give him a cookie. I can't blame him, he's heard me say it to myself so many times he must think it's normal.
But it hurts. Words hurt, even if the person saying them is only 3. They hurt because at the back of your mind, they bring up a niggling doubt 'Is it true?' no matter how much we try to tell ourselves we disregard words, I think on some level, they always leave a mark.
It hurts because even now, my behaviour, my language, and my thought processes have a taken a little of the joy out of the world for this child of mine.
It hurts, because it's almost like the saying of it makes it true. Allowing a small child to hear me talk that way, is pretty darn bitchy.
But now, no matter how much I think it, I can't say it. No matter how much I believe it, I can't say it, because it's not about me any more.
And maybe, eventually, I'll be able to drown out the voice altogether, and say, and believe, that I'm ok, that I'm lovable, and that my husband and kids don't require perfection from me, just love.
But it hurts. Words hurt, even if the person saying them is only 3. They hurt because at the back of your mind, they bring up a niggling doubt 'Is it true?' no matter how much we try to tell ourselves we disregard words, I think on some level, they always leave a mark.
It hurts because even now, my behaviour, my language, and my thought processes have a taken a little of the joy out of the world for this child of mine.
It hurts, because it's almost like the saying of it makes it true. Allowing a small child to hear me talk that way, is pretty darn bitchy.
But now, no matter how much I think it, I can't say it. No matter how much I believe it, I can't say it, because it's not about me any more.
And maybe, eventually, I'll be able to drown out the voice altogether, and say, and believe, that I'm ok, that I'm lovable, and that my husband and kids don't require perfection from me, just love.
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