Sunday evening thoughts

I'm pretending I've sat calmly watching the evening sun warm my jars of spices, until the sky turned gold and then black. I imagine I pulled on thick socks as the air cooled. I would have embraced the stillness and quiet, sipping a cup of something warm and thinking how nice it was to listen to the sounds of the world outside.

But rather I stood in the middle of the kids room, rocking and singing, over an over. He's more unsettled than I've ever seen him, 'new teeth' I wonder. I stop a few times for him to have one more feed, sat at the end of Queenie's bed. She stirs and asks me to stroke her tummy. I oblige, balancing him on my knee. I whisper a love song to the pair of them. I'm exhausted right down to my very core, and it dull aches every part of me. 

At one point of my evening, while giving Jarvis some teething pearls and sips of water, I looked out our bedroom window and to the river, silver in the last seconds of daylight. That moment was enough beauty to have me grinning, grateful to God for showing me that sight. It energised me to keep going through the heartache of bedtimes alone.


I enjoyed reading sunshine & roses this morning.

Reading

Learning to share is an ongoing process.

Once a week we walk to the library and get a bundle of new books, storys for Queenie, a few board ones for Jarvis and I like to pick out a cookery or gardening book to flick through during a quiet tea break.

In the mornings, we pull open the blind and read in bed. Jarvis pours over board books while I just snooze. Queenie joins us at some point with sleepy eyes and an armful of library books, her hair fluffy. I made a decision that instead of turning on my phone or just slobbing out, I would use this time to get back into reading too. And oh my, it's blissful. 

Some nights I fall asleep reading, then next morning try and find at which part I'd slipped away. I am quickly working through People Of The Book, a beautiful story I started last summer then found it hard to keep reading once the holiday was over. It feels wonderfully indulgent to lie in a crisp bed, losing myself in a story. These small pleasures can start a day right.

Snippets of our new house

One month of calling this house our home.

Surrounding ourself with family and memories. Tiny trinkets gathered over the last six years are given little spaces to dwell.

Friday's pot of tea

I'm on the top step on our stairs and have set up a little painting area in the corridor. We've had the day out and the children are playing happily in Queenie's bedroom with trains. We haven't got a stairgate built in yet so I'm guarding the stairs from jarvis and yet giving them their own space to play. If I stretch my neck up I can see the river, the boats all beautifully waiting for their next adventure. The sun is golden and brightly glowing for its last hour before slipping behind the hill. I've got a small bowl of the lentil rice I made last night that I'm slowly working through and a cup of lemon tea. Poured from the most perfect little teapot I purchased with the last of some money I was given for my birthday. 
I'm buzzing to create after an eventful, inspiring day and so I've pulled out my sketch book and a rather beaten up set of watercolours. I have just dipped my paintbrush into the dregs of tea. Every time! 

The teapot was purchased at my new favourite shop. A wee space in a cobbled courtyard called Folklore. I've been dying to go in since we've moved but it hasn't been open. After sending an email we walked over today. Hannah, who runs it is kind and interesting and interested. She is real talented and after pouring over her beautiful ceramics, falling in love with each piece. I eventually chose this teapot. We carefully carry it home. Jarvis sleeps and Queenie chatters about her plans for a birthday party. Dark chocolate cake, doggies, green flowers and oh dear: pink. And she wants her daddy to be there. She asks for one of Hannah's 'white cups' as a present, beautiful porcelain dreams. Or maybe a bike like her new friend from next door has. 
We make it to our road and she is finished. It's too cold and she can't take another step. I bribe her with tea and one piece of my birthday chocolate. With screams of delight she runs home!  
We pop on the kettle and unwrap the teapot. With a small square of dark chocolate we sip our tea and it's the best cup ever. I pour my girl another tiny cup from the pot and we sit quietly, admiring it and mmmming at our sweet treat. 
Now the sun is almost gone, Queenie's oggling the sunset beside me and I'm going to finish my painting before a simple dinner just the three of us. 



(An afterthought/ note: I'm aware I may be a little sickeningly happy these last few posts. God is good and after an uphill struggle we arrived and stood looking out at a beautiful view with the sun on our backs. But to make you feel a little better, moments after I wrote this, we had little fire while cooking, so the kitchen stinks of burnt plastic and the cupboards are blackened. Jarvis is up every hour or more overnight. We are so, so tired. And I'm off instagram for lent, I hate to admit it but I'm so missing it! I aim to share honestly, including the good and the bad. Those bad things are minor right now but its ever changing.)

The move

This sweet trio wave us off as we leave to collect the keys of the new home, car laden with house plants / Plants in, keys collected, and admiring the wooden floors / A quiet moment after the chaotic move.

Thoughts on a move from a journal page, reread a week later:

I lie in bed tucked up beside me is a sleeping boy, lips pouted, eyes flickering with dreams. As I watch him, I am happy. 
We are here. After four days of tiresome, unrelenting hard work, we are in our new home in Falmouth. I can hear Queenie's feet pattering up and down the stairs outside as she plays with her grandma. Liam left for work not long after the sun came up, I'd been downstairs to wave him off on his first day, then crept back up with toasted hot crust bun and orange juice. 

He stirs a little, rolling over in the big bed. I'm struck by his peacefulness, the calm After the storm.

The move was difficult. I had a week of chronic toothache resulting in having my wisdom tooth pulled out on Monday. The children still weren't completely well and the confusion of moving house wobbled them both back into sickness. Queenie resented having to return to the old house to clean up, so thrilled that we have moved to beautiful Fal.
Together we keep running to the window to see the river and boats out the window, as if checking we didn't imagine the glorious view.
While chattering away to my mum she says "when it's dark and the moons out, and we look out the window. The boats have lights on them." I think how her speech has improved and how she is going to grow in this new home. 

Jarvis is awake now, he clumsily crawls over to me for a kiss and I have to be quick before he bites my lip. The day had begun and there is so much to do. 

A change

11 . 2 . 15

This morning.
We are incredibly languid for the state we are in. Hardly packed and moving in just over a week. The cold makes us lie in late, pouring over books and cuddling. We procrastinate,  holding no confidence in ourselves, how are we ever going to do it, get everything ready in time to move?

I eventually crawl out of bed and pull on as many clothes as I can bear. While Liam reads the babies stories, I decide to tackle the unusual paraphernalia found on our bedroom windowsill. Football trophies, wooden pots of jewellery I detest but can't bear to part with JUST incase Queenie wants them to adorn future costumes. Then perched among the dusty books, I find this old friend. A bird I most likely illegally acquired while in college, he's travelled with us from house to house. It breaks my heart to say he won't join us on our move onto the next one. His eyes have shrivelled, his beaks yellowed, foot broken, the tail is hanging on by a thread, and his feathers are laying about the windowsill. He is irrefutably disgusting, and Liam has decided its time for goodbye. Bitterly, I agree.

When we do finally get round to packing, the children unpack as we turn our backs. We stop far too often for coffee and food breaks. We run out of boxes and realise the packing tape has also gone. We really are the worst at moving house. As we 'work', my thoughts go back to this funny old bird, I persuade myself to delve him out of the rubbish, I could do this or that to restore him, or work this and he would remain the current state, no longer slipping into disrepair (ok, lets face it, he's reached that, but my mind won't stop battling).

A little later into the afternoon, as if wound up by little keys slotting into gaps in our spines, we have a flurry of energy, of activity, finally it feels like we are making progress. We wrap and pack, tidy and let go, boxes pile up in the hallway. The rooms feel bare. Queenie's a caged animal, turned stir crazy among cardboard, her singing echoes in the empty spaces we have previously called home. Jarvis sleeps unbelievably long into the early evening and I begin to cook soup, distracted with more purging I could do to unused, dusty cooking items.

Chanted loudly in our every being is a new phrase, 'We can do it.'

January

Snippets of the year so far: A white shelf, reflecting a brief snowfall this week / He cheers me up while I fold endless washing / Capturing this home before we begin packing / Little boxes packed with her favourite things

It's early January
We write promises, plans and dreams, talk about our hopes for the following year. Little things, big things, things that are scary and a few treats for good measure.

Within a few weeks our biggest came to fruition. God planted the beautiful town of Falmouth as a seed in our hearts years ago, before our marriage had begun. He's been watering it, the love for that place growing, and with it so had we. The wait has been tough, our hearts have ached and we have wept but we see now, as always Gods timing was perfect. And finally, our time is now. With a big sigh of relief we smile, and feel as if we are going home. In just over two weeks we will be loading up cars and a van with boxes, bags, (and at this rate) pillow cases stuffed with our possessions to embark on the next adventure our little family will share.
Last month flew by and then the first six days of this have also. Its been exhausting and tough and all we've wanted to do is take a long trip to a warmer place! But to have this on our horizon is a joy, a weight is lifted from our shoulders, a hope at the end of the exhuastion of day to day jobs and the cold weather and everything else that leaves us feeling sour and blue at this time of year. 


This post on the ever inspiring blog, the Ma Books hit me and encouraged me at a day I couldn't have needed it more.

Memories

My family home is for sale. I lived here from the age of ten to nineteen. When we moved in it was a boring guesthouse. Over the years it's been worked on and turned into a beautiful place with a big heart. My mum is a fantastic home maker. I've been capturing some farewell snaps each time I'm there. I want to be able to show them to Jarvis and Queenie, to tell her about when she used to insist on people walking up and down the stairs with her, all three floors of them. About when we were younger and used to sit on the high fence at the back and call out to people walking by. About the way I decorated my room as a teenager, walls caked in paintings, torn-out editorials and Polaroids, a self indulgent shrine to my emotions and crushes. About that first summer we lived there and we'd sunbath on the little roof at the back of the house, giving each other henna tattoos and braiding our hair with beads.
This house has watched each of us grow from girls to women. The walls creak with secrets overheard. It holds many stories. First loves, broken hearts, fits of giggles, tears and rage. 14 Christmas' have passed, 98 birthdays, hundreds of bedroom swaps and sister sleepovers. Too many all-nighters before art deadlines (this house has seen some incredible patience and generosity from my parents!). One wedding, maybe two*. So.much.toast.. For breakfast, lunch and dinner, piles of it made for friends after school, hoards churned out after a night out, dripping with butter. The kitchen is the focal point of the home, a beautiful space with an AGA at the centre. Used for baking, roasting, toasting, drying, sitting, lingering. I grew accustomed to it's quirky ways and found adjusting to a conventional oven such a challenge!

One day I hope we can own an AGA for our family home. That I can create a space that our children love as much as I do this one. That holds good memories and grows with us, a home with a soul.

*India's getting married in September!!!

Introducing

Meet our son, 
Jarvis Oak Brannigan.
Born at home, into water, at 12.10pm on the 11th of April. A hefty 8lb 15oz miracle boy, with webbed toes and a true knot in his umbilical cord.

We are all madly in love. 

The promise of new life.

Queenie's flowers form a beautiful shape / Always on the look out for pretty blossoms / My resting spot

It's still cold but nature is singing. The little girl and I can't resist, and have a need to bring it indoors.

My birthday was a few weeks ago and every receptacle was brimming with gifted flowers. She requested our own pickings were bottled up and put in her bedroom. One morning I entered to collect her and was astounded by the power of their scent. Such a dreamy floral aroma encased her sleeping body. A mix of daisies, anemones, forget me nots and buttercups beside her bed, pink hyacinths in her window. We grew these from bulbs in a bowl on the dining table, each day seeing their growth. When the flowers grew too heavy for their stalks and began to tumble, we cut them off and in a jar they were gathered. She was teething and soppy, so the blooms were gifted and gratefully received by little hands that insisted they carried them all the way to her room.

While new life is evident outside, as is the promise of it in our home. A few hours of strong contractions one morning finally spurred us into working through our to do list. There were so many jobs we'd been putting off for months and within a few hours we had done everything.
Sweet baby clothes are clean and folded. A corner of our room is set up with a Moses basket and freshly laundered blankets are piled beneath it. Everything needed for the water birth is ready in our living room, Liam had a practise run and is so excited.

Now it's the wait. I'm resting to preserve energy for labour and life with a new babe. Right now I feel real patient and there's no sense of urgency which I'm grateful for. Queenie is quite unsettled, I think she's sensed something is coming so we are trying to comfort her an prepare her for a big change, but how can one ever really do that for a firstborn? Siblings is an unknown concept for our two year old. I'm sure she will take it all in her stride, the way she always has, and we will find new reasons to be proud of our little Queenie Valentine.

Rest.

Mornings. Quiet moments and glow of the new sun. 

This pregnancy has been much the same as the last, though my life has changed so that it has felt quite different. The obvious is rest, or lack of it. Having a small one running around all day does mean that a chance to listen to your body isn't always that easy. I went a while trying to stick to "sleep when they sleep" as we are all told, foolishly I was tempted too often into using that time for myself. Now I seem to be a little too late. Over the last two months, Queenie's decided a daytime nap is a nuisance and the night has shrunk at both ends, with later nights and earlier mornings. Im exhausted! Admittedly she's never been a natural sleeper. We were in awe of friends babies who went down quietly at 6, then slept through for up to 15 hours! Then blessed them with two sleeps in the day! We have had numerous days where attempting one nap is futile! (This very moment in the room above me comes banging, chattering and singing. Anything but sleeping!)

By her first birthday we stopped comparing and accepted Queenie just doesn't need sleep in the same way others may. It has its benefits. She comes along to parties and dinners with friends, art events over in Falmouth, and is able to keep going deep into the night, being more sociable and energetic than the both of us.

The second trimester. This is the easiest part, we regain our energy for a few months and the sickness is a distant memory. The bump isn't heavy so there aren't too many aches and pains. It's a time for organisation and ticking off jobs before the hibernation months that come with a new baby in the family. So far I haven't felt that surge of energy or even a little flutter of it. December was full and I pushed myself, and have regretted it since. The problem with Queenie sleeping so little is I've not had the chance to rest and shake this illness. I'll have a good day, think finally I'm better, then plummet the next, feeling as rotten as ever.

These are a few things I've found help me.
Waking up early. It always seems counter productive to cut sleep. But just a little time to myself before the house awakens is a blessing. I make a tea, a porridge, then read or do a little yoga. I feel much better to have a head start before the onslaught of daytime hits me.

Water. I drink a big glass when I wake and then try to drink lots throughout the day, especially if I feel myself sinking.

Fresh fruit smoothies. This is our go-to easy energy smoothie. Banana, basil and honey (I sometimes add ginger or turmeric for a pick-me-up when I'm not feeling to well, or spinach if my blood count's a little low). The basil is great for sorting out digestion, so after a few days of having one each morning I feel less groggy.

Early night. Dur. And I'm really not good at this, especially when Liam's working a late shift. I love the still, quiet house. It consumes me for hours, then Liam comes in the door and I'm broken from the spell and realising the time, tiredness suddenly grips me.

A few other things along the way have helped me out, but nothing as much as the family around me. Liam, My parents and sisters. And for the last few days Liam's lovely mummy has been staying and helping out (as well as painting all of the rooms downstairs!) which has been an incredible blessing.

Hoarding nature

Our bountiful harvest of the post-storm shores / Little hands gathering bits and pieces that catch her eye / A mobile lovingly made for the growing baby.

For those of you living in the uk, it's been pretty difficult to miss the news about the grim weather in the south of England so far this year. There were floods, strong winds, thunder storms and real high tides. Cornwall has been hit bad especially by the sea and wind. In Newquay we've seen so much destruction and I'm reminded of the power that nature has. 

The landscape of our town has changed. We are surrounded by beaches in most directions so the broken cliffs have effected us. Walls have been torn down by the sea, huge pieces of cliff flung about like beach balls. A couple evenings we went down to the shore and watched the waves crashing into familiar spots, reshaping the coastline.
A few weeks have past now and we seemed to have seen the back of these storms. I always remember a friend's grandfather said that after valentines day, you begin to see the shift of the season. The long dark winter slowly gives way to new life and a warm spring bubbles up. The sun lingers a little longer each day until we find ourselves discussing together how remarkably light it is so late in the evening. And every year we marvel at the truth of this statement. Its the way seasons always happen, but somehow each change feels new. This year, on the day following Valentines the sun came out. I made the most of it and walked to my parents, noting to Queenie with childish excitement every sign of spring. Tiny purple crocus bursting up among thick dirty weeds. Snowdrops showing their pretty white heads. Everywhere we saw the long stems of daffs, I gabbled about how in days we will be surrounded by a sea of yellow flowers. She was too distracted by singing birds to hear my words. She told me the sky is blue and we walked on, each step absorbing more sunshine and feeling stronger. She drifted off to sleep and I fought through the wind to sit up on a cliff, breathlessly watching out at the ocean. Deep blue as far as the eye could see.

The next day my mama took Queenie out and left dad and I making marmalade. We were slow, rereading the recipe countless times so it was a long ordeal. The oranges were left simmering in the AGA and we wandered down to the beach. Where fine sand had always been, rocks and stones piled high. Between these we found treasures. I filled my coat with the softest sea glass and chunks of blue and white pottery. Big shells and smooth stones slipped in amongst them.I've felt the shore calling since and eventually I succumb to the sirens call. Liam's sister stayed with us for a while and each day we visited a different beach. Queenie found a hollow shell and in the streams and pools filled it with water like a small cup. I watched her, proud of her little ways and in awe of her growth. Upon returning home every pocket and bag crevice was emptied. Our little haul held flat stones for painting and pretty bits were tipped into a bowl. One morning we found thousands of cockle shells washed up on Polyjoke beach. Those with sea-made holes for making filled Liam's bag, amongst them lay a handful of dull stones and bits of dry seaweed, Queenie's treasures. Later we threaded the shells together and hung them from driftwood we'd gathered the day before. I've always been this way, drawn to what the sea throws up and I'm a hoarder of natures gifts. Last week I discovered the wonderful blog This Brown Wren. I love what she makes with her daughter, beautiful decorations crafted with their foraged collections. Bringing the seasons inside. It's the way I've always wanted to parent, the way my childhood was. I'm so glad to be reaching that stage now. I clung onto this dream for years and now it is here, I'm living it with my Queenie Valentine.