Back again

Eight months have past since I spoke here last. Words dried up as motherhood grew. I've been unable to get to that creative, clear headed space I need to form any sentences. But I feel a shifting in the haze. As I walk through crisp leaves and watch Queenie running before me, my heart longs to create collections of words, I speak internally, a procession of paragraphs, a pouring out of my heart.
I always struggle to maintain this space, or to keep up with my diary throughout the summer. My heart's outside. My creativity spent on the growing of food, in the garden digging, planting, reaping, learning. We're at the beach, in the sea. Mind free from thoughts, just experiencing. The camera roll on my phone is constantly full. Summer's beautiful and fun and fast.
And then each year, autumn falls. The darkness creeps in on both sides. We hibernate more and the burly sea winds rattle our windows and the rain is thick and vigorous. And with it, a need to create emerges.
A short walk with the children is vital -whatever the weather- but those endless days outside are few. I am looked at to form activities. Art projects. Baking for little fingers. And my hands are twitchy to knit, draw, quilt or paint.
This week Queenie began nursery. A new stage in our lives. More about that for another time, but as I look on at her growing independence, a little more headspace returns to me. 

Now, I will not make any promises. I won't even set goals. I shall let my heart guide my head and see what words befall me. When I can, the ink will soak paper, fingers tap keys, and if it feels right, here I will share. It's exciting but I am not putting too much weight on it. Life is full and I don't want this to become a burden as it has on the past, but as the pleasure it feels now. 

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.

Words

Two photographs. One posted on instagram, the other not. Together they tell a story (she tried to pull up a young tree and when asked to stop gave me this look).

Now I'm back on Instagram the temptation to stop posting on here has returned. But I think words are important and I like sharing in this space. A series of photographs can (sometimes) have more say than a single square snap, and I want to continue pouring out my heart in this journal style. Words scrawled in my little moleskin are all very well, but sometimes it's good to share honest thoughts, to inspire, encourage or just the act of pushing myself to be a little braver and posting something true can help to grow us.

Carrot and raisin

I baked this beautiful soda bread last week and it was so flipping delicious. It didn't last long.

We are unpacked. There's still have a few more boxes of donations to drop off at the charity shops, a wardrobe to finish building and a fair few shelves to put up, but this house is feeling like ours.

Yesterday I turned 25. I walked the short walk into town with Jarvis in the morning, and looking out across the water, thought how happy and grateful I was to be spending it in this town. We're already home in a way we never felt in Newquay. We know God's done a lot of work in us while we have waited, but it sure is wonderful to be where our heart is. Liam and I went out for dinner just the two of us -the second time in a week!- and it was blissful to walk the cobbled streets, hand in hand, giddy like the teenagers we were when we first fell for each other.

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. 

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.

Josh and India

Setting up the wedding reception and picking the flowers

 The few pictures I remembered to take during my sisters wedding day.

Oh blimey. We made it through the long, busy-yet-beautiful summer and hit hard into autumn. This cooler season has come at a perfect time. Our bodies and brains are exhausted and we are crashing into hibernation mode, surrendering to our aching bones. I've spent a few days rejigging bedrooms to be more comfortable and spacious, as these are the spaces we tend to all be in on a chilled afternoon at home. All snuggled into our bed with piles of books, or building blanket forts with Queenie in her room, before collapsing underneath them with stickers, pens and paper.
Thick socks and multiple layers are a must as well as the hearty meals cooking on the stove. Root vegetables and pulses are soaked in rich spices and piled high on brown rice. Food is voluptuous and helpings are generous. Every last morsel soaked up with bread, we are like wild things, famished. But why so weary, why so utterly spent?

I'm not completely sure. I know the change of any season takes it's toll, and perhaps that from summer to autumn the worst of all. Our summer months were hectic and flew by like a blink, then September was fit to burst. We celebrated three of the best couples coming together in love, in Saturday after Saturday after Saturday. The weddings were all so unique and special. The second was my sister India marrying one of our closest friends, Josh. Liam was best man and Queenie and I bridesmaids. It was an incredible wedding that we'd all worked so hard for and it was absolutely perfect. We ate fantastic food and we danced to a band of old boys playing jazz until the bride and groom waved goodbye and drove away to the hazy world of marital bliss. Liam and I looked upon the love birds and wept with genuine love, happiness and excitement.

And the next day we crashed and wept again with exhaustion. 

that darn 52 project

I got to a point where I had to set a reminder on my phone every Sunday, to do the 52 project blog post. Then I set it on snooze, over and over. It was a weight and I felt as though all I did on the blog was try and catch up.
I enjoyed the outcome of the first year, having a beautiful book with 52 photos of Queenie printed at Artifact Uprising. But there was no reason that we can't continue that without boring you all to death with pictures of my babies.

And so with that, I decided to call it a day, and boy, it feels good! So I am back, sans 52!

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!!!

Letting go

Crumble for dinner and weeping wild flowers

So, I'm adjusting to being a mother of two. Somedays better than others. Yesterday not so good. Liam's back to work and it's always worse when he's on late shifts, which I hate.

I went with it yesterday afternoon, let go of what I think I am supposed to be as a mum. We sat in bed and watched Mary Poppins then had apple crumble for dinner. Some days it's ok to go for the easy option. We had lots of cuddles and she lay her head on my knee while I fed Jarvis for the kazillionth time that day. I stroked her hair and she kissed her brother with more patience than I can muster at the moment. This morning as I look back on my day, I pray for more of that, for patience, and for joy, love and kindness. 

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.

Weather

A perfect afternoon making Queenie a dress in the sunshine. 

The weather is cruelly indecisive at the moment. Through the last nine months I've noticed it has effected me more than ever before. I wonder whether it has it really? Or have I never been as attentive to my own behaviour as I am now. Is that age, or the wisdom that comes with it that's done this? Or more time spent with myself, in the quiet night unable to sleep, with the beating of my pregnant heart echoing in my ears? I certainly have slower and quieter  days.

Yesterday I woke early to the sun rising. I'd had a restless night but seeing a warm glow peek through our curtains gave me positivity. In my head I absent mindlessly flicked through a bundle of things I could accomplish throughout the day. By the time Liam and Queenie had woken, the clouds had begun to form and I actually felt quite tired, and decided maybe just working through the washing, then resting while reading with Queenie would be more realistic. Liam made porridge before leaving for work. I brought Queenie downstairs and filled her a bowl, topped with raisins and cranberrys. I rinsed yesterday's dye stuff* then hung it on the line before helping myself to porridge. As we ate, the sky darkened. I fetched the fabric inside as it started spitting, regretting putting such a large wash in the machine.

We spent the morning in bed drawing, watching the rain throw itself against the window, and by midday I started to cry. 

Sunlight gave me hope, despite my tiredness I believed it had the potential to be a great day. Once the rain had soaked the ground and the grey had coated every slither of blue, I felt hopeless. The colourless cloud had bled into my emotions and I cried out for the end of the day. 

The cold steals it's way into every crack in our house, enveloping each room, till we are sat in bed with hot water bottles, boxes of pencils and each other to stay warm. Every so often I pull on my slippers and a jumper, rushing through the drafts to grab some food from the kitchen, never bothering to wash up the knife I used to spread marmalade on our toast, or leaving the humous and cucumber out on the side. Slowly the surfaces become messy and by the time late afternoon has arrived I'm so confused at where this mess has sprung from. Dinner is harder to prepare in a cold cluttered kitchen and any inspiration for heathy, yummy food is hard to come by. Regretfully this too often becomes the familiar scene in our house if Liam's working a long day shift. 

Beginning to see myself in this way, knowing what the weather does so dramatically to my mood should help me to predict how I should feel that day, should give me a chance to prepare myself for blue days. But it doesn't. I am always so optimistic first thing and I'm fooled into the belief of spring being a season of sunshine, so often to be disappointed and knocked back by the first hurdle. Why on a day planned on staying inside, should what is happening outside so effect me? Perhaps because it creeps it's negativity in with the cold? Or because we were created by God from the dust, and our birthplace, his creation still resonates through us? Is that overly romantic and really it's all down to low vitamin D levels and reading too many novels? These questions are irrelevant. The fact is I am changed by the colours in the sky, the shapes the light throws me through our windows. 

Each night when I pray with Queenie before bed, she lays her head on my shoulder and chatters to God while I do. My prayers of thanks lead to requests for the family. Among them I used to ask for energy, now I plead for a day of sunshine and for the earth to warm a little.


* Spent Sunday doing some natural dyeing with onion skins, more on that soon!