Twice a month my day starts with the realisation that another child free day stretches ahead of me
For several months I had no idea who 'just me' was. I wandered around in a daze counting the hours until my house was once again filled with noise and arguments the omnipresent TV in the background.
I carried on setting the breakfast table for 3 and shouting up the stairs that they were missing the best part of the day by still being in bed only to be met with silence and a feeling of emptiness.
Then slowly, the old me started to make it's presence felt, like little bubbles of indigestion or the first flutterings of a tiny foetus deep inside, barely noticeable and so easily ignored or missed, but never the less STILL alive!
I thought I'd swallowed that person whole and digested her many years ago.
So, on these child free days, I follow my daily ritual of taking a cup of tea out into the garden if it's fine. I sit on the arbour in the early morning haze with the promise of yet another beautiful day ahead of me.
|my beach hut shed|
|other peoples rubbish is my treasure|