Washing Away

 Went down to Takapuna Beach today. Late in the afternoon, feeling hot and sticky and headachy, and exhausted and just generally Over-It-All.  Mr 13 was welded to his computer and couldn't be persuaded to join me. So I was flying solo.

It's just a 10 minute drive.... to a different world.

Cool sea-breezes, sand - gilded by the late afternoon sun, the gentle shhhh of the wavelets breaking on the shore.

I dumped my swim bag and shoes on the shore and went straight in.  

There's the first shock of the cool water against my skin followed by the silky smoothness of the sea-water, as you float amidst the waves. Floating feet first, riding the waves as they pushed me shore-wards on the incoming tide. Looking at the world through sun-spangled prisms of water drops on my glasses where I'd misjudged the breaking wave.

I felt the sea washing away the petty worries of the day: loneliness, inadequacy, failure, disappointment - all loosened their grip, washed away by the immensity of the ocean.

Coming out, I paddled along the edge of the water, as frothy wavelets came and went leaving shining smooth sand netted with a bridal veil of sea foam.

Even though there were about a thousand other people on the beach, I was alone in my little bubble. 

Walking back to the car I felt ... lighter ... calmer ... more peaceful....

Let the Storm Blow

We've been having gales and rain for the last three days.
Today, I stole some time for myself and went for a walk along Takapuna Beach.

Not actually cold, but with enough nip in the air to make snuggling into a warm jacket a cosy pleasure. Enjoying Graham's many zippered-pocketed jacket - so nice to have a separate and secure place for everything - car-keys, hanky for wiping spray of glasses, gloves, shells picked up off the beach....

Seeing the seawrack piled up on the shoreline - heaps of seaweed at the Milford end.

Feeling the wind numbing my cheekbones and the salt spray in my face as I push my way against the wind. Then turning and letting the wind push me back to the carpark. My hair tossed and tangled over my face so the view flickers like an old fashioned movie.

Watching the breakers crash and tumble on the shore, mounding up piles of foam that flakes off in the wind, scudding up the beach like miniature tumbleweeds.

Tasting the first drops of rain, made salty by the sea spray on my lips. Then feeling the sharp raindrops driven by the wind.

Marveling at the suicidal bravery of the kite-surfers - airborne as they out-race wind and wave.

Sitting in the warm comfort of the Beach Cafe, drinking my latte, as I watch the waves continue to pound the sand into submission. Feeling the breath of chill, salt-laden air every time the door slides open, and a new customer is blown inside.

So much pleasure, that I had to share. 
After I collected Mitchell from Playcentre, I brought him back to the beach - to feel for himself the joy of wind and wave - the beauty of the storm.

Nailing it

I polished my nails today.

I didn't intend to. But when I got the nail polish out of the mega-sized beauty case (hauled out from under my bed - remnants of a past life when I wore make-up every day), and was painting it on the run I'd just noticed beginning in my tights; I thought "why not?" 

The small boy was happily occupied building a block tower (and refusing to get dressed), so I had 5 blissful minutes of uninterrupted hedonism.

The nails are in quite good condition. Surprising for a mum with her hands in water for a big chunk of the day (washing: clothes, dishes, child, etc.); but I put it down to all the moisturizing lotion I rub into Mitchell's skin. Serendipity.

I only used the clear varnish - since that's what I had out.
But it has given me such a lift all day.  I catch the shiny nails, reflecting the light, out of the corner of my eye, and think how nice they look.

And I really need to feel that something about me is attractive, right now.    I feel rather subsumed in the 'Mitchell's Mum' persona. It's hard to be well-groomed while chasing round after a highly active 3-year-old.
Well, I find it hard. Super-mums seem to do it effortlessly!

Such a little thing to make such a difference.

Reflection

I went to mass on Wednesday morning. Ash Wednesday.
Alone.
The first time in 3 years that I've attended church without a child in tow.
I truly realised how much energy goes into monitoring him, even when he's being 'good'

Not the most uplifting time of the year:

Remember man, that thou art dust, and unto dust thou shalt return

But a time for reflection.

And to me, that's what Church is about. Not your relationship with God. That's deeply personal. And you may or may not have one.
But a time set aside to listen, and reflect on your own behaviour and ethics, and to choose to make some changes. That's of value to everyone, no matter what their faith or creed.

I thought about Lent. Forty days in preparation for Easter. A time to sacrifice something.

The easy choices: sweets (I need to lose weight anyway), coffee (harder, but I can do it).
But... if they're easy to give up, then that isn't really a sacrifice.

I needed to choose to give up something 'hard', something that I would struggle over, and something that would make me a better person.

So this Easter, I'm sacrificing my temper.

Doesn't sound like much of a sacrifice. But you try living with a creatively destructive 3-year-old.

The work is in progress. I managed the coffee sugar in the ice crusher, the milk trail from the couch to the freezer (I wanted to make milk iceblocks, Mama), and throwing sugar packets around the ice-cream parlour. But I did lose it, when I came upon the defrosting raspberries crushed over table, floor and child.

But I have bitten my tongue, refrained from shouting, and used calm, measured consequences for outrageous behaviour.

And offered up my sacrifice to the Lord.

Writer's Block

I was all excited about writing a new blog.

This one was to be for me.

To talk about the things that I was interested in.

And to explore some of the stuff that's going on in my head.

You know, one of the hardest things about being a solo mum is that there's no one to talk to (well, apart from the 3-year-old - and those conversations, while having their own skewed appeal, aren't exactly deeply significant)

So, I:

• Thought about it in the car while driving Mitchell to a park (accompanied by the soundtrack to "Bob the Builder")
• Researched blog names - while Mitchell was having his nap (Please God, let afternoon naps continue for as long as possible, they're a life-saver for this Mama)
• Played around with the design - all those pretty, pretty, options are way too time consuming....
  
• Got called away to deal with grumpy just-woken-up-child, and snack, and immediately-required-trip-to-the-library (since books were due today), and laundry, and dinner, and cleaning-up-disgusting-mess child has made in Mama's bedroom (you do not want to know), and scolding, and bath, and cuddles and songs and bed.....

Then, I leave the dishes in the sink (told you I avoided housework), and I come back into my desperately-needs-sorting-out office to write my first post, and am lost for words.
How can you have writer's block with your first post?

Perhaps I need to write down my goals - that's what all the serious planning books tell you (I used to do this stuff for a living, what's happened to me!)

• I will write in this blog at least once a week.
• I will not over-think my blog posts. Whatever is going on in my head will be my subject.
• I will not try to be balanced and objective. This is my perspective. Deal with it.
• I won't identify anyone else in this blog - anonymity for guilty and innocent alike.