Monday, September 15, 2014
Tuesday, September 09, 2014
The summer holidays are over and I'm about to wake the girls up to send them back to nursery after a looong break (six weeks? eight? thirty two? I lost count a while back). It's been a really good summer holiday actually and the return to nursery sort of sneaked up on me. I have really enjoyed spending time with the girls who are not nearly as trying as they were during the easter holiday, which nearly killed me. It helps that they've stopped trying to kill each other. For a while (about six months) we were woken every day by their fighting before they had even got out of bed and it just continued all damn day, descending every five minutes into screaming, sobbing, hitting and gouging. Thankfully they are going through a truce period and life has become a lot nicer around here. (Notice how I didn't say 'thankfully that has passed'? Mama ain't no fool.)
Here are some pictures. Sorry they're a bit shit, they're all from my phone. I took a film camera with me but the film has been added to the 10 year old pile of unprocessed rolls and goodness knows if it will ever make it to the lab. I suck at photography.
Friday, August 22, 2014
I think instagram might have ruined blogging. It's so easy and immediate, whenever I think of something that I might want to say here I realise I've already said in small drip, drip, drips on instagram. I don't know that everyone who reads here also follows me there (@caratakesphotos, just so you know), or the other way around, so I'm not actually sure how much I would be repeating myself, but I do know that this blog is starting to feel somewhat... redundant. And yet, I still feel the urge to put it all in one place, to tell stories that are more than just one picture, one caption, to hope for replies that are words, not a dozen small (but undeniably gratifying) heart shapes. I wonder why I care about repeating myself, I repeat myself all the damn time in real life. I tell the same stories, offer the same observations, make the same jokes. If they're funny once then they're going to be hilarious twice, right? My poor, poor friends. I miss what this place used to be, the community, the feeling of having created something. Instagram is fun but it feels like twitter, each picture another drip into the constant running stream of other people's updates, stories, observations, jokes. Earlier this week I had dinner with a group of seven women, six of them women who I met through blogging, five of them women who have become my primary real life social group in the last few years and of course talk turned to how we had met, when we met, what we used to blog about. It made me nostalgic for blogging as it once was, but also grateful that my social life has (primarily) moved off-screen. One of my friends mentioned how naive we were, seven years ago when we all first 'met'. How we spewed forth our thoughts and our dreams and offered up our lives in total, unabashed detail to the internet, believing totally in our anonymity. 'Those were the days' I thought, and simultaneously 'dear god, we were idiots.' Anyway, I don't know where I'm going with this. I think I just wanted to say hi, that I haven't forgotten about you/here/this/whatever it is. That I still want to write and talk and share with you here but that I'm not quite sure how/why/when/what. I'm aware that my blogging has become increasingly about Not Blogging. Which is fascinating reading, I'm sure. I also wonder why I would keep writing blog posts when I've almost entirely stopped reading them. Does anyone read blog posts any more? Doesn't everyone find them almost universally insufferable? Questions questions. In the meantime, happy weekend. (Remember when we used to wish each other a happy weekend every week? And a happy monday? And just a happy happy happy? God, we were annoying.)
Tuesday, August 12, 2014
'What platitudes then can we fling along with the listless, insufficient wreaths at the stillness that was once so animated and wired, the silence where the laughter was? That fame and accolades are no defence against mental illness and addiction? That we live in a world that has become so negligent of human values that our brightest lights are extinguishing themselves? That we must be more vigilant, more aware, more grateful, more mindful? That we can’t tarnish this tiny slice of awareness that we share on this sphere amidst the infinite blackness with conflict and hate?'
Russell Brand, on the late, great Robin Williams.*
It was with such sadness that I took in the news this morning that Robin Williams had committed suicide. I can't think of a single actor that brought me more joy as a child, who starred in films that moved me as much as Good Will Hunting or Dead Poet's Society in my adolescence. (Or creeped me out as much as that one about the guy working in the photo lab, but I prefer not to think too hard about that one.)
In lieu of words of my own I ask you to read the above Guardian piece by Russel Brand. It's everything I wish I was capable of writing. I also ask that if you are suffering... please hold on. Please tell someone. Please.
Thursday, July 10, 2014
7.30am this morning. My bedroom, just awake. Discussing our visitor.
Ammie: "I'm going to crap on Sophie"
Me: "NO YOU ARE NOT"
Ammie: "I am! I'm going to crap on her!"
Me: "Amelia, you certainly are not."
Ammie: "I will do it quietly."
Me: "No you won't, that is not a nice thing to do to people."
Ammie: "But I want to crap on her and see if she is awake."
Me: "Ammie, do you mean 'creep up on her'?"
Ammie: "YES! Creep on her."
Me: "Okay, go and creep on Sophie."
Monday, July 07, 2014
'I have exercised regularly for a year yet my stomach still always looks 3-4 months pregnant. One of these days someone is going to ask me when I'm due. If I were actually pregnant when this happens then it wouldn't be quite so awful.'
'My belly is so wobbly and nothing makes it go away. If I was pregnant and didn't eat much then the baby might use it up and afterwards I would be thin again.'
'I don't love my body. I've never loved my stupid body. Wait, that's not true. I loved my body when I was pregnant. . . '
'I miss crafting. It would be nice to make something again. A human something.'
'W&P are total bastards to each other. Having another sibling might unite them. Or alternatively give them someone else to be horrible to. Either way, they might lay off each other for five damn minutes.'
'I still want to be Mrs Weasley. If I'm ever going to have seven children then I need to up production.'
'I don't know what I want to be when I grow up, if I spent another few years solely dedicated to keeping a person alive then I wouldn't need a plan for a bit longer.'
'My sister-in-law is having a baby any day now. I'm jealous because a) I liked being pregnant and b) she's going to have a cute baby that everyone will adore and I want one too.'
'IVF sucked. It would be nice to get pregnant naturally. It would also be nice to carry just one baby, and give birth just once of a morning, and have just one newborn.'
And then, every single time, as if maybe some part of my subconscious is trying to tell me something...
"YOU DON'T WANT ANOTHER FUCKING BABY. And oh, by the way, YOU'RE INFERTILE*. REMEMBER?"
*I know, I know. I had twins, I'm not infertile. But it took four years and IVF and my inner voice has a flair for the dramatic, okay?
** And then I looked through pictures of W&P's first year for one to go with this post and my ovaries exploded all over my seat and I had to have MORE BABIES RIGHT THIS MINUTE. (remember how cute they were? Before they learned to throw punches.)