These are the days.

I pottered in my kitchen preparing dinner and cooking lunchbox goodies, thankful that it's Wednesday. On Wednesday's I don't have to take Davey to any lessons, groups, sports, and I love it. (Zinni goes to the gym, but hurrah! she has a licence so drives herself.)

I was about to turn the kitchen tv on so I could watch the local news while I cooked, when Zinni settled in to her desk. The desk I bought for her, and placed on the other side of the kitchen counter because she loves to have someone near as she studies. Zinni's in her last year of school and is taking her study seriously. I have a stand offish approach to school work. I might ask my children (well, these days, just Davey) if they have homework, then I leave it up to them. If they don't do it they wear the consequences at school and on their their teacher's mark sheets. Now that Zinni is focused and self disciplined, I know that my strategy has worked for at least 50% of my children! Anyway, back to the kitchen and wanting to watch the local news. I looked at Zinni and realised I didn't want to break her concentration. Zinni would not object to me putting the news on, but she would be distracted by it. So, I reminded myself that I could check the news on line later. The study time couldn't be replaced, the news could be, and this was an easy contribution to make to Zinni's study effort.

I was content with my thoughts, when Davey walked through the kitchen to the next room where the piano is (the rooms are separated by a large archway and the piano is visible from the kitchen). As he began playing my spirits lifted. Davey plays beautifully. He doesn't play in public, that's not his thing. He plays for sheer joy. Not just mine either, his as well!

So there I was cooking away, Zinni was plying her mind to her books, Davey his fingers to the piano keys, and life felt all right. I wasn't foregoing or sacrificing anything. I was living; and living surrounded by love and beauty.

These, these are the days my friends.

Great Good Friday.

I had great plans to do not very much apart from baking hot cross buns today. However after church this morning we made a little detour to deliver painkillers to a friend who'd injured his back and had no strong painkillers in his house and everything's closed on Good Friday so he was in a predicament. (Yes, you're meant to read that in one breath. I know you'll have to rush the last part because you'll be running out of breath, but that's how I want it read OK?) Anyway, back to the strong painkillers which I had and my friend needed. We delivered them and somehow stayed to help his wife pack their house up for the next 8 hours - moving house is a terrible time for him to do his back in!

Anyway, it's now 10pm and I'm about to pop those hot cross buns in the oven. A little later than expected, but I've had a great Good Friday. Helping someone else move is so much easier than moving yourself! It was enjoyable even.

New interest in dancing.

My soon to be 15 year old son attended his first school social tonight.

He asked this afternoon if it would be OK if he went. Of course I said yes.

He's always looked at me as though I were a mad woman when I've previously asked if he'd like to attend.

When I picked him up he told me he'd had the BEST time.

And yes, I did restrain myself. I didn't ask what her name is.

:0

I think language should be a barrier to love. Logically speaking.

I continue to have random thoughts I want to put voice to, and so, I continue to return to this blog. Just in case someone may remember to check it and read it.

Today's thought was along the lines of wondering how two people who don't speak the same language can fall in love. A local girl with very little Spanish recently married a South American man with very little English. When they first met Laura spoke no Spanish and Juan spoke no English.

So, how did they move beyond what I assume (and possible incorrectly!) was their initial sexual fling? How do you come to want to spend the rest of your life with someone you can't discuss books, news items, politics, religious views or whose turn it is to mow the lawn with?

I can't imagine how it's done.

Oh, how things turn.

From being really angry at my daughter a few hours ago, I'm feeling really, really proud of her right now.

Zinni and Davey attend our church youth group every Friday night. Before youth group a group of them meet for dinner at Subway. 2 years ago the Subway group was only 5 or 6 teenagers. Last year it grew to 8 or 9. This year it has suddenly exploded to around 15. There's really only my 2 teenagers left of the original group, as the others have recently moved off to start uni life. The new, larger group is made up of mostly 14 year olds. Silly 14 year olds. Silly 14 year olds who attend a Christian school, think they're morally superior and are witty when they mouth of at tough kids who are occasionally hanging around Subway too.

Davey had warned a couple of boys that it's not smart to mouth off at tough kids who have nothing to lose. Davey, my gentle boy who has spent 7 of his 9 school years at a State school, knows about tough kids and generally has no problem with them.

The Christian school kids thought they knew better and mouthed off again tonight. The tough boys put their chests and chins out and were looking to start a fight by chesting up to the mouthy but weak boys. Zinni, who chose to join the group at Subway for only the second time this year, calmly walked up to the toughest boy, put her hand on his chest (where she could feel his heart beating at a gazillion miles an hour) and quietly said "You don't want to do this." He allowed her to turn him around and guide him away from the group while telling him not to listen to the silly boys and telling the silly boys to stop talking NOW.

Somehow it worked. The tough boys did what the nice girl asked them to, the silly boys also did what the nice girl asked them to do, and all ended well.

And Davey? Well Davey is bursting with pride at his sister. The same sister who he commented this morning makes him really mad. He was impressed with how calm she was, how nicely she spoke to the tough boys, how commanding she was in gently maneuvering the toughest boy away. Davey (and a couple of the other boys) have said that all the boys were hopeless, and none of them knew quite what to do, so Zinni's being hailed as a hero!

And hooray for kids with State school smarts!

Anger makes me return to blogging.

I've just yelled at my daughter.

I'd like to storm off to my bedroom and slam the door.

Instead I'm sitting here working out how to apologise to her.

I'm sick of being the grown up. Really sick of it.

Post Christmas meanderings.

I'm so glad Christmas is over.

We had a great time catching up with family and friends a few hours north. My Davey had some quality time with blokey cousins in their 20's, and they enjoyed his company too. Some of the time they were doing work on Grandpa's little farm together, other quality time was spent in lounge chairs watching the Boxing Day Cricket Test. I really enjoy seeing my Davey having good bloke time.

I caught up with some dear friends and had some relaxed time that may have involved champagne, and that was really lovely.

There were no family frictions, because the factious members didn't show.

A favourite Aunt (I'm actually named after her) shared the news on Boxing Day that she has been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer and has only a short time to live. This Aunt lives some distance from me, but encouraged and supported me greatly when my Rob died. However, her attitude in the face of this is that at 85 she knows her time is ending and will be able to tie up many loose ends and say the farewells she most wants to. My father commented that she is facing it well, and that her husband (his brother) served in the war and won't let this worry him. I let the comment slide, but inside I wanted to tell him what a foolish, idiotic, unempathic comment this was. Serving in the war does not prepare anyone for the loss of their loving partner after 60 plus years of marriage! Grrrrrrr! Thankfully Dad doesn't live any where near my uncle, so his lack of understanding should have a minimal effect.

As usual I didn't really have time to think of my Rob on Christmas Day. It's just darn hectic. There were moments though, and those moments were as heart piercingly poignant as ever. He should have been 51. He should have been there to help me navigate the foibles of my parents, but I had to be grown up all by myself. Then the moment of thought would be overtaken by busyness and lost. Now that Christmas and his birthday have passed, I feel less stressed and the feeling of the world being out of kilter and having to consciously make an effort to be cheerful has passed. The feeling is also one of wanting to remember my Rob but not having time to and not feeling right about that. It's just so difficult to organise Christmas for my children, help them to cope with the total disorganisation of my parents while helping them to see that wonderful things about my parents AND have time for private reflection. It's all part of the juggling act.

My grief is bearable, containable, now. This is the first Christmas since Rob died we've had Christmas at my parents'. They've been able to come to me for the last 5 Christmasses, and the rest of the family has acceded in kind consideration to me, which I'm very, very grateful for. Rob was such a big part of organising Christmas at my parents'. We would always ready their house for the influx of family, organising bedding, food, and ah, first and foremost, CLEANING! My parents are no longer able to travel this year, and I was OK with that. We did things a bit differently, but we did Christmas at my parents without my Rob, and I had a great time. Though skulking off for champagne with friends helped!

I've adapted to my life. I hate the burden of solo parenting and the demands that places on me, but I'm getting through that too. I'm at peace with my life and am grateful for the many, many rich blessings I have.