I used to write...

There was a time when I used to write...

When days were seemingly endless, and time was abundant.

When uninterrupted thoughts flowed eloquently into well constructed, interesting pieces of writing.

That time is gone now. 

Its distant memory haunts me when I get a chance to try gather my thoughts in the mornings as I attempt to get my toddler to put on her clothes for the fourth time and stop picking her nose, and breastfeeding my infant at the same time, whilst sipping on a cup of tea that has been waiting for the last twenty minutes and is now ice-cold...when I am reminded that adulting is now my full time occupation, and that there is not even the faintest glimpse of that past era when...I used to write. And read. And have other hobbies like going to the toilet on my own, exercising alone, or going shopping without a destructive hurricane disguised as a cute little blonde 2 year old girl trying to break or buy everything at knee height in the entire shop.

Yes, those days are gone. They have been replaced by mornings that start at 4:30am, with little people demanding all of the hours in the day until 9pm at night... preparing school lunches, mashing every conceivable vegetable into baby food, expressing milk to feed said baby, school runs, wedding dress business, swimming lessons, fundraisers, committee meetings, cows, farming, cows, more cows, bathtime, play time, dinner time, story time, bedtime... oh the glorious sound of silence at the end of it all. Then its time for "me-time"- after tidying up, expressing milk for the morning, preparing lunch boxes and school bags, doing the washing, and catching up on admin. 

But, I will write again. Of this I am sure. This period is fleeting and I am trying to appreciate every moment spent with our precious children before they don't need me anymore...

Hopefully this is the beginning of a blogspot revival. 

Watch this space!

Lest we forget...

In a week that has been frought with misfortune and stress, I was reminded today of how fortunate I am to have what I have and to be doing what I do. It is so easy to dwell on the bad things that happen to us in life, and every now and then we need to stop.

breathe.

reboot.

About 2 weeks ago, I had to drive to the bottom of the farm to rescue dear Pops from the mud (Yes! Mud! - the rains have arrived!) in my good old faithful cruiser that has seen better days, I must have seen at least ten different bird species, along with several Reed buck, a banded mongoose and a jackal. The birds included all three crane species - rare and endangered birds that we are lucky enough to have on the farm. I drove along the headlands of our maize lands, the sight of mini maize plants standing to attention in their straight lines such a simple joy to eyes accustomed to cracked earth and dry dams. The scattering lapwings with their cacophony of protests as I disturbed their morning sojurn with my noisy, mechanical beast that rumbled past, inspecting the lands and revelling in the muddy slips and slides that added an exciting element of adventure to our little outing. To top it all off, I got to watch as a Gymnogene swooped in to harass a tree full of weavers and, hanging from a branch by one leg, used the other to pluck an unsuspecting weaver out of the nest he was building, and then fly off followed by a flock of frenzied weaver bombers.

Gratitude.

Being grateful for the small things in life. 

Being awed by nature's bountiful offering of life (and death) and appreciating the simple thruths and wonders of the world. 

For the bad times that make you appreciate the good times so much more than you would have if they had come more easily. 

For the struggles that result in hard earned rewards and the satisfaction of a job well done.

For little people who test your limits and full your heart with joy.

For the tantrums and fevers that eventually abate and the giggles and kisses that replace them.

For differences of opinion, yet unconditional love.

For health and happiness.

For Life.