Mud

Occasionally I get to thinking that I have this motherhood thing licked; admittedly, this is usually on the days when I’m able to dress, feed and brush S’s teeth without resorting to bribery or threats or, worst yet, banishment to the Naughty Step. There’s something so fundamentally playful and curious about kids at this age, it’s nothing but a pleasure to be in his company - he’s such a beautiful, funny and generous little soul.

And then something happens to remind me that I’m still a naive rookie and that only a lunatic - or someone wading deeply in the sea of denial - would even let that thought cross their mind. No remotely switched on mother would permit their child to go out into the muddy backyard in wellies and coat and assume that they wouldn’t a) roll about in the mud; b) try to eat said mud and c) then run the mud right the way through their recently cleaned carpeting. I almost slapped my forehead when I saw what he was doing in horror at my own naivety - he was rolling around like a pot-bellied pig on crack.

So, anyway. How’s you? I know I need to update more, but I’m experiencing a real apathy towards the whole writing thing right now. But then, I’m experiencing a general apathy to life, so is it really any wonder that writing here is proving so troublesome?

What annoys me most right now is realising that my head can’t (or won’t) permit me to write in two different styles simultaneously. For years I wrote no fiction - my writer’s block more of a concrete dungeon than a small Do Not Cross barrier - but I felt like writing here at least proved that I wasn’t completely brain dead. Now that my fiction seems to be moving along nicely, my non-fiction writing’s gone to shit. It’s grossly unfair - like having to sacrifice one child to feed the other. And yes, that’s an exaggeration.

Anyway.

Maybe this weekend will pull me out of this fug. Not only do I have a wondrous four days off work, I can legitimately spend those four days stuffing my face with piles and piles of chocolate eggs (I’ve never quite lost my childlike awe for Easter Eggs - sweets wrapped in chocolate, chocolate wrapped in shiny, coloured foil - I ask you, when does that ever stop being cool?). I’ve actually started a healthier eating regime in an attempt to shake off the weight that’s been creeping on since Christmas. Only I - genius that I am - could start a diet three days before Easter. What a fuckwit.

Right. I’m off now to make Jam Roly Poly pudding with my little pot-bellied pig. By the time we finish and if we manage to create something that, you know, doesn’t poision us all (culinary skills and I parted company many, many years ago) you’ll probably have problems identifying one fat-bellied pig from the next.

Posted on 15th April, 2006 at 11:14 am |

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