Is time really the greatest healer?

When embarking on my blog-writing journey I was warned this would happen. I was told that there would be a time when suddenly the writing would cease; that the material I have swimming around my brain would stop and my creative flow would vanish. Those who told me this were spot on.

Why have I been so quiet? Well, the answer is simple really. I am happy and content. My little blended unit is happy and content too. Yes, we have had the challenges of lockdown and I suppose, when I get a chance to reflect on it I’ll get hammering at the keys again. That blog will come. It is inevitable.

But there was one thing recently that meant I had to write again. I had to get my feelings down in written form. They say time is the biggest healer. Well, I am not so sure. Sometimes time can conjure more questions rather than provide a sense of closure, particularly for my boy.

Healing A Broken Boy

Underneath the window on a hot July day sat my son. His mother had just beckoned him into the front room, taking him away from his toy cars. Sunlight poured into the room from outside, with dust dancing in its rays, putting my son underneath a spotlight. The scene was set. And then she told him.

I’m Not Perfect

When starting my blog, I was warned I’d reach a point where I would lose the pace. I was warned that out of nowhere I’d struggle for material, which would consequently breed frustration and then a lack of motivation. And guess what?! Those who warned me were right!

An Open Letter To My Children

Dear Kids,

Well, what a 2018 it’s been eh?! I can honestly say that it’s been one of the most interesting years of my entire life and sharing it with you two makes it perfect.

In fact, sharing any year with you guys is perfect.

I won’t lie, 2017 was pretty awful. Learning about your Mum’s affair, her leaving in the middle of the night out of the blue and Grandad’s battle with cancer, did leave me slightly battered at times, but with you two in my life those testing times were overcome with relative ease. When on the brink, nothing brings you back to earth like your son announcing he’s blocked the toilet or your daughter demanding I dance with her in the kitchen, before sulking when I don’t complete the splits.

I Know I’m Not What You Dreamed Of

If you were lucky enough to have a happy childhood, memories of Christmas in your formative years are likely to remain a lifetime. I have extremely vivid recollections of the festive period as a youngster and can easily recall the emotions of Christmas Day itself.

Firstly, there is the obvious excitement. The euphoria of being surrounded by loved ones, opening presents and overdosing on sweets used to leave me as high as a kite, a feeling no drug could ever replicate.

However, like any drug-induced high, Christmas also had a come down. At that stage I’d be a zombie. Head spinning and feeling nauseous, I’d often crawl off into a dark room and rock backwards and forwards, humming the carol silent night.

It dawned on me this weekend that planning a wedding provokes similar emotions. The pure delight of actually getting married fills my heart with glee. The pure reality of planning and paying for the special day fills my heart with dread, leaving the stomach a little queasy.

Ain’t no Party like a Blended Dad Party

Last Sunday started with my little girl waking up tired, grumpy and excitable all rolled into one. She was shattered because she was up late, owing to the fact that all her family from down south had come up for a weekend visit. She was grumpy because she had had to share a bed with her big brother, who had woken her up with his snoring and farting. And finally she was excited, simply because it was the day of her 5th birthday party.

However, whatever emotional pick-and-mix there was floating around in her head, it felt like nothing compared to the emotional waves I endured that morning. There were elements of dread, excitement, intrigue and black humour, swirling around my mind like clothes in a tumble drier.

It was the first time my little girl was to have a party as a primary school attendee, thus meaning all of her little school friends were going to be there. It was also the first time that my folks, sisters, brother-in-laws and nieces were all able to attend her special day at the same time. And finally, it was the first time my ex had seen my extended family since she got up and left one night 18 months ago.

F*ck Christmas

F*ck Christmas.

I’m not normally a Scrooge. In actual fact, Christmas was always a time of year I absolutely loved. But it seems that my relationship with the festive season is going through a rocky period.