Last week we went to another funeral. Another friend’s Dad. Another soul taken far to soon - and so quickly - by cancer. We are all in our mid-to-late 30s, and our parents in their mid-to-late 60s. We didn’t expect so many of us to have lost a parent at this age.
And Mum has had a little (big) blip on the health landscape too. One which requires a large, scary operation and a long recovery. She is a little scared but putting on a brave face and just keen to get it done. I don’t think either of us have fully grasped the recovery implications. It’s just one step at a time.
And in amongst all of this, perhaps because of this, the parenting journey is such a grind. I’m back at work, which is a huge adjustment and a commitment I’m not used to. The terrible twos are morphing into even worse threes on the tantrum stakes, as is the norm. The sickness wagon has been hanging around for about three weeks now (c’mon, winter is long behind us). And the sleep Gods, who are generally pretty good to us, are dealing out a rough string of average nights. Everything’s just a little harder to deal with when you’re sleep deprived.
When people ask how I cope I ask how can you not? Just one foot in front of the other. And I spend a lot of time reminding myself how lucky we are to have a lovely home, good jobs, healthy kids etc. But these last few weeks I’ve taken a break from gratitude. Everything’s just a bit shit and I’d trade the material stuff and the jobs in an instant. And I’m tempted to trade the kids when they’re being brats and throwing a wobbly! But then they do something gorgeous, of course.
So I’ve had my little self indulgence, and now it’s time to play the gratitude game again, hug my kids and my husband tight and put one foot in front of the other.
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