normal life; unexpected joy

a birthday, a goodbye, a visit, a discovery

Exactly fifteen years ago, on the full moon in mid-winter, I birthed my second child - my first daughter.

I know you can’t say you have a favourite child, but I think you can definitely admit to having a favourite birth. Oh, this birth was joyful. The first twinge at lunchtime, a few more following an afternoon nap, a gradual building of contractions as soon as my firstborn was tucked up in bed. We drove to the hospital at 2am and she was born in the water a few hours later, in a room with dim lights and soft music and the sound of my midwife sipping tea and waiting, observing - hands off but unwavering presence felt.

It was a beautiful beginning and she’s grown into the most empathetic and funny person I know. She has spent the past 18 months babysitting for our dear friends, who moved here and needed help that we could offer in the form of care; homemade meals, a listening ear, shared whinging over coffee and cake. Those same friends are returning to their hometown today to be near family which is absolutely the right decision; when our children are small and their needs are great, you need a village of trusted hands and hearts who can be there at a moment’s notice.

I bumped into a new mother in our town and she introduced me to her six-week-old, bundled up in the pram, big eyes peeking out with the pure curiosity of a new being. “Enjoy it!” I said to her before I said goodbye. And then I turned around and finished my sentence: “...but when it’s hard it’s helpful to admit that it’s hard.”

I recently learned that happiness can be cultivated but joy is always surprising. I suppose it’s a little like awe in that you can’t usher it into being but you do need to be noticing what’s going on around you to experience it - look out into the world, observe. I wouldn’t describe myself as a joyful person; I’m far too serious to be that, but I do know how to savour joy when I find it.

It’s always colder after the solstice and I’ve felt it this week especially, the way it can catch in your throat and eyes, drying them out and prompting you to reach for warm drinks, more sleep, subdued evenings watching the fire flicker. Saying goodbye to friends is hard but the sadness was softened by other friends who visited with their toddler who speaks in perfectly articulated complete sentences and wears cord pinafores over wool tights. She was so incredibly excited by the roast potatoes I had baked her and the pesto pasta that I served in a small bowl with a small fork that I cannot bear to remove from the cutlery drawer because it means there aren’t any little children living in my house anymore.

My youngest turns nine next week and there are no more overalls in her wardrobe, no wool tights or button-up pinafores, no pigtails in her hair. She no longer needs me to crouch down and tie her shoelaces but I’m the first person she calls when she cannot find what she is looking for (I really am very good at locating what’s missing).

Grey skies and cold mornings, so many layers on my back. But, the tangelos are in season, looking so vivid and voluptuous, offering just the right amount of sour to remind you that eating them is medicinal. I bought them yesterday at the fancy grocery store where I also purchased a wooden dishbrush because despite being four times more expensive than the plastic one with a soap dispenser in the handle, it lasts for about forty times longer (no dishwasher here; always a sink full of dishes). I didn’t feel anything about either of these purchases but then I wandered into the bookstore and did what I rarely do: browsed and purchased a few backlist paperbacks. For a moment I felt a twinge of guilt - there are so many bills and big expenses of the periodontal and orthodontic kind in my near future! - but then I got realistic and reminded myself that books should only elicit joy and not all spare dollars need to be squirrelled away for the ‘just in case’ days.

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A few hours ago I left the previous paragraphs as they were - unfinished and waiting for more clarity. I made lunch and pottered around the house before I decided that an afternoon walk would be best, along the coast road by myself - no headphones, no phone, no dog - to stretch my legs and let the busyness of the week fade. I had almost reached the point where the footpath ends when I looked up and gasped: there was a miniature pony tied to the fence, mowing the verge. It came up to my hip, this small and stocky creature with stumpy legs, a messy blonde fringe and big, batting eyes.

“Oh!” I said, bringing my hand to my mouth because I could not believe what I was seeing: a totally unexpected pony on the path I walk every day! A pony!

I felt lighter all the way home and thought: imagine if I hadn’t walked! The joy I would have missed!

There are always tiny morsels of joy embedded in imperfect days.

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other things

• listen to me talk about overwhelm, decluttering the brain, motherhood, matrescence and my writing process on Big Things. Little Things podcast

• currently reading Everything was Beautiful and Nothing Hurt by Ben Reeves and it’s superb. I don’t want to say too much just yet because I haven’t finished it but I think it’s the kind of book that will gain momentum fast with passionate word-of-mouth recommendation (the best kind of book marketing). *Edited to add that I’ve just learnt that it’s on the NYT’s bestseller list. Ha!

• if you like lemon in your water make sure you find some meyer lemons (the superior kind, in my opinion)

• I’ve been stirring chia seeds into Greek yoghurt and topping it with stewed apples and this granola - filling and delicious and the perfect afternoon snack (to be honest, it makes a pretty good breakfast, too)

Till next week, take care x