More thoughts from the storm

The snow is still falling, and I am still low.  Every time I look outside I see more flurries of snow, more white skies, every time I step outside and the biting wind cuts through all layers I feel resentful.  I don't *want* the pretty white cold stuff.  I'm ready for Spring and warm earth and planting and light and green.

The ceiling isn't leaking any more.  I'm counting that as a major improvement on the situation.  The work men coming and going laughed to be followed pied-piper-like by a string of small children wanting to see what they were doing.

Yesterday Rowan asked me why I was crying, and I told her it was because I feel like I get everything wrong.  She patted me gently and said, "You don't, mummy."  Sweet as she is, I don't believe her.  I really feel like everything that could have gone wrong this month did, and I'm still waiting for worse news.  If it could possibly be extrapolated as my fault, it is.

Lemon yoghurt muffins are in the oven as I procrastinate about making lunch.

The living room still looks like a disaster zone.  I have been trying to tidy it, unsuccessfully, all morning.  I'm so easily distracted - by muffins, by music, by just going to check the dye pot one more time, by a snippet of something floating through my head that I have to check *right now*.  I am not getting very far.  Procrastination is pretty much the main thing I have got done today.

I can't remember the last time I really felt like me, and it was a long time before that when I last felt like I knew what I was doing.

Jenna is sitting scraping the last bits out of the bottom of the yoghurt pot with a long spoon, reading a recipe book - she is planning to cook for us again and can't decide what to make.

Sweet children, curious and lively and bright.  Still, after all this long Winter, the snow is just more magic and another adventure.  The lack of transport and money are irrelevant, life is just fine in a house full of books with the park so close and friends who drop in to visit.

Without saying a word to me, they somehow creep in to this miserable overwhelmed posting of mine and make it lighter.  The way little blonde naked baby edges her way up to the stool to sit down, not yet quite confident to judge distances; the way she shouts "HIYA" at me in outrage because she wants my phone.  Morgan with a hippy flowered headband, lots of sparkly rings, and rainbow owl socks.  Ack, they are perfectly lovely people.