The Weekend.

It's June already! Yeeeks!  So, I was pretty quiet in May, but much like that Michael Caine quote it was a case of "calm on the surface but paddling furiously underneath"

And no, I don't mean I've been doing a lot of swimming.  In fact, swimming, and housework, and well, pretty much everything has kind of fallen by the wayside these past couple of weeks.  There's been a lot going on, behind the scenes, that I haven't been able to really blog about (and still can't- sorry!  I know that's slightly mean of me, dropping hints with no intention of filling you in on the juicy details).

Rest assured that all will be revealed very soon though.

In the meantime I thought I'd pop my head up to say hello, and show you what we've been up to this weekend.

Swimming!

The kids, not me...I told you, I've been too busy!  Both boys picked up their (long overdue) badges and certificates on Saturday.  I now need to do the whole "proud Mama" thing (and I really am) and sew the badges on to their towels.  If you've seen me with a needle and thread, you'll know how much I'm looking forward to that particular experience.  And if you haven't seen me with a needle and thread...well there's a reason for that.

Having a Migraine!

(Just me.  No photo.  For obvious reasons)

Gardening!

True, I am even less skilled with a trowel than I am with a needle and thread, but I am more enthusiastic about the task in hand at least, and for the most part I just use my bare hands, eliminating the possibility of injury, except in the case of thorns (ouch!)  I did unearth (pun very much intended) some fetching pink gardening gloves in the shed, but not only had they seen better days (a few hundred of them judging by the holes) but they also appeared to have acted as a nest for a spider momma to hatch a few hundred eggs, which was possibly the nastiest surprise of my life, on sticking my hands into one.  So...yeah...my hands and arms are now covered in an itchy rash from the sticky willow and scratches from the rose bushes, but at least spiders aren't hatching under my fingernails (so far as I am aware...*shudder*)

Seriously though, I have no idea what I am doing when it comes to gardening.  I am literally clueless (and that is not a misuse of the word 'literally', because I hate that).  I don't know what is a weed and what isn't, I don't know what to prune and what to leave alone.  I don't know what to plant or where or when.  I struggle to even keep my houseplants alive, so god knows how I'd fare if I had to factor the elements or soil types in...BUT...and there is a but...I have always had a yearning to know more, and to do more.

There was a point, a few years ago, where I even got as far as e-mailing to put my name down for an allotment, but then I had a second baby and had no time to even pee, let alone re-enact the Good Life, so that idea went out the window.  

But I am my father's daughter, and by that I don't mean: I'm a raging alcoholic, destined never to see my 50th birthday or meet my grandchildren.  I mean- I grew up with a Dad who loved to be outdoors more than anything, who knew the name of every plant he came across, who could make anything grow.  Our garden when I was a kid was pretty magical, and the memories I have of my Dad where he doesn't have a can of lager in his hand, are of him in his greenhouse.  So, when I stare blankly at the greenery in our garden and struggle to identify what should go and what should stay, and when I squeal like...well...a girl, when moving a rock reveals a family of scuttling woodlouse, I can almost hear my Dad turning in his grave.  I say almost, because he was cremated, and because I'm being metaphorical.

There are a million reasons why it is shit to have an alcoholic father, and the fact that he couldn't pass his gardening wisdom on to me before he died is really only a very teensy tiny one.

So, I am trying, as of today, to figure it out for myself.  I doubt it will be easy (neither of the boys were particularly enthused about helping today- apart from when I let Toby loose with a pair of secateurs, and Chris is even less enthusiastic than both of them combined).  I'm sure I'll make plenty of mistakes (in fact I think I may have made some already today) but I'm going to try, and I think that ought to count for something.

So that was my weekend.  I am ending it with a bottle of passionfruit cider, and this blog post.