Holly's Hobby

I'VE MOVED

2010-07-05T08:43:00.000-07:00

Hello, thank you for visiting Holly's Hobby.

I have a new home.

www.hollishobby.com

You can find all my depressing inspiring and reflective writing over there.

If you are kind enough to follow me you might need to resubscribe.

Thanks for your support.

Anatomy of depression

2010-06-20T12:44:00.000-07:00

She felt it start at the top of her head. It started to slowly, insidiously take hold. Like a blanket one might use to put out a small fire. It cut off the life supply and put out all the lights. She knew when it was coming. It started to reach her throat and constrict her breathing. It was an evil bloody monster. It was hateful.

People talk about black dogs. That sounds almost tame, almost something you could run away from. But this blanket, this shroud of inertia, the alternative mind of the chronic depressive was only ever a short distance away. Waiting for her to call for it. Because she did call for it. Only she didn't know she was doing that. To her life was pretty normal. Everything was okay. But somewhere deep down she needed to retreat to the known corridors of the pain that reached in and grabbed her soul.

And once it came like that, she couldn't fight it. It could be put in abeyance for a time, with company and laughter from friends, with a well behaved child. But when all that had gone, and the child was tired and testing, testing, testing one, two, three. She couldn't fight it any longer.

It made it's journey from the top of her head, through her contricted throat, to it's resting place in her heart. And there it stayed. In partnership with the anger that went with it. The evil twins of the depressive mind.

She was lost for a time. She was out of reach and out of all human contact. Those people who loved her (did they really love her anyway?) were shut out and hurt. This knowledge brought guilt to the party. The pain, the anger and the guilt. What a merry bunch. All residing in her breaking heart.

Like a boil that needs lancing it grew and grew until the pressure was so great it threatened to erupt. She had spent twenty odd years searching for a way to release the pressure, but nothing worked. She just had to ride the wave, let it do it's worse and leave her shaking body, tear stained face and broken spirit.

Her greatest fear was that her children could see it. They seem to pick up so much; a mood, an atmosphere. Was she damaging them with this self indulgent illness? Surely their childhood in glorious ignorance of mental illness was what she should be aiming for. Surely she could find a way to manage this monster.

And then it passed. A day, a week, maybe longer. But it always passed. She was grateful for that.

The Daily Apology

2010-06-19T12:24:00.000-07:00

She's lost her temper, no warm up, no warning. The rush of blood hits the surface and whoosh out it comes. The shout. It's loud, it's frightening for those in the room and it's completely unacceptable behaviour for a woman old enough to know better.

But it's hard to control. No. It's uncontrollable. She'll try counting to ten, she must try taking deep breaths. Must try remembering everything is OK. Her world is a Good Place. But somehow it doesn't seem to work. The anger just errupts.

Who said the drugs don't work they just make you worse? Maybe Richard Ashcroft was wise after all and not just up his own arse on his own self importance as an 'artist'. Maybe they didn't work, but their withdrawal seems violent and disorientating.

Is that was causes these irrational outbursts? Is that what sends her running in tears to the next room, just for a few minutes, just to breathe? Maybe. It's an easy enough excuse. And something she knew would happen. But somehow no matter how much provocation is involved shouting at a child just feels so wrong. Shouting at an adult who loves her just feels wrong (afterwards, it feels bloody wonderful at the time - a drug all of it's own).

How broken was she to take these drugs? Did she think she was so malfunctioning that an artificial block on a chemical in her brain was the answer?

It was for a time. For a very long time actually. But somehow there's something primal about truly feeling again. Just being really cross. Being really happy. Being really sad.

So the daily apology is due. To the other adult in the house. The one who doesn't deserve her wrath. All he does is try to love her, try to keep them all functioning. It's not his fault that sometimes the way he does it makes her want to hit her head hard against the wall.

"I'm sorry. I couldn't stop it. You don't deserve it, none of you. I'm not myself at the moment. That's all. Please don't be upset. I love you so much. I'm sorry."

And that's it. The daily apology. It'll get used again tomorrow and the next day and the next day. But maybe soon she won't need it. She can consign it to the past. She will remember it with a wry smile because she no longer needs it.

She looks forward to that day.

Inspired, as ever, by Josie's Writing Workshop at Sleep is for the Weak. I chose the prompt: She

Summer

2010-05-27T04:43:00.000-07:00

A hat slightly obscuring your face, lying like a sun-goddess on your clicky bed. I sat next to you, making daisy chains, playing with my imaginary friends - they were real to me of course. My sisters were off exploring in the woods, building a camp or dam in the stream. You wanted me to stay with you, I was too little.

You were always brown, always healthy looking, always beautiful. I sat on the clicky bed next to you, just looking, I think I did that alot. You said "Holly darling, will you draw me a lovely picture?" Of course I would, I'd do just about anything you asked me. A cunning diversion technique so you could continue sun-bathing. I see that now of course.

The sun started to go down then and we were all called in for supper, my sisters from whatever adventure they'd had, me from my own little world. We pestered you to let us eat our supper in the field beyond our garden. Don't know why, I just know my sisters wanted to, so of course I did too. They were my big sisters. They always had good ideas.

You let us. We sat on a tree trunk fallen in some ancient storm and ate chicken & ham pies.

Later when the midges started biting and the dew was falling we ran around outside in our pyjamas. I was called in first of course. Being the youngest. I don't recall if I resisted or not, but I expect not. You were my mummy, bedtime meant cuddles and stories and precious time with you.

In my mind it was eternal summer at our cottage in Sussex. You were always sunbathing, I was always playing, my sisters were always exploring. Mostly we all played together, but sometimes I'd just be with you. The best place to be.

I go back there sometimes, in my mind. The happiest days of my life.

Inspired by Josie's workshop, the prompt was 'Summer'.

Broken

2010-05-24T11:55:00.000-07:00

Lines on my face show the night's white noise
The grey in my hair shows my age
The defeated shadows in my eyes are your cries
And this poem I write is my stage

Between you you plot to test my resolve
You speak in words I don't hear
Your innocence belies your crafty plan
Come evening you fill me with fear

Your laughter can lift my very soul
But when your cries ring out in the night
My heart sinks to my feet as I get myself up
And I pray I'll get sleep before light

To my two beautiful daughters, who I swear can talk to each other despite being only 1 and 2 years old.

The Recurring Dream

2010-05-03T13:07:00.001-07:00

She arrives looking smart, same age, same hair, same person. I'm surprised at this. I thought she'd gone forever. She's guarded, distant. I'm sad.

"Why did you leave us?"

"I had to"

"But why?"

Nothing.

"You can't come back. John's* remarried, he has children. We don't need you now, you'll have nowhere to live. "

"I know, how is he?"

"He's really happy. He has a lovely family"

She doesn't seem to want to hug me, tell me it's all going to be okay and that she's back. Because she doesn't really seem to want to stay.

Besides, how would she fit in now. It's been far too long. Our lives rebuilt, we all moved on. She lives in our past.

She looks sad now. She says goodbye.

"Goodbye Mummy" I say.

This dream creeps up on me every couple of years. Always the same. The sense that she's just too late. She left us and she shouldn't have. But to come back now when everyone is different can't work anymore. Her husband, my stepfather, has moved on.

I don't know why I have it. She loved us more than anything and certainly wouldn't have left if she could have prevented it. But she died.

She had breast cancer. I miss her everyday.

Why we had to move

2010-04-22T02:27:00.000-07:00

I trudged up the high street trying to simultaneously speak on the phone, eat an apple and push the Titanic. I was sleep deprived, fat, looking 10 years older and wondering when I started to loathe London so much.

I got home, manouvred the Titanic down the steps and just got the front wheel over the door step when it locked and the Toddler almost went flying into the hall. Once in the house I engaged in the try-to-get-the-kids-out-of-the-pram-whilst-not-banging-my legs-on-the-table dance. But I got it wrong and had 2 large blue bruises on my shins to show for it.

The food spilled out of the carrier under the pram, the stair gate swung back and got me in the eye, the Toddler emptied the basket of toys in the living room that spilled into the hall, the baby cried for milk.

I sat down and cried. Then realised that was not good in front of the girls, so I got up and started to navigate my way through red and yellow plastic crap, tomatoes that had escaped their packaging and a few apples that were gently bruising their way across the stone kitchen floor.

As every other day, I sorted it. The toddler got to play, the baby got her milk. I managed to make their lunch, empty the dishwasher, hang up the washing in the dining room/play room/laundry room/ random piles of paper room. Then the toddler came in and pulled it all down.

That could have the time or maybe it was the time I came home with the Titanic (that had a flat tyre), and saw a notice tied to the lampost that read:

"Blue buggy stolen from front garden. Do not leave anything outside your house"

Then on the other side of the road the street sign had been modified to read "London Borough of Crime".

Or it could have been the time I couldn't actually get downstairs whilst carrying baby and toddler because of sheer weight of traffic in the hall. It took some nifty moves to navigate the black binliners with old baby clothes, the Titanic, his sports bags, 3 pairs of trainers, 2 pairs of wellies and God only knows what else.

Or maybe it was just a combination of everything. Our house was TOO SMALL. London had become oppresive to me. The clutter was making me anxious. The mundanity of our routine had started to suffocate me.

I'm a Gemini, I need change. I need new things, but mostly I need space to breath. I also need to see green and know that I'm only a short journey from real countryside. A park just doesn't cut me it for me. I am a country girl at heart.

We talked that night. I told him we had to move. Had to. We couldn't put it off because the house was looking a bit shabby, the market had plumbed new depths. We just had to do it. For all our sanity.

So we did. It took some time, some committment and some furious rows. But we did it.

It was one of the best things I have ever done. Now I can breath, my girls can play in the garden. I can leave the pram outside without fear of it being nicked. We can visit lots of different things that are all so near us.

I love it. The moment we decided to move, was the moment we started a new chapter in our family's life.

For Josie's Writing Workshop. Prompt number 2: Tell me about a time when you had a moment of realisation and knew that something HAD to change

Meandering reflections

2010-04-11T03:35:00.000-07:00

When all is quiet in my house I feel strangely removed. It's like I have gone back in time to a life before I got married and had kids, a life where I lived alone and did what I wanted when I wanted. I always treasure these brief moments alone, where no one can ask me questions, no nappies to change, no one can drag me off to do a jigsaw puzzle or, the proper heart-sinker, painting (if you haven't experienced the mess this can cause then you will think I"m a miserable old cow).

I always think I want more sleep, more time to rest in oblivion. But it's times like this, when my toddler and her Daddy have gone swimming and my baby is asleep that I realise sometimes all I need is a bit of time to myself, to have a cup of tea, consider the world and just look out of the window. Oh and of course drop a blog.

I am so happy that we moved. I miss some aspects of London, my local Mummy friends mainly. But they have come to visit us here, and what I get in return is so much more.

We drove down to Brighton on Friday. Completely spontaneous, which with two small children is not often a word I'll use in relation to my daily life. But my husband was about and we thought why the hell not. It was a beautiful sunny day, we played on the beach, had fish and chips, got hit on the head a couple times by stray volley balls (me not the kids thankfully), and my husband the hero rescued a Jack Russell puppy from a pitball. As you do on a day out in Brighton.

Aside from that little episode, it was invigorating to be somewhere so busy, Brighton has a 'vibe' you can't quite put your finger on. But it worked for us on Friday. And nothing beats hearing your children laugh.

Then yesterday when he was off doing man things (football related clearly), I went to a beautiful National Trust house with my Dad and Stepmother. The toddler adores her Grandpa. He's always been a brilliant father, but now he's being a truly wonderful Grandpa (although he has become known as Grandpa Pig, for his ability to always have the right tool to get the job done, and yes this does make my husband Daddy Pig, for his ability to never have the right tool to get the job done).

We went back to their house for lunch, and then the toddler had fun playing with toy tractors and a one-armed plastic farmer and other farming paraphenalia in the vegetable garden. And no my Dad's not a farmer, he was a Dentist, but he has an amazing collection of miniature farm buildings he built himself and tractors and so on that we all used to play with as children (three girls, no dollies for us, give us a tractor any day).

The point is if we still lived in London these two wonderful days would not have been so easy. It would have been a proper military organisation job. It would have involved synchronising sleeps and meal times and all that. It would, invariably, have involved arguments.

But as it happens we had two perfect days. The girls really had fun. The baby is starting to make her preferences known, and it's the most wonderful thing to see the two of them play together.

The baby absolutely adores her big sister, she smiles broadly whenever she cuddles her. I must try to capture some of this on film, it's something I so want to remember. (My Iphone is currently out of action after I dropped it so am awaiting it's replacement anxiously)

Anyway the baby is stirring. I've had my cup of tea, time of quiet reflection and written it all down. I hope you don't mind me sharing it all with you.

Little Film Club link still live below.

Who will watch me on my Scooter?

2010-03-29T03:19:00.000-07:00

I know you want to see him darling, and I do too, but he's had to go on a wonderful, exciting journey.

He'll be thinking of you the whole time; how much he loves you, what a brave boy you are, how fast you are on your scooter now. He'll be thinking about how well you are talking now, how kind you are and how you always share your favourite toys with your friends. He'll be thinking about you when you eat your breakfast, when we go to nursery, when you're watching Thomas. And he'll be there when I tuck you in at night and read you a story.

When I've kissed you goodnight and told you I love you, he'll be there up high in the sky looking through your window and making sure you have exciting dreams. He'll be sitting on the closest star, shining brightly at you and smiling.

No you won't be able to see him darling. That's because he's going to be spending most of his time on his journey. He'll be very safe though, as he's on his way to a wonderful place called Heaven. You can't visit him there, but every time you think about him he'll be with you, beside you, loving you.

I know you want to play football with him and show him how good you are on your scooter, and I know you want to give him a big cuddle. He'd love that too. But because he can't be here like he used to be, you'd better watch out because I'm a pretty good footballer myself.

Mummy might be a bit sad at the moment, but you and your baby sister are the most special, most important people in my life. I love you both more than anything and you make me very happy and very proud. You make your Daddy proud too and I know you're going to be the best big brother in the world and we're going to be a very happy family.

This was inspired by Josie's Writing Workshop prompt: 3. What a story or a poem or something descriptive to try and share your view of what happens when we die. Perhaps you could write it as a way of explaining a hard concept to your children?

It was also inspired by a very good friend who tragically lost her husband recently.

Today I feel like crying

2010-03-11T03:24:00.000-08:00

I'm okay for a while, I tick along, doing my thing, being a mum, being a wife, keeping my career on track. Then one day, like today, I just can't do it any more. One 5.30am start too many. One nightmare at bedtime too far that tips me over the edge of my sanity. It tears at my very soul to see my daughter crying for her mummy, I can't just leave her, but in going to her I know I'm 'making a rod for my own back' as the books say.

The pressure to be all things to all people is just too much for me sometimes. I can't be with my children all day, I can't reassure my toddler that it's okay Mummy's here, because as soon as the Nanny arrives I won't be. I'll be out the door, jumping on the train and coming into my other life.

I can't say to my husband 'do you know what, just give me a fucking break today, can't you just get up with the children, please. Can't you just find a way of keeping them occupied while I try and have a shower. ALONE? ' Because that would be unkind and unfair and he doesn't deserve that. But I'm a monster without enough sleep. I really don't adapt well to it like so many others.

If my 25 year old self were to look at me now, she'd be amazed by what I had achieved. But she'd also be saying to me 'Take a break Holly, give yourself some credit for what you do'. The truth is though I have no inner-life coach. I have no one to tell me that. And actually what I'm doing is not at all amazing really. There are plenty of working mothers out there. Many of whom struggle with other issues too, more children, sick children, children with challenges. My life is very easy really.

And most of time it's all good. I can get through life with a smile, thanking my lucky stars for the great gifts I've been given in the form of my two beautiful daughters. But some days the pressure mounts too high. I think I'll scream. I think I'll just walk out of here and keep on walking. Like that character in that Anne Tyler novel. I'll just leave and keep going, turn up somewhere coastal in a few weeks, with a broken pair of heels and a bad hair do.

I did try that once (the leaving, not the heels and hair). When my toddler was about 3 months old and I thought I couldn't cope with the crying, the sleep deprivation, the very life of being a mother anymore. I packed a small bag and waited at the bottom of the stairs for my husband to come home. The baby cried upstairs and I drowned out the noise with the thoughts in my head. They were evil buggers at that time. Properly nasty little sods that would invade my head whenever I stopped moving. He came home and hugged me and told me it would be okay, then he went and did the same with the baby. He saved all of us that night. He was perfect. Life went on and it was wonderful. But that fear lurks somewhere in the back on my mind and doesn't go away.

Maybe after the pressure releases (primeval shouting therapy perhaps?) I'll get my equilibrium back. Maybe a good night's sleep will put perspective on this and I'll read this again tomorrow and hang my red face in shame that I've shared such personal thoughts with the world (who am I kidding, I think about 10 people might read this and that's probably an exageration). At any rate I hope I'll do that. Because reading this with a degree of embarrasment will mean I feel better.

So thanks again Josie for giving me the prompt to bear my soul. The prompt was 'What is putting you under pressure today?'

In search of the Black Hill

2010-03-03T08:16:00.000-08:00

In response to Josie at Sleep for the Weak's excellent writing workshop prompt: Introduce us to a book that changed your life.

On the Black Hill, Bruce Chatwin

You could say this book changed my life, but more than that it gave me a wonderful set of lasting happy memories at a time in my life when they were few and far between.

Bruce Chatwin wrote a beautiful and deeply moving story of a pair of twins living in Wales early in the last century. The twins were born to a refined mother who had eschewed her parents' choices and married 'beneath' her. She married a farmer who bought a farm called 'The Vision' in the black hills.

The story followed her rather tragic and hard life, married to a rather emotionally inept man. But her great joy was her beautiful boys. She dies young and thereafter we follow the boys in their journey to become men in a very sheltered life on their hill. There is a modest cast of characters, all of whom generate a sense of sadness and despair but at times the descriptions can be light and even funny.

Suffice it to say, I adored this book. I read for my GCSE and became completely obsessed with it.

Those of you who follow my blog will know my father is an avid cyclist. He is also an avid explorer of the countryside. It didn't take much to persuade him to help me find the Black Hill. We knew that Chatwin had based it on a real place the 'Red Hill'.

So one weekend my father, my father's cousin and my cousin all set off to find the place that had occupied my head for so long. The excitement I felt was immense. When you know the characters so well, and have lived their story (albeit fiction) with them the idea you might find anything connected to them is extraordinary.

We set off on our bikes; I seem to recall going on strike at one point since I hadn't really appreciated the fact we were cycling in the black hills, and it was well hilly to say the least.

Once I got over myself, I got my sense of humour back and continued. I was most probably bribed with chocolate or a sticky bun (some things have been there all along).

My Dad and I couldn't quite believe it when, whilst having a well earned drink at a local pub, we looked on the OS map and actually saw The Vision marked there. We were so near. In fact a quick wander around the graveyard in the hamlet we had arrived at showed us some of the names of some of the characters in the book. Could this really be where Chatwin had come and been inspired? Could he have sat in this very pub and pondered his first novel?

Jumping back on our bikes we cycled across a muddy field and came upon an elderly farmer. Being soft Southerners his accent was hard to grasp but it transpired he had a brother....not only that but he recalled meeting a 'young blonde man' who had talked to him about his farm and mentioned 'something about a book'.

I still remember that feeling. To you it may not sound like much; finding an old farmer in a muddy field in Wales. But to my Dad and I it was perfect. Here he was. One half of the twins described so beautifully by Chatwin. We were standing on the land of The Vision. We were in the place we had looked for.

At the time I was sixteen or so. My mother was ill with cancer, my life was changing fast. My father and I have always been close, but this trip hopefully showed him that a sixteen year old girl normally more concerned about her friends and the latest band in the Hit Parade was still able to find true enjoyment and beauty in the things he loved too.

To this day I remember that trip with such fondness. The time my Dad and I became obsessed with a book to the point where we sought out it's birthplace. I remember the laughs we had, the hills we climbed, the awe we felt.

I still love exploring the countryside on my bike, and soon when my second baby is old enough we'll all be going out again discovering new places and seeking out old ones.

Sadly Bruce Chatwin died not long after he wrote that book, his first and only novel. I was very sad at the time. I'm sure he could have given the world some truly beautiful literature.

I want to be like you

2010-02-02T12:25:00.000-08:00

I want to be thinner
I want to be prettier
I want to be cleverer
I want to be like you

I want to have nicer hands
I want to have nicer hair
I want to have a better brain
I want to be more than I am

I want a big house
I want lots of cash
I want lots of stuff
I want I want I want

But you don't have my girls
You don't have my husband
You don't have my life
And if you knew me
You'd have envy.

This is a poem I have written to all those people I have ever wanted to be like, all those people who might have made me feel less than I really am. All those people who are probably lovely, but just make me feel a teensy bit crap.

This was in response to the Judith's Room theme week. This week's theme was Envy.

The truth about me

2010-01-27T13:34:00.000-08:00

I thought about writing to Josie's prompt "What are the voices in your head saying today" but to be honest I don't think I'm ready to share that. My blog is very personal and very honest but I stop short of giving you verbatim what is actually going on in this head of mine. If you knew you might decide to stop reading me, if you knew you might realize I'm just some huge great fraud. If you knew you'd see how frail and pathetic I really am. You'd see my flaws, you'd see my fears, you'd see my failings. You might judge me, might hate me, might see me in the flesh.

I tell you the truth here, I speak my mind, I am real, I am honest. But you get the filtered version, the edited highlights, the spin. I can't tell you about my fears about my children, I can't tell you about my worry I will die young, I can't say how much I love them it scares me, because if I do I will realize it is real and I will be too scared to continue.

The voices in my head are not generally my friends. I have worked hard to like them to make them like me, but in reality they are brutal. They don't care so much about feelings, they don't care so much about hurting me. They tell it like it is and it's all I can do to shut them up and sing loudly enough to drown them out.

The voices in my head are not friends, they tell the truth and mostly that's not what I want to hear.

Thankyou

2010-01-22T11:32:00.000-08:00

The journey was fun, I won't deny it
But really, it took so much searching
I knew you were out there waiting for me
I just had to keep on looking

I tried in many places, all wrong of course
The good, the bad, the nasty
I cried, I smiled, I gave up a bit
I took to my work, it helped me.

I've always been one to make the first move
No point in hanging around
So you had no choice quite frankly
You were the fox and I was the hound

And now here we are, with our two lovely girls
We're happy in our little family
You keep me going, you make me strong
And you know what? I'm really happy.

So thankyou for being the one that I found
Thankyou for all that you do
Thankyou for making our girls laugh
Thankyou for being you.

Ok so it's pretty light on the details, but it sort of sums up (in a very abbreviated way) my journey to meeting him indoors. I had to kiss my fair share of frogs - you don't want to get it wrong do you? Our relationship isn't perfect (does that actually exist?) but it works for us and he's put up with me through some wonderful ups and some serious downs. He doesn't get enough thanks from me, as there's always something else to think about. So for just one moment I'm saying thankyou, for everything you do.

The Birthday.

2010-01-16T02:23:00.000-08:00

Here's another entry courtesy of Josie's writing workshop. The prompt is:

1. What do you seem unable to learn or remember, no matter how hard you try?

My best friend's birthday. I know it's coming up soon. I know it's in January. She's aquarius. I have known her since school, she has been there for me through thick and thin. The death of my mother, the subsequent depression, the strange and rather lost teenage years. Moving to town, getting a job, failed relationships, then finally marriage, pregnancy and birth.

She has listened, encouraged, supported and loved me for 24 years.

She has laughed with me, cried with me, drank with me, eaten mountains of chocolate with me. She is my third sister and yet still I can never remember the date. I have a vague niggle that it's now, today even, and yet I can't possibly ask her. How could I forget it. Something so fundamental.

Both her parents died two years ago. Within one month of each other. She kept it all going, she was grieving, she was broken but she never retreated away from her friends. She kept her role as supporter, helper and best friend.

She still listened to me and my small problems. She still made me cups of tea while I bemoaned being pregnant, the sickness, the tiredness, the hormones. She had her own two children to look after, they had lost their grandparents. She kept them safe and happy.

She really is quite remarkable. So what kind of friend am I. I rely on her for so much, and yet this one thing, this pretty important thing really, I can't remember.

Soon I will have to phone a friend, it's my annual call and she'll be expecting it. Then I'll have got away with it for another year.

Finding you

2010-01-14T05:20:00.000-08:00

I expected to love you with all my heart
I imagined that great wave to hit me
I cried when they put you in my arms
You were here and I was a mummy.

Don't worry it's normal everyone said
You're tired, exhausted please rest
She needs you more than anyone else
Keep going it's for the best

I waited for that feeling to come
I fed and bathed and clothed you
I hid behind the new mum fog
But it felt all wrong. Where were you?

Then one day as I struggled to function
The lights went on in my head
I looked at you and was overwhelmed
I loved you, just like they'd all said.

While I'm being so honest with myself about my feelings, here's a small offering in recognition of the hard time I had after my first daughter's birth. It took a while, but when it came the love was wonderful and it grows every day.

Mummy I miss you

2010-01-14T02:53:00.000-08:00

This post is in response the brilliant Writing Workshop I have just come across by Josie at Sleep is the for the Weak. I felt compelled to write something in response to prompt 2. Tell me about something you miss

Mummy I miss you.
I miss not knowing whether I sucked my thumb
I miss not knowing if I slept through early on
I miss not knowing if I threw tantrums
I wish you were here to ask now

I miss how you would kiss it better
I miss how you would make me feel safe
I miss how you could make me feel happy
I wish you were here to laugh with me now

I miss how you picked me up from school
I miss how you told me to ignore the bullies
I miss how you treated me like I was special
I wish you were here to comfort me now

I miss that you'll never hold my children
I miss that you weren't there at their births
I wish I could feel your warmth and love
I wish you were here with me now.

I miss her everyday and this Writing Workshop gave me a reason to write about that.

Welcome to Holly's Hobby

2010-01-14T02:17:00.000-08:00

I wanted to create a new place where I could house my writing (my hobby hence the name - sorry about spelling but Hollys Hobby was taken obviously). I am a member of Judith's Room and I am taking part in the Writing Workshop at Sleep is for the Weak.

I have no idea how this will pan out, but wanted to keep it separate from my Mummy blog. Please follow me or subscribe to me if you'd like to see what I do.

Happy reading xx