414 days…

A bit more of the same today.

I am stress cleaning… as much as I hate cleaning.

Emptying cupboards, purging, reorganising.

It feels quite good to have these things done, organised, clean ….  but while I am doing this, one of the kids will invariably coat the floor in melted chocolate or sprinkle weet-bix flakes from one end of the house to the other.

Still, it could be worse…

… they could be sprinkling Coco Pops from one end of the house to the other.


We went to the library this morning and then fluffed around for the rest of the day.

…and D came about the deck to explain he couldn’t start until the rain clears.  I like D. I am looking forward to having that deck.


By tonight, the stabby headache I’ve had for the past 2 days has become a dull thud at the back of my head… and I became Bad Shouty Mummy.

Because I am tired and my head hurts and there’s nobody else to step in.

… and I sit here, feeling sorry for myself and wondering where the hell you are.

I hate that you aren’t here.  That I can’t turn around and hug you.  Yell at you.  Ask you to make dinner … do the dishes .. something … anything.  To let me have a night off.

But mostly that you aren’t here for me to hug.  To run my hand over your scars.  To look into those blue eyes and see your soul.

…and just like that I’m right back at raging WHY you died.


It still makes no sense.

I miss you.

I love you.