Grateful for time

Every Friday, the delightful Maxabella blogs about the things she is grateful for, and hosts an enormous linky to allow bloggers everywhere to share their gratefulness.

I am often grateful. I am occasionally ungrateful (or so my long-suffering husband tells me...) I rarely write a specific "grateful" blog to link up with Maxabella, but instead will pop along to join the crowd if my recent posts have in some way included a grateful or two. (If I'm being truthful, most Fridays I forget about the grateful linky, even though I am unashamedly grateful for the forthcoming weekend...!)

This morning, I realised that I was indeed, truly grateful. (Isn't it weird when you see a word written down continuously, and it starts to look strange? Check it out - Grateful. Grateful. Grateful. Grateful. Doesn't it look like a foreign word now? Or somehow spelled incorrectly? But the only other word I can think of to replace it, is 'thankful'...and after all, Maxabella's linky IS about being grateful.....)

Anyway.

Normal Friday morning routine: organised kids through dressing, breakfast, brushing teeth, into car. Listened to kids prattle away in the back seat all the way to school. Drove past the block to check progress (NB: whilst not doing anything to our house, they were constructing two frames and pouring a slab. Not bad, builder boys, not bad. But, as Phoebalina pointed out, "they're not quite fast enough, are they, Mummy?" No, Phoebs. They're not.)

Dropped Jack at school, went to post office. Visited hairdresser to make appointment for Phoebs, was offered haircut on the spot. Watched my big girl get her very first haircut, with the most enormous smile on her face (was all of three hairs snipped, but you would have thought she had just endured a complete hair makeover.) The Mouse jived on the salon floor as though she were the paid entertainment. Meandered through the toy shop, visited the bakery, bought Archie a bone (I swear it must be a dinosaur bone, it's gigantic) at the butcher's.

Chucked the girls back in the car to go and visit my Dad. Phoebe was bubbling with excitement to see Pa. The Mouse promptly fell asleep (which I was powerless to stop, meaning she would not sleep later at home. There are worse things in life...)

As I drove over to see my Dad, two takeaway coffees steaming up the car, sunshine being sunshiny and girlies singing in the back, I pottered around in my thoughts. "Only 36 sleeps until Phoebe's birthday. I wonder how Kirsty is getting on with Eliza? Who taught Maisie to pick her nose so expertly? Must buy tickets for the trivia night. I like sunny days. Should have put the washing out. But then Archie would have eaten it. Nice latte. Phoebe's hair actually looks very cute. I need to moisturise my hands."

I realise your head might not work like this. Actually, if you're at all normal, chances are your head looks nothing like mine. But I'm afraid that's the truth. And when I sat back to examine my thought processes (a dodgy practice if there ever was one), I realised that I was happy and relaxed, not only because it was a sunny day, but because I had TIME to be happy and relaxed.

It's always time that defeats me. I never have enough time to do anything - sleep, exercise, shop, cook, clean, fold washing, read stories, play games, walk the dogs, talk to my husband. I am always either stopping one task abruptly to begin another, or doing something quickly and poorly so that I can move on to the next.

Since beginning my teaching job four weeks ago, I have been forced to organise my week around my two-day absence from housewifery. The first week was terrible, but since then I have actually found a good system, which so far is working. And an unexpected bonus is that I have been more organised on my *ahem* "non-working" days, and also more inclined to stop and smell the roses, since my time with my wee girls has been slightly curtailed.

So today, I was grateful for time.

Time that allowed me to visit my Dad and share a quick coffee out the front of his shop, while the Ballerina ran around in her dress-ups and the Mouse snored in her carseat.

Time that meant I was not rushing off to be somewhere, or do something.

Time that let me come home and actually play with Phoebe. Just play. Not with one eye on school work. Not with one hand stirring a pot. Not while I folded washing (It's still there...) Just time with Phoebe. She laughed, a lot.

Time to notice that the Mouse has, in one short week, learned the word, "no!"; how to clean her nostrils without the aid of a tissue; how to jump on the back of the couch until Mummy notices; how to say, "moon"; and how to break my heart by cradling her newly adopted teddy / love interest (the one which must accompany her everywhere, including to bed, the supermarket and to collect Jack at school), Woo-Woo. Woo-Woo is named thus because he is a fluffy puppy dog teddy, and that is the sound he makes, apparently. Like all dogs. She does love him with all her baby heart, and holds him around the neck with both arms. It is too, too adorable.

Time to reflect on the fact that Jack has his very first wobbly tooth. If my son has an impending visit from the tooth fairy, that must mean I am getting old. Which can only be a good thing.

I am grateful for having some of my time being consumed by my new job, because it has forced me to value my time at home even more. I am grateful for having the time to spend with my family. I am grateful for having the time to get older with my husband.

In short....I am grateful. As strange as that word looks.