There isn’t an easy way to say hey guess what we’re getting divorced and my ex has moved to Canada and I’m here with four children and a dog and a cat and a tank full of blooming tropical fish I don’t know how to look after, is there?
But there you go. Most of you know it, anyway, and if you didn’t, well, there you are. And yes, it’s horrible and hard work and scary and I’m excited at the same time. Life is starting again, and I like it.
But I was cleaning the kitchen today whilst doing eleven billion other things and dealing with my broken children, when I thought about this blog. It’s a pretty good metaphor for the way I am right now. It’s sitting here, all shiny and beautiful and nothing’s-changed-ish, and I don’t know what to do with it. And we move to our new house in Buckingham in less than two weeks, and I’m sitting in my house and it’s all shiny and beautiful and nothing’s-changed-ish. Because I’m a bit scared. Because when I start packing (or writing) it’s real. Properly real. And I don’t know how to fit a washing machine. Or put the bunk beds together. Or the children. I don’t know how to put them back together.
And I’m actually terribly untidy, and since July when I started living alone with the children I’ve been fighting against a sea of bits of paper and lego people and squeezy yogurt wrappers which sneak under the cushions and wine glasses and oh, help. And I don’t know how to fix the broken dishwasher, either. And there’s a million tons of paperwork and we forgot to put the bin out and my favourite chicken died the day my ex left for Canada and it’s really scary being a grown up. And this isn’t flowers and pretty and village life. But it’s real life. And it’s all I’ve got right now. You can keep me company whilst we start over, if you like.