Action station

This is the place in the house where everything gets dumped/discussed/eaten, the place people naturally gravitate toward when they visit - even if you don't want them to! It's where I sit and type when I didn't plan to sit and type here, it's where I dump my camera, where I download my photos, where I sit and hold court over the teens' comings and goings. It's where Tess does her homework and indulges her creative side. (That piece of paper on the table is the plans for a "Bobinator". Tess tells me Bob is an evil man who puts nice, individual people into his machine and turns them all into Bobs.)
I often find I've tried to write something here and it doesn't go well for me - it's not a writer's place. It's too public.

Today I forced myself to sort through loads of clean, dry washing. I bunged some classical music on the iPod to make it a little less mundane, and most of us now have plenty of clean dry underwear - with some items that we'd forgotten we even had (apart from Gemma, who has yet to give me her washing...)

And now the self-centred bit:
I saw something today that made me want to sob - selfishly for myself. I don't want to just be a middle-aged wife and mother and person who does stuff, discusses, tidies, organises... nurtures others... I want to be nurtured! I want time and space and a place and permission to be creative. To be myself.
It's the same old, same old problem with me. I want what I have, I want to be who I am to the people who matter to me. But I cannot, can NOT be just that. The trouble is 43 is grown-up: there is no one and nowhere to nurture my writing, imagining, dreaming side. I still want to be who I could have been and I'm jealous - really jealous of those who can still afford all that youthful selfishness. And I'm angry that we've been conditioned to think that there is an age for dreaming and an age for responsibility. I want both. And I want my children to know I'm not past it.
I snuck in a bit of flute-playing today but it was like a guilty pleasure and I had my eye on the time - trying to control my enjoyment.

I love all my children and I'm so proud of them. They say wonderful, insightful things that amaze me regularly. Tess described a good teacher to me yesterday and she was so right - she is so clever in spotting what is needed to guide children. (Message me below, if you need some advice, Michael Gove). They all have a tremendous sense of humour and questioning, caring minds. I wouldn't change my life for the world...

But nothing.

The only "but" is about society, about conditioning about being a mother.

Have you seen the Asda advert?
Fuck that.