okay wtf is with the math terms? first angles, then slope? (ps my lovely pocketbrit will surely take issue with my saying math, apparently it is maths, plural. the brits are a weird fucking people, i’m just saying.)
i’m not even sure i have a photo for this. i’m trying to think of a one…there must be at least something, somewhere. okay, but as i started to write i had a couple thoughts about hitting the slopes…shit, the last time i went downhill skiing was ten years ago, a couple months before getting pregnant with our daughter, when i went on a cross-border bus trip with my friends. highlights of the trip: not the slopes, but 1) the amazing caesars they served at the chalet, 2) the absolutely horrifyingly amazing country music bar we went to after our first day of skiing (which culminated in me hugging the toilet, i seem to remember) and 3) cross-country skiing, on our last day, where the snow sparkled like a million diamonds in the brilliant sunshine. i was sweaty yet cold, exhilerated but exhausted.
not very exciting, but it’s what i’ve got.
i had to post this link.
in our house we tell each other to listen, linda all the time. and then giggle like lunatics. this kid cracks us up.
this is a huge one.
i mean, it’s the whole reason we’re here, with this blog. coz it’s where we meet, most every night; or when we’re feeling sad or scared; when we’re lonely and needing to feel close. the sea is where we go.
i had my first flashback in a very long while tonight. it was not expected and it was vivid and it was horrible. i was on my own with our daughter (who thankfully did not notice i was losing my shit, i was in the bath, trying to steam it all away) but i had pocketbrit with me on chat.
and, like so many times before, she stayed with me. didn’t leave. kept talking to me and the wee one. held us close, at the sea. hand in hand, she waded into to the cold water, alongside my small one who wanted to wet her feet. and then, when her little teeth chattered, pocketbrit dried her off, and got her in warm fuzzy jammies, and took her into her lap and swung with her on the porch, back and forth, back and forth, until she was asleep on her shoulder, face buried in her neck.
and then she brought her into the warm, and laid down next to her on the sofa, with the fire burning low, and went to sleep, too. after telling me a million times how proud she was, how much she loved me, and after crying her own tears for what we all had to endure.
i fell asleep with the both of them too, for a couple hours. i woke up in a dark room, with wet cheeks and a huge lump in my throat. i was dreaming, i don’t quite know what about, but it was a good sad, it was safe, there was love.
i truly don’t know what i’d do without our cottage at the sea. i had no idea a place in our minds could be so real, could help me feel so close to someone, so comforted, so loved.
i go there often: on my own, sometimes, but mostly to spend time with our young parts. sometimes we go to throw stones into the surf, to rage and scream. sometimes we go for long walks on the beach, small hands in larger ones, to scout for puppies we hope to steal away from their owners so to cuddle them in front of the fire. some afternoons we just go and set up puzzles on the table, or put a movie on for whoever wants to watch.
so much napping happens on the worn grey sofa at the sea. so much snuggling. and a lot of swinging on that old worn porch swing, where soft cushions and fuzzy shawls and blanket cocoons abound.
i swear it’s a real place, our place at the sea. it’s certainly real to me, and i think, to her. i can hear it, if i close my eyes. can smell the beeswax candles, the sprigs of lavender on the mantle, the wood crackling in the fireplace. i can see the gentle orange of the flames flickering on my eyelids, and can sense its warmth. and when we text each other, urging the other to tuck in, to stay close, i feel that too. and our code for i love you: two squeezes of our hands. all of it.
the sea has saved me. i don’t know how much more plainly i can say that. i don’t know what i’d do without it. and i don’t want to find out.
i was seriously going to write a post about menstruating, but i thought that may be somewhat off-putting.
it was bizarre that my next thought was about this shawn mendes song, because anyone who knows me will tell you that my knowledge about pop culture is pretty limited. especially current-day pop culture. but i had the main chorus of this song repeating itself in my head, and then when i went to search for the lyrics, i was struck by the depth of what he’s written, especially for a mainstream pop song. which is apparently based on his own struggle with anxiety. so i guess i’m a bit of a fan, then? of a young, hot canadian dude with ridiculous abs who also puts his mental health out there for public consumption (not that he hasn’t been rewarded heartily for it, but still.)
and then i thought about this one day when i told pocketbrit how many hours i’d slept that night (it was something terrible, like 3) and she told me it was bloody appalling. which i then imagined her saying it in my mind, and it made me laugh out loud. and i realized that it probably would sound adorable and thus i really needed to hear her actually say it, and after one thousand eye rolling emojis she actually did send me a video of her saying bloody appalling. TWICE! (and, fyi, it is still one of my favourite videos she’s ever sent. in fact i’m still grinning like a total moron just thinking about it.)