while you're ahead…

This morning I got all dressed to for a run after taking No 1 to his work experience placement… and then I didn’t.  I sat in the car on the driveway when I got back and had this thought that I really, REALLY didn’t fancy running, so why should I?  Why should I feel guilty about changing my mind?  I’m 48 years old, if I don’t want to go for a run I don’t have to.  Right?  Instead I grabbed my computer and did a session of yoga practice with a nice American lady called Caren (the video is here, it’s the first one on the page, because… why not start from the beginning right? It’s actually aimed to ‘the new year/new beginning’… but hey, one could argue that every day is a new beginning…).  You know what?  I loved it.  I feel calm(er), more centred and have definitively more energy that if I’d gone for a run!  So bring it on!  And I don’t feel guilty in the slightest.

Ok, the energy might also have something to do with the delicious slice of freshly baked bread and apricot jam I’ve just wolfed down… maybe.   Yoga always makes me hungry, the better the session the hungrier I feel.  But it’s a good hungry… a happy hungry.  Not a ‘I’m going to kill someone if I don’t ear RIGHT NOW’ hungry.  It’s not ‘hangry’.

Also, yes, I baked bread.  Go me.  With a bread machine but still… go me.

I had bought a book about making sourdough bread… but I lost it.  Vanished together with a book about raising pigeons that my brother wants to take to South Sudan to a friend of his who’s like a pigeons whisperer or something.

Also, (repetition I know) I have watched the last episode of Wallander on Netflix and now I feel stranded… what should I watch now?  I have mountains of ironing – I have always mountains of ironing… – and I need to watch something to keep my brain alive.  Any good stuff?  not to gory/scary/weird…

And I lost my tweezers.  I need them, please send tweezers.

No 3’s new bed has been delivered without the slats.  Seriously people?  You have ONE job…. They’re going to come a more than a week later this Sunday.  I’m going to go to the festival of quilt on Sunday… so Mr M will have to take the delivery and maybe put the bed together which is something he hates.  Putting stuff together that is.  Really hates.  So what will happen is that when I get back with a head full of quilts and ideas and buzzing around with sore feet… I’ll be handed an allen key and brought back down to earth.  I’m good at predicting the future, you’ll see.  No 3 wanted a new bed because now that he’s a teenager… well teenagers don’t sleep on platform beds.  Apparently.

I’m not ready for all this mad growing up that is happening around me.  No 1 is learning to drive (quite an experience to get in a car with a 17yr old, let me tell you), and he is thinking at University/jobs/gap years… No 2 is away (again) without me… No 3 is now a teen and is sticking posters on his walls and wants to sleep in a ‘real bed’.

Sigh.  Can everyone please slow down?

Also, (shhhh, I know)  I have decided to put this sweater on hold.  (The pattern is called Leiden from the latest issue of pompom magazine)

Just wasn’t feeling it. There’s no way I can finish in time to wear it this season and I’d rather start something in wool that I get the chance to wear in the forthcoming months.  So off in hibernation it goes.  Perhaps I’ll pick it up again next year… perhaps not.  This is part two of my new ‘no more guilt’ regime (Refer to the first paragraph for the first chapter) and you know what?  It feels very good an liberating.  You should trying.

And now I’m going to work on my nephew’s quilt, because I want to.

Over and out.