A Double Helping of Hot Buttered Toast
Drawing lines, accepting the truth, holding your own while others take theirs... and the reminder that YOU are your best thing
“You are your best thing.” I’ve quoted that line often. Written as it was by Toni Morrison – words spoken to Sethe by Paul D in one of my top three novels in the world, Beloved (The English Patient and The Island of Missing Trees being my other two, possibly, although 100 Years of Solitude, An Equal Music, A Room with a View, are all in there too… like playing favourites with your equally-cherished children).
There is no way to share the heartbreaking gravitas of that moment in the novel, Beloved… all it encapsulates and speaks to… you must read and breathe the novel to know why.
Yet, as a mother, it reminds me of many things I often forget.
The Easter Holidays have been interesting. Mr R and I now accepting that we will never have a picture-perfect-postcard holiday with our kids. That we can stretch and fold ourselves into difficult shapes, but the energy and impetus won’t come from us. We can make the most beautiful plans, raise our spirits skyward and hope hope hope for the very best, but our children will go and flow (or not) their own way.
The eldest is at a tricky threshold. 13/14. The childish verve that once woke her early and sent her out, ever-curious, into the day, has been replaced by something quite different. She is often morose. It is hard to encourage her out of bed before noon. Even if we entice with stacks of pancakes or swims in the pool, she’ll likely roll over, pull the cover more firmly over her sleepy head, and resurface again in a few hours.
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