Love

So it's been an eventful week. I've created much drama out of a series of unfortunate and farcical personal mishaps involving dental failures, dizziness, unnecessary blood pressure checks and overworked and underpaid tear ducts due to the feisty and at times off the fekkin' scale, never before experienced, female hormones suddenly surging at Pictish warrior (or at least totally ruined border terrior) levels. David Stuart gets an honorary mention for patience in the face of my wifely derangement. But let's get real here, all brownie points were lost when he took a picture of the top of my head in the middle of Tescos to show me my halo of grey roots. I think I might have started twitching at that point whilst admitedly also laughing. See, it's a fine line. Yes indeedy, the monthly rollercoaster of womanhood, we love it so. Except it's taboo. Or not. It's hard to keep up.

Anyway, from the ashes of the week something important and strong did grow. Kind gestures, and giving kindness back too. That is like channelling pure grade, uncut and side effect free medicine. But more heartening than that was the two separate but equally impromptu opportunities over the last 48 hours where i got to spend some time talking with each of my kids about some very important matters of life and living. I love my kids. I love their values. They are of course still cheeky monkeys, allergic to the dishwasher and maintain stunning clothes strewn floordrobes.