I had a point... but I lost it....

Sorry for going MIA over the weekend.

I had plans to write about so many things, but they all seemed trivial against the momentous day being remembered.

And then I watched 60 minutes and anything I had to say just didn't seem worth anyone's time when they could be reading/watching/listening to something so much more important.

Then I tried to write about how I felt - about 9/11, the Morcombes, Somalia.... And I just couldn't. All my words came out funny.

Which made me feel not very funny at all.

So I didn't write. I absorbed other people's writing. I read and laughed and cried and then I did some gardening.

Proper grown up gardening. With, like fertilizer and stuff. I gave some good old love and care to the roses that were shooting canes as high as the roof when I arrived last year. I pruned them in July, so they are all bushy and pretty now, which is a miracle considering I forgot to check which way up the teeny tiny buds were pointing when I decided how much I would hack off. I've even managed a relatively round shape on all of them, including the really old gnarly ones.

I drenched them in rose spray, and can report that my trial bush has no black spot (so far) after I spent the last few months removing and quarantining every. single. black. spotted. leaf. in an attempt to make it healthy again. 

Then I sprinkled fertilizer, and watered them, and cut back the encroaching grass. I felt quite domestic.

I really don't know why I am bothering. I won't get to prune them again. But I could not stand one more day of looking at the poor neglected things and insisted on putting them right. Plus they are the ONLY plants in the garden besides ugly, easy care succulents that I want to dose with round up. So it gives me somthing to do.

Then the kids and I planted some stuff.

Which meant Frog dug holes in the already planted pots and spread potting mix all over the deck with much giggling.

We planted some more strawberries. And some parsely seeds in my recycled muffin tray. And then we planted some flowers. So we have something to take with us that makes us feel at home. Some seaside and paper daisies, some aquilegias, and something purple and pretty. Mostly daisies though, because I have yet to kill a daisy, even though I have managed to kill a cactus.

WonderMan did some gardening. But not much because it kept raining. And then he got some wood. Which involved at least an hour of yakking to the people who owned the property where he went to collect it. While I was at home waiting for him to get back so I could do some stuff.

I washed some clothes.

I tidied some stuff.

I should be clearing stuff out.

But instead I'm just faffing about shifting things around.

I'm putting it off.

Because I know it's me that has to do it. There's no one else.

This is also why I'm feeling funny.

WonderMan will be leaving soon.

And then it's all my job.

The garden. The lawns. Taking out the garbage. Dinner. Bathtime. The school run. THE DISHES. Every. Freaking. Day.

And I don't really want to know about it.

It's too overwhelming. Too scary. Too much work.

I'm scared I will fail.

This from the lady who successfully ran a home, worked a full time job and raised a toddler all by myself. Including learning a new trade every time something needed fixing, because I felt like a baby ringing Dad to come and fix stuff.

And then spent two years doing the same thing but with a boyfriend to run around after as well.

But it's been almost four years since I met WonderMan now, and it scares the bejeezus out of me to go back to doing it all on my own, even for a little while.

You are probably rolling your eyes at me right now, because I don't have the hard life. Because there are so many doing it solo, or caring for children with special needs, or whatever. No, I don't have these problems, but life has been pretty tough for the last couple of years.

We've battled debts and deaths. We've stared down the barrell of homelessness more than once. We've been through family melt downs, and suffered bullying and persecution from every side.

And things are finally starting to go well.

For the first time in what feels like forever.

We are going in the right direction and it feels good.

The big kicker in all of this is that to move forward, WonderMan has to move away for a bit.

And I've kind of come to rely on my dishes washing, whipper snipper toting husband to be.

I know that this is right, that this is our future.
But I'm worried about how I'll manage it all.

I'm really worried that I'll not cope well.

I'm scared I won't live up to my own standards.

I barely make it as it is.

And what the hell am I going to do if I don't?

I suppose I just have to "suck it and see".

And suck it up, princess.