Sssssh! He's sleeping.....

Tonight, he came down the stairs again, for one more hug, one more cuddle, and in the end he said, "But I just want to see you tonight. Just in case." and so he went on the sofa, no tv, no nothing, I barely spoke to him because I was working.  He barely spoke to me, because he was so tired, but his "brain was too busy to sleep."

He was asleep after about 15 minutes, and I'll put him into his own bed when I finish this.

For reasons best known to itself, and nothing to do with the source file, the picture of the afternoons scarf progress looks like this. Hmmmmmmmmmm.  But you get the idea.  I've worked out where the mistake was, and how not to do it again.

This is my delight and my salvation, as the psalm goes.  A silent one-cup maker that will also boil a kettle.  Yes, it's an extravagance, but there won't be many of those soon.  It's environmentally friendlier, and gorgeous to look at as well.  And has my Doctor Who Dalek  mug on it at the moment, which Rich got for me with the AC one year for my Easter egg.  Mothering Sunday is in 2 weeks, and I'm trying not to think about it, because this time last year, and the year before, there were whisperings in corners, and cards being hidden, and plans and schemes being made.  Rich took it very seriously, and always, always told me what a great mother I was, and how I would be a fantastic mother to our children, how he would never have to worry.  He promised me all the things on the milk advert... (I must find the link for it, even if it was SMA)

Anyway.  Enough maudlin before bed.

See this? This is what I have just found.  The Kevin-Cat has knocked over the pile of veg boxes, and was sat looking at them with a "What? Where did they come from? Wasn't me!" face.

But this little face

 

This face is going to bed.

Night all.  Tomorrow I must tell of church.  Tonight I shall think upon it some more.

p.s.

Found the words....

I promise not to pretend I'm asleep when our baby wakes at 3am, or 4am, or 5am.

I promise never to say 'my mum thinks your holding the baby wrong'.
 
I promise not to mention that sometimes when i kiss your beautiful neck it smells of perfume and baby sick.

I promise not to join in any of my mates sing the theme tune from The Omen, although it is quite funny.

I promise to do at least my fair share of nappy changing and night feeding.

I promise to tell you often, how proud i am of you, and how you've made me the happiest dad on the planet. All this i pledge without any pressure from you, my lovely lovely misses. 

It came on the tv one night, and he looked at me, kissed me, and said "I promise all that as well, y'know." and kissed me again. *happy memory sigh*

And the film link is still on my "to find" list.

Another bout.....

Yesterday evening, late, turned into another one of these sessions. With a bit of this in it.

It wasn't pretty.  It was tearful and snotty and really quite awful!  Saturday nights are, as I've said before, one of the worst times, because they were so us.  Everyone went, and we stayed in our house, doing our stuff.  Going to bed.  Having silent but giggly sex. Drinking tea.  Going to bed far too late knowing I had to be up early.

More and more, it's all of it I miss.  I miss him being here, but I miss the everything, the little things.  There are things in the house now that he has never seen in person.  He's never met Kevin, never used the Russell Hobbs thingy, never used my iPod.

It's normal, natural and so on, but it's not right.  I was asked out again yesterday, which was lovely, but the person concerned accepts that now is not the right time.  It's still flattering to be asked though.

What else has happened?

I decided to take pictures of some of the things I've eaten in the last couple of days, to allay any fears that I am not eating enough.  Or properly.

 

Scrambled eggs with parma ham, 3 kinds of salami, and fresh organic cherry tomatoes. And the ever present cup of tea.

 

Tomato and basil soup with homemade bread, and cream cheese dollops. I'm sure there is a proper phrase.  I just don't know it.  Dollops is fine.

I also shook some of the funk by walking into town yesterday and purchasing a pattern, wool, and needles (as I have 7's but no 8's.)

 

Eventually it will be a scarf.  It was a useful way of gently nudging my brain back into gear several times yesterday, although mistakes were made so because it knits up really fast, I've actually pulled it and started again.  More pictures later.  But it's only a 6line pattern....

 

 

For the person who emailed me, this is the AC's memory box.  He loves it, cherishes it, and was proud to take it into school to show. 

 

I won't go into everything in it, but this is the inside.  It's all things that AC feels are important for him to have to remember Rich.  There are photos, a t-shirt that still smells of oil and diesel, and his wallets and other random things that AC values.  He decides what goes in it, and I'll ask him if I can share with the world one day, but not today.  He took it into school, and went through it with his bereavement group.  They were over an hour going through it, he told stories about Rich, it led one of the boys to share things about his mother, and AC was sad to find other people don't have memory boxes for their person.  We talked about it though, and he's ok now.  Talk is the answer for everything in this house.  Talk and jaffa cakes.

 

 

And this is not my kitchen.  My kitchen looks like this, but is green.  I'll photo it later.

AS you can tell, I'm going to try and make photos a bigger part of this blog, because I need to look back and see how good things were, or bad, and how they are better now.  That'll be good for the AC and I.

 

Speaking of which - here we are!  This was taken in half term, and was at Pizza Hut with Caroline and the twins.

Time to do the notices.  Laters peoples!