I love to have a leisurely breakfast on weekends, using my Wedgwood crockery. Sitting quietly with a pot of tea (loose leaf tea, of course), and reading the paper.
For most of my adult life I have had a cup of tea and two pieces of toast for breakfast. Since starting my path to gorgeous, healthy and organised living last August, I have porridge every weekday, but on the weekend I have toast (and use sour dough or ciabatta, ooh how fancy!), with jam. And there is only one jam for gorgeous living: Bonne Maman raspberry jam.
Having breakfast on my own is my little moment of peace. No conversation, no sharing, no passing the milk, no listening to others schmutzing. Just the thought calms me.
I sit and read the paper and finish with a Sudoku. Looking out onto my back verandah (when the weather is warmer, I sit there) I can make breakfast last for hours. Today the sun was shining and the sky was blue, but the air cool. I doubt there will be anymore outside breakfasts until next spring.
No exercise this weekend. My bad back has put me on “restricted duties”. A few gentle stretches, moving around, not sitting for too long in one spot, making sure I sit correctly.
As it is Mothers’ Day here, rules dictate that no one must interfere with my breakfast. Don’t ask me where things are, don’t ask me to help get your breakfast, don’t ask how long something should go in the microwave, don’t put the TV on, don’t play loud music, correction – don’t play any music, don’t heat up anything that smells, for example those garlicky sausages, don’t sit at my table (yes, the one with six chairs), and don’t schmutz. On the upside, I never ask for breakfast in bed on Mothers’ Day, so I am not completely rigid and demanding. What teenager wouldn’t love to have a smother, opps mother, who says don’t get up for me on Mothers’ Day?
When they eventually surface, my youngest child shows his love in the correct, consumerist manner. With a bought present. Although I thought it was a little rich, asking me to wrap my own present because I do a better job.
After pointing out that gift-giving protocols require the giver to wrap the present and the recipient to unwrap, we were back on track for consumer rituals.
He knows I love candles, so my gift was well-received.
And then, in the manner of all dutiful children, we trek out to visit the matriarch. I know, I thought it was me too. But it appears not. The battles have been fought but the war is as yet inconclusive. but as I am the one who is traipsing across town in Mothers’ Day traffic, I may have to admit I have lost the war for the matriarchal crown. Will think further on this!
Ooh! Wearing skinny jeans for my Mothers’ Day luncheon. Can’t have put on too much weight, can I? Even if black is so slimming.
If only I could sit comfortably all day and not have to undo the zip by the evening!
No decluttering today! But lots achieved on my daily coping activities – lots of hugs, lots of doing nice things, lots of laughter, and my morning of calm.
And now, as I type this entry, I have to explain to my eldest-almost-an-adult son, that shooting his mother with a nerf gun does not come on the list of acceptable displays of affection, and I WANT MY GIFT.
(This son played the trump card of being the oldest grandson, and the only one of an age to go to night clubs, so not coming home the night before and ditching the family luncheon is allowed, condoned and even slightly envied. And now he says it is Mothers’ Day for a few more hours so he still has time to wrap and present my gift. Surely the rules say Mothers’ Day gifts must be given in the daylight?)
Edited to add: I hear sticky tape being pulled and fought with, so my eldest should conform to expected rituals. I know I am decluttering but a surprise is a surprise and always joyously received.