Fur ball days.

Well back to ordinary life with a bump.  Woke this morning in a daze after a teething night with Mr 20 month old.  He was a bright box of fluffies, I resemble zombies poor cousin. So moving slowwwly with hang over/jet lag  like symptoms I wander down stairs looking for his socks. Small secretive creatures that avoid detection especially when needed in a hurry. Must be some unwritten law of the universe that when you most need order, chaos ensues and two matching socks are impossible to find.

In this fuzzy state of unease what greets me on the lounge floor?  A large patch of cat furball complete with associated extras.  The cat has deftly placed this on the carpet, narrowly missing the lino floor which I muse must have required precision aim. I also conjecture from the splatter formation (I too watch C.I.S) a mobile projectile approach was used significantly increasing the target area of said furball deposit. I decided against sharing pic's. Too graphic!

My first thought; "No-one is watching...I will walk out and pretend I never saw it."  Then alas conscience whacks my tired head and I feel obligated to forget the lost socks, grab 20 month before he intricately explores the mess and with gloves, cloth, bucket and towel proceed to deal to the fur ball deposit. Delay would only increase the work involved after all and who else but the mum is going to tackle a problem like this?  As an aside, it is just as well I listen to conscience and respond positively as in my sleep deprived state I had completely forgotten I was expecting a visitor in that room later today.

So furball resolved, I eventually return to the sock hunt and manage to locate two but they are not matching and I make do with that.  When I was in my 30's I would have been appalled. Now I am in my 50's who cares if socks don't match on a 20 month old. What boring law says they need to be the same anyway?  Creativity and pizzazz rule and we have an orange one and a red and blue stripe. It may become a trend. They are at least the right size. I try not to sweat the small stuff especially when in the midst of auditioning for the next zombie movie. Age thankfully brings these little compensations  ;-).  Having dressed 20 mth old he promptly spills a large drink over himself and the carpet.  He learnt the trick of deftly avoiding the lino from the cat.  So we start again with the bucket, towel etc and wash, dry, clothe the boy which he is less than excited about.  I find myself deeply grateful the socks did not get wet! 

Anyway the day moves on and improves somewhat.  When I finally remember the imminent visitor, some 15 mins before arrival... I manage to be grateful that I actually listened to that wee small voice bashing me about the tired head to clean up the mess in the morning. The carpet did not stain for which I am also grateful.  Mr 20 mth old has a wonderful day.  The cat leaps in the window while I have my visitor which would not always be a problem but this particular woman is allergic. Don't call the SPCA, the cat is still alive though has wisely made herself scarce. For this I am also grateful.  Not sure how I could have been thinking about Tui's with such glee so recently, as this morning they added to my uncompromisingly ordinary day by starting their raucous dawn chorus right outside my window at 5:45a.m. For this I admit to being less than grateful.  Did you get the bit about about me being over tired.  Well you get the picture.

Its now 11 p.m.  I managed to get a load of washing done, everyone is fed, dishes done, plans for weekend and next week scheduled, sneaked in a 20 min nanna nap and Mr 20 mth has had his gums liberally Bonjella coated. On balance a good day in my very ordinary over tired furball land.  I did manage to spend a few moments reflecting quietly about my day and it struck me that much of my life resembles the furball on the carpet.  I have plans and dreams about how things are ideally going to be.  Then there is the reality of the furball deposit and my first reaction is "ugh if I don't look I don't need to admit its happening".  When I finally turn and face whatever the furball of the moment may be, it often turns out to be less of a demon and more mundane and manageable than I imagined. 

So its interestingly a furball day which takes me back to recognising that imagination left untamed so easily overwhelms.  Reality, even furball reality once faced and honestly tackled, is always better than imagination games.  So furball nanna that I am, today I can actually say I am grateful for the life lessons of my furball day...but not for the raucous morning chorus. Tonight I am shutting my window to hopefully muffle the morning chorus and praying Mr 20 mth  sleeps better.

Psalm 4:8 is my hope and prayer this evening.  " in peace [oh and chronic overtiredness] I lie down and fall asleep at once for it is you Lord who make me rest secure."  Good night all. Sleep well and may all your furballs be little ones.