stories and lentils

I'm trying to take more photos at the moment. During the last few trips to my Mum's farm I have tried to capture some of the work with the livestock. The farm is where I grew up and a special place for us. It's definitely somewhere I think of when I consider what I am going to miss when we move to France. The weather over the Easter weekend was incredibly changeable ; raging wind and rain to bright sunny spells, hail storms and perfect morning light streaming inside through cracks between curtains. It made for an opportunistic egg hunt during a drier spell and a hurried rounding up of the sheep to get the lambs inside out of the driving wind and rain.

This winter has been my first with two children. And it has been full of fun and we've had wonderful times but it has also been hard, like the feeling of walking through deep mud and not quite having your balance. For me, being at home full time with my children is a continuous challenge. I crave more adult company, time spent without little hands clawing at my hair or chest or toddler feet standing on me so as to better reach my face to pull it around to theirs. I've looked dispairingly at snotty noses wiping on my shoulder or the umpteenth pile of laundry in the corner and thought that this is all a bit shit. I've wanted to be able to drink a long awaited cup of tea without Ira trying to dip her hand into the cup or Linny interrupt it because she's not managed to get to the potty on time, again. When I talk about these moments with friends I often make light of them, because they are funny in retrospect, or just that tales of 'happy chaos' are easy listening

A few days of sunshine and I feel incredibly refreshed. At this time of year I feel I am waiting for Spring; the warm sun, the brilliant green on the trees and flowers bursting from the earth injects me with renewed life and energy. Trampled and muddy park corners littered with cigarette butts and beer bottles burst into floral patchworks and children's noses don't need to be wiped quite so often. It's a sign of long hot summer days to come.   In January I'd collected Christmas trees left to await bin men so we had a big blaze with them in the back garden to mark Spring. I think we were a little premature, officially Spring is over two weeks away still and before the fire warmed us we were frozen to the bone, trying resist the urge to run back inside for a hot cup of tea and a radiator. We have coaxed Linny out of the house a few times (the winter seems to have given her a great attachment to being inside) to try and inspir