I never really know if anyone notices if I disappear from my blog for a while. Do you? Probably not, right? Apparently, one of the keys to being a successful blogger is to post a set number of times per week and on exactly the same days each week. But where's the fun in that? And I'm pretty sure that you're not sat there refreshing your email waiting to hear from me, are you? I'm unlikely to ever be a successful blogger if scheduling rules must be strictly adhered to but I like to think that I'll never force this little space of mine. I write if I have something to say, something to share, or something to remember. And I hope that's okay with you.
I find it so, so hard to get my boys' bedrooms right. The last brush of paint hits the wall, I stand back to admire my work, and then they announce that they no longer love robots, dinosaurs are for children ('but you're four and six, you are children') and that their rooms could probably do with a bit more orange in them. Always, more orange. And, as relaxed as I am, I will never agree to paint the walls orange. Never! You just know the moment they move out, they're going to paint their own homes floor to ceiling in tangerine, don't you? I feel faint at the thought.
I've read way too many articles over the years on how to make your bedroom your sanctuary, and have pretty much come to the conclusion that not a single one has ever been written by a parent. Or truthfully written by a parent. As a mother to a four year old and a six year old, I gave up trying to find a quiet and peaceful place in my home a long time ago. Six years and four months ago, to be precise (my eldest is an October baby). To conclude, children and Zen don't really mix.