Do you know, it seems that I have forgotten how to do nothing. Not just forgotten, I'm almost in fear of doing nothing. Or of doing very little. Kicking back and focusing on something simple, relaxing, or even simply sitting and thinking, or perhaps not even thinking at all. I can't remember how to do any of those things anymore.
I don't often go in to a great deal of detail about my boys when I write about them. It's a conscious decision as I'm a little uneasy about sharing a story that isn't entirely my own. It's nice to record snippets though and I think you all know that my cheeky two form a huge part of my life even if they don't appear in every post. I'm very much a mum but I tend to use this little space of mine to share my personal interests (interiors, crafts, photography, the countryside and chocolate) as opposed to any of their character traits and achievements. That's not to say that I don't cherish them or relish in them ... they're simply in my head and my heart, and rarely on paper or screen.
When my eldest was born, I had all the time in the world to sit and stare at his beautiful face. His tiny turned up nose, rosebud lips that could ignite poetry, and the biggest bluey-brown eyes that I'd ever seen. I couldn't take my eyes off him. Initially, he didn't sleep a great deal (actually, he still doesn't sleep a great deal) but it meant that I could spend my hours trying to elicit one of his deliciously intoxicating smiles ... the one that made his eyes twinkle too.