How the hell did Sunday get here?
It's been another busy week at Chez MIA. A week peppered by storms, sick and injured small humans, and the usual pampering of pets.
Somehow, I missed out on gym - so much for the newer improved me I was hoping for in time for this month's Aussie Bloggers Conference. (And can I here, just let out a tiny Squee?! I cannot wait. New and improved me or not!)
However, I did manage to fit in a visit with a wonderful friend on the Gold Coast. We worked out we hadn't seen each other in oh, about 15 years. (Shhh...Don't calculate our ages please).
I hadn't met her hubby or kids, but they were absolutely delightful. My kids got on with hers, Zsa Zsa the toy poodle was made welcome, and we ate and drank like royalty. I was even treated to a sleep-in and breakfast in bed! Bliss ...
Last night, we enjoyed a barbie by the beach for dinner, despite the squalling rain. My mate's hubby was a trooper, braving the elements and doing something really tricky with foil to ensure the food didn't get wet. The kids DID get wet, much to their delight, as they tried to catch fish, sting rays and sharks with the popcorn chicken which was leftover from lunch. Lucky seafood.
We spent this morning back on the beach, and my friend even taught the kids how to correctly bait a fishing hook and cast. (My big brother spoiled me when I was a kid and always baited and cast for me. And took the fish off and cleaned it if I was lucky enough to catch one. So I loved that she didn't mind mucking in and doing the hard yards for me.)
I like fishing, I just don't like actually touching the fish or the bait! I know. That's a bit like saying you're a vegetarian except for bacon! Don't judge me.
Five or six fish were caught, and although they all had to be let go because they were on the tiny side, it didn't really matter. It was the catching of them that was the fun.
I'm using my weekend memories to keep me warm now, as I sit alone in a far too quiet home.
Yes, the kids went back to the Dad this afternoon, and handovers never get easier for me.
I hate this part of being a single Mum.
You'd think I would welcome the quiet and the time to regenerate - and to an extent, I do. But not without a constant physical and emotional yearning for my kids.
I walk in the house and resist the urge to phone them and tell them I miss them already. Because that wouldn't be cool.
I open the fridge, and see the leftovers of the last few meals I made them. Mumma's home-made lasagne; their favourite duck soup. No little mouths to munch on it now.
I miss the happy little voices, their warm hugs, their cuddles, and fun. Okay I even miss the bickering!
At night, I pass their empty rooms, and it's weird to not go in to check they're sleeping soundly, or in need of blankets and love. No sitting beside them watching them breathe, and marvelling that they are mine.
There is a physical ache, a dull drag in my stomach as I make do with a goodnight phone call, rather than a cuddle and a kiss, and perhaps, a story.
I know I am Bronnie, and I am more than my childrens' mother.
But tonight, it doesn't feel like it.