I ebb and flow – the tides, the Moon, hormones, the weather. Whether or not I’ve managed to sleep, whether Lily has been in a cooperative mood. Anxiety levels rise and fall, energy, motivation. Sunshine helps, the returning light after the dark of Winter. Two weeks ago I could barely function, this week has been all go; the kind of go where you’re up at 6am baking brownies for a friend’s fundraising coffee morning, dashing from the school run to the supermarket to buy Lily’s ingredients for cookery and delivering them back to school, driving back for the coffee morning, then home for the boiler guy – the latest home visit in the Help to Heat saga – back to school to pick up Ivy and drive her to therapy, quickly head to the shops to buy food for dinner, back to collect Ivy, then back to the shop to collect Lily from the bus, home to cook dinner, wash up, and then remember to pay bills and renew library books online.
I’ve made it through to what seems to be the final round of the Boiler Lottery, another phone call and another engineer sent to the house to photograph radiators and pipes. The first guy could maybe have taken the same photos himself, rather than Guy 2 being paid to do the same thing, which might mean that there’s less of an admin cost in running the scheme and therefore more money available to pay for actual boilers, but what would I know? It will have been over a month without heating or hot water before I get the verdict, at which point either my boiler will be replaced, or I’ll have to get a quote to replace it myself. The not-knowing doesn’t help my anxiety, you can meet all the criteria yet still not necessarily get the grant. A mystical points scheme is in place. My fingers are crossed, and my Mum’s knitting group appear to be holding a candle-lit prayer vigil for my boiler rather than actually knitting. If I had money, I could have replaced it weeks ago. If I have to take out credit, it will cost an extra £1000 to the total amount payable, an additional 50% of the original price. Mum recalled working as a cleaner for a woman who obviously had more money than us, and who couldn’t understand why poor people didn’t take advantage of the deals at the shops, buying in bulk or the 3 for 2 offers. “I couldn’t afford to pay the extra,” Mum explained to her. When you don’t have money, you always end up paying more. Life is a lot less gentle without that financial cushion.
Anyhow, there were two major factors to Boiler Guy’s visit. One; there was no way that I was going to re-live the mortifying experience of Boiler Guy 1, in which I had made an effort to tidy up the kitchen largely by shoving everything into other rooms, only to discover that he needed to go into every room. Every. Single. Room. All of which were a total mess. I wanted to cry. It’s hard enough having someone else in the house, but for a complete stranger to come in and go through every single cluttered, messy room, including my own bedroom, was beyond hideous. So this time round there was much panicked tidying. Sunday = emergency tidying of Lily’s room, including mending her bed which she’d broken and not told me about, and trying not to scream because yet again she had completely trashed her space. That added a considerable workload to the panic clean, but it’s made so much of a difference; what seemed entirely overwhelming last week has been tackled in a couple of days. The house is far from done, but it has at least reached a state where I wouldn’t cry if someone else saw it.
One day later though and there is a pile of clean pants on the kitchen table, a stack of Lily’s loose recipes that should have been glued into her cookery book, and a fresh round of paperwork for me to deal with. I have to accept that my home will never look perfect, but then most people’s houses don’t look like a copy of Ideal Homes either.
Two, if you’re still counting, it was a beautiful sunny day on the Tuesday and I was desperate to get outside and garden. There simply wasn’t enough time, but the longing to be gardening felt positive, a recognition that this is what I need right now, body and soul. Another round of acceptance; it’s counterproductive to set myself artificial rules or deadlines – I must get out and garden every single day – as my life just doesn’t look like that. All or nothing tends to result more often in nothing, giving up. The process of making my garden needs to be as enjoyable as the final result; cultivating gentleness as much as seeds.