I’ve been writing a weekly blog for almost six years now.
A lot has changed. Two of my kids came out as trans. We moved house. I got two new jobs. The kids have been at four schools, between the two of them. We have tadpoles now.
And I think now is a good time to let weekly blogging go.
It’s becoming more and more difficult to find time to write even 140 words a week, and I’m fairly sure that, like in life, I have started to repeat myself.
I know a lot of people read this blog, and I am so, so grateful to everyone who has ever taken the time to read my tiny thoughts. I will keep this area live for writing news and occasional blog posts.
But for now – tiny over, and tiny out.
A new home is a clean slate. A new house is even clearer.
We’ve kept the inside as minimal as we can. People often ask if we’ve just moved in – we have one picture up, and a vast expanse in the kitchen that I use for yoga.
We were less confident when it came to the garden – at first we just needed turf, because house builders will happily sell you a house with no flooring and churned up dirt in the garden. Then came the pond (thanks again Linda!). Today we’re getting some more slabs down. I have my heart set on a picnic table and one of those fashionable sail-type shades – Mr HB isn’t keen…
I’ve never been much of a gardener, but this time round, I’m grateful for the opportunity to make this space all our own.
I don’t think I’ve told you guys about my tadpoles. If you follow me on Instagram (@stella_hb) then you will have seen the precious babies (yes, this is how I feel about my tadpoles) on my stories.
We were naughty and ‘borrowed’ some frog spawn from a neighbour – you’re meant to wait for the frogs to come to you, but having realised (been reminded, thanks Linda) that our children were no longer of drowning age and dug the pond, I wanted tadpoles NOW.
I thought all the spawn had died in the late frosts, and then two weeks later – tadpoles! Everywhere! I visit them every day, take photos/videos, scrutinise them for the appearance of legs, and praise how fat they are getting (in a weird reversal of western beauty standards). I can’t wait until the pitter patter of tiny frogs.
When I think about ‘getting back to normal,’ I’m usually thinking about how much I might be dreading it. The exhaustion is the same as people who move country feel, going about what would usually be their normal business. I’ve not exercised my peopling muscles for so long.
So last night was a wonderful reminder of what I have actually been missing.
A peaceful drive into Edinburgh. A parking space I could fit into, for free. Warm weather.
Dear, dear friends.
A celebration of a birthday – one of twenty seven I’ve now been part of with these guys. Talking about every decade we’ve spent together and apart. No need to avoid topics like gender – we’re all on the same page there. Good food. Hugs – finally! Hugs!
Thank you everyone who makes me feel like I might like peopling after all.