Drawbridge theory

Let me tell you about this theory I have.

I have been feeling pretty bruised, lately. Oddly enough this coincides with Henry getting one bruise after another on his forehead, making me worry about concussion and brain damage and also the doctor thinking I don’t love him enough. He gets over it all pretty quickly, and he hasn’t yet fallen down any of our stairs, but I don’t like it.

Where was I? Bruised, yes.

I don’t know what it is. Maybe the weather? There seems to be a lot of noise, and a lot of mess, and a lot of fingers getting trapped in a lot of cupboards even though we put the latches on already. And we’ve been busy. And the computer is always, and I do mean always, on.

So I roll out the drawbridge theory. Sometimes you just need to retire into quiet, barricade the door, and listen to nothing. Think, or don’t think. Enjoy someone’s company. Switch off the damn screens.

The fact of the matter is: you have a drawbridge. DRAW THAT SUCKA UP.

 

Yesterday was a drawbridge day. We had a good three hours at church, came home, ate, put Henry down to nap, slept, then sat down to calendar our month. Tim made a cake. We read an article together and talked about it. We laughed hysterically at Justin Bieber. We didn’t worry about anything outside of the warm green cake-smelling space of our living room. Total bliss.

Today I have washed more plates and folded more clothes than you can shake a stick at. I have bathed and sung and fixed nappy rash. I’ve rolled up little balls of baked potato and put them into Henry’s mouth with my fingers, feeling like a mother bird regurgitating worms, because sometimes Henry Jeffcoat is offended by spoons at 5pm, and that’s the end of it.

But I also sat and read scriptures this morning while he napped. When we got home from Tesco, we sat in the car long enough for me to eat a Wispa and be quiet. And I started a gratitude journal. Gratitude journals are a great drawbridge activity, because all you need is five minutes barricaded in a bathroom and ten deep breaths, and who doesn’t have that?

And when you’ve sat with yourself for a few minutes, you can get up, get on and go hoover up some more animal biscuits. Pull down the drawbridge and ride out in all your glory, hair streaming out behind you, flag flying in the breeze if you fancy it. You are refreshed. You are open for business. Ride on out.

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3 thoughts on “Drawbridge theory

  1. This is an idea I will be adopting. There is ALWAYs some form of technology on in my house and it makes me wonder how blissful it would be with it all switched off. Tomorrow; this shall be done.

    Like

    • Isn’t it exhausting?!

      I find it worryingly hard to turn off all the screens in our house, but I think that makes it all the more important that I do it occasionally.

      And it’s nice to shut everything else out for a little while, even if you can’t do it all the time 🙂

      Like

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