Wednesday, 25 March 2015

Beauty in Decay : Cafe Society














Yesterday me and the Mister took our now 1 year old, not so little boy for a walk in Otterspool Park situated close to Liverpool's famous waterfront and promenade.  This area of the city is full of treasures and snapshots of history.  I particularly adore this abandoned cafe which stands on the balustrade of what was once the grand Otterspool House owned by influential Victorian businessman and slave owner John Moss.   I'm not sure exactly when the cafe was built and when it closed down but I could have spent the entire morning wandering around it, reading the graffiti and taking photographs.  There is something so magical about these 'ghosts' of the past especially as this is a ghost upon a ghost.  I just hope that it remains exactly as it is and doesn't fall prey to redevelopment or vandalism.  Both of which can be equally brutal.

Also I thought it was about time I made a full length appearance around here, even though I didn't manage to raise a smile.  My first official outfit post of SJA!

Outfit details:-

Dress : Jo Browns
Cardi : Asos
Boots & bag : Amazon

At least 3 items I'm wearing appear on my list of desire - see if you can spot them :)

xxx


P.S.

So the last couple of posts were a bit raw weren't they.  Where did that come from?  I dunno.  I think perhaps I felt like it needed to be said for the sake of honesty.  I was in that much of a fog that I couldn't even think about anything else and I just needed to get it off my chest.  As much as I shy away from oversharing online, it's important to me to remain authentic and I appreciate your thoughtful and considered comments.  Let's see how we go...


Thursday, 19 March 2015

Family in it's Many Forms

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I walk down from the school with my 7 year old daughter skipping and running ahead.  Every now and then she runs back up to the pushchair and pulls silly faces making Mast L laugh raucously. She is fresh faced and full of life.  He is happily watching the world go by from the comfort of his striking fox print pushchair.  I have a cerebral acceptance of the happiness of the moment and try to drink it in so that it can be accessed and remembered fondly at a later date.  My children's clothes and accessories are bright and colourful.  They have personality.  I make sure of that.  I'm a fraud.  My complexion is grey and clammy.  My hair unwashed and I struggle to make each step. My sore throat makes each breath feel as though I am trying to swallow shards of corrugated cardboard.  I feel like one of those harassed and callous faced mothers pushing a buggy with hunched shoulders.  A couple of kids, one on each side, talking ten to the dozen.  The ones I observed as a teenager and vowed I would never become.  It was a no-brainer.  My life choices would be worlds apart from theirs.  I would never look or feel like the colour has been drained from my life.  Now I begin to realise it's the love that drains.  Sometimes.  The overwhelming weight of dread and guilt.  The knowledge that you are responsible for the emotional well being of these beautiful and precious mini human beings.  I can't even look after myself.  It freezes to the spot.  

I made my choices and ended up here and the truth is...  I have a picture perfect family.  A great husband and two beautiful children, one of each, the gold standard.  A cliche yes, but completely true.  If I was so inclined I could have Instagram and Twitter accounts full of pictures of my daughter and her friends pulling poses in their 'Frozen' outfits or my baby dancing with his toothy grin on display.  My two cherub faced children with their faces squeezed together beaming in mutual adoration.  There is much happiness around me.  Good friendships and supportive families. Alas I am resigned to be unable to appreciate and enjoy it.  This is a grey time.  I know it will pass but for now I watch and wonder how real people do it.  How other parents do it?  How do so many people keep this up?  How do they get up day after day and go through the same relentless routine. Why am I so feeble?  Why am I nauseated and overwhelmed at the very prospect of negotiating another day.   Why does picking my daughter up from school feel like the last thing I'll ever do. Why does it feel like I need someone to physically prop me up just to walk to the shops?  I'm not one of those blank faced mothers.  Or am I?  My life is good.  My mind is sick.

My brain is turning into cotton wool.  The medication causing me to stare vacantly at people as they talk to me, desperately trying to internalise what they are saying and drum up an appropriate response in time to avoid humiliation.  I am constantly trying to distract myself from the nausea so reminiscent of early pregnancy and the feeling that my whole body is slowly shutting down

The beauty and enormity of family life plays on my mind a lot these days.

I wonder about pictures like these

Are the golden hazed photographs an illusion?  Are we striving for an impossible domestic perfection?  Perpetuating a faerie story when the reality of family life is complex and nuanced and so different for everybody?

For now my reality is what it is and I try not to feel like too much of a failure because of it.
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