A bit of a struggle
I’m having a bit of a shit month, to be honest.
My football team lost a grand final, two years in a row. Which is pretty rubbish.
We’ve had colds and flus with the change of the season. With five people in our family, occasionally we will each pick up a separate bug and share them all. As a result, I’ve been sick for what feels like about eight weeks on and off.
We did manage to head away for a break in Fiji. It was my first time. I sipped cocktails, swam, did some writing, and hung out with the kids. It was a really lovely stoppage in what has been a pretty jam packed year.
Santa is unmasked
Santa is no more at Casa Hewitt. Sigh. We had our very last little one, my youngest twin, find out this week, and I am a little bereft. We had told the boys about the Tooth Fairy and the Easter Bunny about a month ago. For whatever reason, he was unwilling to apply the same logic to Santa, while my elder twin drew his own conclusions straight away.
He asked me directly over lunch this past Saturday. And I told him the truth. He cried. But I cried more. It felt horrendous, like my babies were gone, like their childhood was winding up in this preteen phase.
I had a moment of madness, suggesting to my husband we should have another (Reader, I’m okay, it was a moment of madness, I promise!). J wrapped me up in his arms, cuddled me for a long time and reminded me that the last time we’d tried for one, we’d got two and our chances of having more boys was high, given that’s all we seem to produce. Was I planning a football team? We’d have to buy a bus. We are too old for this shit, etc. etc. All brilliant points. Then he poured me a champagne and cuddled me more.
Kids growing up is so strange. I mean, the whole point of raising them is for them to grow up, but there is something so sad about them losing their innocence. About losing a tiny bit of the magic of Christmas.
I spoke to my little guy about keeping and protecting the magic for others now that he knew. A solemn vow, to ensure the magic of Christmas goes on for his friends and cousins who are smaller or who may not be as grown up. I will still make Santa’s cookies forever. I will still write ‘Love Santa xx’ on the cards in disguised handwriting. I will still munch on carrots and throw them into the garden for the reindeer. But my heart will be ever so slightly heavier this year.
Creative Sparks
I have a new hero. And fuck. He’s hot.
Yesterday, my hero was speaking to me all day.
He was leaning down, his mouth almost against my ear. He spoke three words. And we did that all day. The vision of the scene built around him. My heroine was breathless. There is a confined space. A single finger runs down her arm in what should be an innocuous touch, now altered by his words and proximity. Altered by his acknowledgement of something they have both been denying.
It is great to have these creative sparks. The only problem with heroes whispering really hot dialogue to me? I was at work. You know, my actual job that pays my bills and mortgage. Writing is a joy, but so far it barely covers my shitty laptop, so my job is important.
When the voices come, I feel relieved. And then I wonder — Am I crazy? Is this normal? Do I have an undiagnosed brain tumour?
I talk to other writers. I highly recommend writer friends. They understand. They hear voices too. Some of us have our whole lives.
What I am listening to?
The Life of a Showgirl – Taylor Swift
I love women. And this woman is a powerhouse. Whatever your views on her music – there is room for everyone’s tastes – one can hardly deny that her art communicates to a large proportion of us. I write love stories listening to her.
There are some bops on this record.
What am I wearing?
My beautiful sister is getting married next Saturday. I can’t wait to stand up there with her. I’m wearing a black gown by Montique.
Some photos
