This has been a difficult summer.
At the end of July I was booked in for another haeherroidectomy. This was scheduled to take place while Big Girl and Small Girl were on holiday with Ex-Husband, to give me time to recover. Unfortunately, due to his broken leg, he felt unable to take them with him. Fortunately, I have fabulous parents, who will always help me when I need it and when they can. (If there is any possibility that you may become a single parent at any point, be kind to your parents. You will need them.)
We stayed with my parents for a week. I’ve always thought I’d make a good Victorian Gentleman Philosopher, sitting at a huge desk writing down interesting thoughts, with a housekeeper who occasionally brings me cheese sandwiches. Now I realise I would also make a good Victorian parent. Obviously not the kind who sends their children down mines, up chimneys or to the poorhouse because they can no longer to afford to feed them. Rather, the kind who has a nanny, and children who are seen but not heard. For the first few days after the operation I felt incredibly ill, and lay in bed sleeping and occasionally throwing up, and my mum would bring my children in to look at me, possibly to reassure them that I wasn’t actually dead, and forbid them from jumping on me. Gradually I progressed to sitting up and, eventually eating, and then it was time to go home.
The following week consisted of taking the girls to nursery, sleeping, and trying to poo.
I had thought my third week of sick leave would be quite pleasant. I had decided that I would be recovered enough to do some gentle pottering around, maybe leave the house occasionally, possibly have coffee with friends. I hadn’t counted on Small Girl. On the Monday, she was sick four times in one hour, on three levels of the house and on every pair of clean trousers I possessed. On Tuesday she was sick outside her room at nursery when we went to pick up Big Girl. On Wednesday and Thursday we were stuck at home, trying not to spread germs. On Friday we went to the cinema to watch Sing-a-long Frozen. It was not the week I’d hoped for.
Finally, Ex-Husband came and collected the girls. He had looked after them for the day on a couple of Sundays, but this was the first time since he’d broken his leg that he had them overnight. It was lovely to be able to go out, to sleep all night, to relax and to rest.
And finally, we went to Greenbelt. Greenbelt is my favourite place in the world to be. It’s a liberal Christian arts festival, and I’ve been almost every year since I was 19. I stewarded until I was pregnant, and have taken the girls most years. This year, Greenbelt moved from Cheltenham Race Course to the grounds of Boughton House, a stately home in Northamptonshire. The new site is astonishing: fairy-light-strung paths through trees – big old trees that have lived for hundreds of years – and wide open spaces, ornamental lakes and hills and lawns. We arrived on Friday, camping with my lovely friends Rachel and Chris, and wandered down into the festival to find the huge main stage and thousands of Greenbelters watching. For the first time, Greenbelt really felt like a festival. And the new site feels more like home than Cheltenham ever did.
However, this wasn’t a good Greenbelt for me. I hardly saw anyone. I hardly went to anything. We seemed to walk miles to get to anything, only to find things were closing just as we arrived. I did catch up with some friends, but missed a lot of people I’d hoped to see. It almost felt like a wasted weekend.
But Greenbelt is a bit like a family Christmas. Just because you have a rubbish Christmas one year and argue with your sister, it doesn’t mean you never go home for Christmas again. I may not have enjoyed much of Greenbelt this year, but I’d still rather have been there than not. I love being surrounded by people who are kind and thoughtful and care about injustice and poverty and are talking about how to make things better. Even if, for various reasons, I struggled to be one of those people this year, I’m glad I was there. And I’m already planning how to make next year work better.
Really it’s just part of the way I’ve felt all summer: as if I’m crawling through my life, too tired, feeling poorly, everything too difficult, no energy. Surviving. Like I said, it’s been a challenging summer.
My girls are at their dad’s house just now. He collected them yesterday lunch time and is bringing them back on Thursday in time for tea. On Friday Big Girl starts in Reception. I miss them, but I am glad of the break. Yesterday I sat on the sofa, too tired to do anything, watching old episodes of Doctor Who (I still miss David Tennant’s Doctor) and slept for eleven hours. Tonight I am going out for dinner with friends, and sleeping. Tomorrow I am going to the cinema. And sleeping. I’m tired of crawling, and tired of feeling tired, and I’m ready for life to feel good again.
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