Doing battle with myself

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It was interesting, a little fun, tiring, stimulating, thought provoking and exhausting being at the European Yoga Festival.

The children loved it. Absolutely had a tremendous time. So much so that we barely saw them. They spent all the time going around in a pack, just appearing for meals and then skipping off again. Isadora included herself in this group for the first time and I got over it quite quickly, only panicking about her a couple of times. Louis, I had more scares over, but that is because he is older and therefore capable of being naughty and stupid. A dangerous and scary combination.

We are now in the South of France and have been here for a few days. We are all struggling a bit, I must confess. We have gone from no children most of the times to children 100% of the time and I am really not enjoying it. Horrid, I know, but true. They have both totally lost the ability to play on their own and look for attention, reassurance, solace, things to do, food, treats, swims and games ALL THE TIME. I confess to being close to screaming, but I do also see that neither of us grown-ups are settled in ourselves, either.

My time at the festival was really busy. Either it was endless meetings, the shop or preparing meals for 15-20 people in the woods. I now need a break after the last 6 months and the past 10 days, but alas, here there is no break. Bapatiste is immersed in endless meetings with his family and I am still cooking three meals a day because there is no concept of vegetarianism here unless you eat fish or endless pizzas floating in fat.

So my serenity is ruffled, if I ever really had any which I sorely doubt. I just want it. A lot. The inability to accept my reality is something I really struggle with and the struggle is exhausting. I am happy being a Mummy. Some things I am actually really good at, but I have an au pair with me. What is she doing? Washing up. Thank god, because there is no machine, but it is not enough. I feel like screaming, like leaving, like walking away. But to where? I will only be back with me and it is me that is having the problem with my reality. Round and round in circles I go, endlessly squirming through every page of my life, never able to sit back and let it be what it is.

What is it? I cannot see the wood for the trees. The drama of being me is absolutely wearing me out. Why don’t I want to endlessly go in the pool or the sea, then endlessly want to watch films and eat biscuits, why do I not see the joy in endlessly looking for things to put in the treasure box? I do. I do do these things, but it is never enough. It is never ever enough. More is always needed. More attention, more swimming, more looking, more playing. This is life with children. Endless sacrifice. But at the same time I have to design a range of clothes. I have to make the collection work in the shop. I have to make them beautiful, original and well cut. How? How does this happen in all of this?

So, no wonder the children are unsettled. That and the fucking cicadas all rubbing their knees together 24 hours a day.

It will get better. It has to….. because reading through this I sound like a really spoilt brat.