sticky lips and happy kisses

You’re not yourself today I noticed the improvement immediately. That’s what the fridge magnet my Dad gave to Mum says. She laughed. Years ago he gave her a mug with a picture of Jumpy the Stressed-out Dwarf on it. She laughed at that, too, all happy-sad-emotional four-foot ten of her. Laughter is the best way away from the knife rack. My mum could have given that magnet to my dad and he’d be okay with it, too.

Lately my youngest son, Stephen King Junior has been looking at me funny. ‘You okay, mum? You alright?’

I say, ‘Sure, matey.’

After a couple of days of this I asked.

‘Honey, I’m okay. What’s up?’

‘You keep smiling all the time.’

‘I do?’

‘You seem happy.’

‘I am happy.’ I kissed his head and pushed him back onto the trampoline. He’s the best jumper, that kid.

So I’m happy, and I look different for it.

Now, I suppose I could go down the wow-how-bad-was-I road. After all, I know the drive, all the stops and turns, it’s uphill and the shoulders are crumbly. I could dwell on how sad things were, how exhausting last year was, and how much impact does a depressed mother have on her children. I mean it, man, how much?!

But it’s way nicer, possibly more productive and makes better copy to be in love with today. I am happier. It’s real. These tablets are working and I’ll be on Esipram for as long as it takes. Longer. No, there’s no need to second-guess, to worry about when feeling good will wear off. I’m living.

How do you know when you’re happy?

You dance. You sing. You laugh. Cook. Smile. Read. Watch. Listen. Be thankful. Your world opens up and ideas come fast, too fast, suddenly there aren’t enough hours in the glorious days you’re living.

There’s the second novel to finish.

The next book to plan.

The blog, gotta do the blog. I love the blog, but it’s so patient with its waiting that I don’t turn my computer on. If you’re out in the world, on your iPad, on Facebook, wherever, reading my blog, thank you.

My bike. Hilda is dusty. She’s wondering if it’s something she said. Tomorrow, Hilda, tomorrow. Me, my too-tight bike clothes and my bike, will drop down to Platypus Rock and say hello to Libby.

And I’m thinking about learning Karate.

That’s a secret. I have to get over the embarrassment off being the oldest in the class by about thirty years. I remind myself, it’s not about what other people think and that I’m always impressed when people get out of their comfort-zones, especially semi-older, female types, like me. Also, I remind myself, at some point I’ll be expected to hit somebody. I’m not sure about hitting. I haven’t hit anyone since the taxi versus the cyclist incident in 1997and on reflection, that taxi hit me. As I say, Karate, I’m looking into it.

And the boys. That kid on my bed, on my iPad, who won’t stop talking to me even though I told him twenty times that I need to do some writing today and, ‘Stop saying literally all the time and gimme a kiss.’ My bed, my rules.

‘Why?’ my middle boy looks up, ‘I’m checking my game.’

‘Not why, gimme one.’ I poke PVP with my foot.

‘Just kidding,’ he says, ‘I never miss a kiss.’ He has chocolate round his mouth and sticky, sticky lips but I kiss him anyway.

Happy kisses.

And back to singing.

This is what PVP just sang to me: your face looks beautiful it may disappear because of old age, because of old age.

Old age and a beautiful face, I can handle that. Happily.


Stephen King Junior, the little creature from the blue deep

8 thoughts on “sticky lips and happy kisses

  1. I just thought you should know that wherever I am whatever I am feeling I always feel a whole tone of emotions whenever I read your blog. I feel like no matter how I feel I can cone to this blog and feel like it does get better-I haven’t lost somebody like you have but I still know the feelings youu share with all of us sometimes and how hard it is. I cry when read that you are so sad that you sit in bed and do nothing “waiting it out” and I laugh when you tell me different things about your sons. And my heart aches for you when you are sad.
    You can tell your finding peace with the world and you can hear the optimism in your voice. Don’t look back! Your an inspiration to me and I’m kind of embarrised to say that. Oh well to late now I have written it.
    I wish I had of known Libby I hope that not wrong to say or it doesn’t make you to sad
    Thanks for being you and having this blog.

  2. I just wanted you know that wherever I am whatever I am doing whenever I tune into your blog and hear about how you are doing I feel a whole tone of emotions. I feel so happy when you were doing better because it shows the rest of us that it does get better and that to me feels so good-I don’t know what it is like to lose someone like you have but I do know what it feels like to feel so low and depressed and just plain sad and you are going so well. You can hear it in your words and it not only fantastic to hear but it so amazing. I admire you. I know that cheesy and all that but I have said it now and I am not taking it back. You have become my little internet hero(oh dear stalker!). You show us all the good the bad and the god damned ugly and you don’t appologise for it you just let us take it as it is.
    You show us that even when it ugly it does get better.
    You make me cry when I hear that you are feeling absalute shit. And you make me laugh when your doing good. Especially when you talk about your sons.
    Never change and keep going. Don’t look back!
    Thankyou for sharing all you have to offer. Thankyou for helping….well me.

    I wish I had met Libby.
    I hope that doesnt make you sad or offended or ….
    Im rambling.

    • Hey Bumblebree, thanks for commenting, such a lovely and heartfelt comment. I am your internet hero? You’re mine for stopping by. I love that my words may have helped you in some way, I’m guessing you know about some of the uglier parts of life, I hope you are okay. Oh, and I’m not offended that you wish you met Libby. I wish I could introduce. In dreams, maybe.

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