wake up call…

I don’t do early. It’s really not my thing. I’m part nocturnal you see, like to make the most out of my slumber which is why when my alarm went off at 6.18 this morning you’ll forgive me for not bouncing out of bed with a Taylor Swift-like spring in my step. It was Saturday. ‘Nuff said. 

The purpose for this ridiculously rude interruption to my body’s time clock was 11 y o’s soccer match which also happened to be over the boarder and might well have been Calcutta it was that damn far away.

I don’t function that well when I’m forced to interrupt my snooze so you’d be well advised to resist communication until such time as my body clock can awaken (usually around 8-9am) and this is for your own safety. 

You’ll never see flitty shots of me in my runners and a side of green juice accompanied by the words ‘fresh start’ come up in my Insta feed, unless of course it’s at the other end world and day is actually night…what? You know, you get my drift, time zones that’s the only thing they’re good for. Tricking you into sleeping at different times of the day. 

Once we arrived at said destination, like so far out of my post code I almost needed a passport to get there, and possibly because I had a zillion hours to kill before the game my grumps got the better of me. I take a moment to reflect on what Gigi Hadid would do at a time like this, apart from take a selfie, she would love that shit. And so I did. 

After his game ended (no they didn’t win; biased ref apparently) We climbed the crest of the hill to see the beach. Let’s say the Med has nothing on this view. Kill’a. 

When’s the last time we did this? Too long. We made handprints in the sand and let the salt from the waves fill our lungs. We sat and talked about all kinds of things we’d do if we could be invisible. We made sand cookies and watched surfers. Dogs came up and shook their sand all over us. We giggled.  My boy’s blonde locks flopping over his eyes. A little bit of peace. A little bit of serenity. A little bit of ‘us time’. 

Busy lives and shit to do mean we don’t always stop and look at how lucky we are. We walked back towards the car and 11 y o entwined his arms around me. I love that he loves me. He stopped to read about the women who went to war and have a memorial attributed to them along the path to the water. I love his empathy. He kicked a stone out of the way for me. I love his kindness. 

There’s something about the open ocean, the sunshine tickling at its waves that gives you a sense of inner peace. Of happy. 

Maybe I have done good. He’s a picture of kindness, of humour, of sensitive heart and loving nature. 

Maybe getting up at an atrocious hour isn’t so bad after all and we can be thankful for all the good in our world. 

I love our little talks…

Lov n’hugs, Lady MamaG xox

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