Thursday, 28 April 2016


I've begun to notice an unfortunate tendency in myself. A tendency to come here, to my laptop, and write about how I'm feeling. How can that be unfortunate? Well it is when I'm choosing to do that instead of actually talking to real human beings. Real human beings like my husband for instance. It's a cop out. A way to express myself without actually having to open my mouth. Because it's easier to write. Easier to refine and rework what I want to say. Easier to launch it off into the void. Easier than having an actual flesh-and-blood connection. And I don't think that's very good for me. Or for BigBear. Or for our marriage. It's not that I don't talk to him at all. It's just that I find it easier to turn to the written word than the spoken one. And I know he reads my blog (eventually, when the posts reach the top of his RSS feed) so I know that if I bleat enough here, it'll get to him one day. But it would probably be healthier if I just turned and talked to the person beside me on the sofa, despite both of us having an inherent tendency to avoid such dangerous areas as "talking about feelings".

So I'm going to take a bit of a break from pouring out my heart to the world, and try and focus on pouring it out to BigBear, to whom I pledged my heart.

That doesn't mean I'm going to stop blogging, but that I might focus a little more on the lighter side of life. For instance the entertainment potential involved in raising a semi-northern child...

This may only work for those familiar with regional accents in England, so apologies if it's a complete mystery to you. We were watching the snooker today, en famille, as a rather soothing, un-strenuous pastime in the leper colony, and BigBear explained that Alan McManus was playing. Pronounced with a short "a", as BigBear does with most occurrences of the letter "a", such as bath, grass, path. LittleBear very kindly explained to me that "Alan McMarnus" was playing, using a good, long, southern "a", having not only assumed that Daddy was just being Northern, but also that his half-witted mother would need a translation into Southern. Poor old Alan now has a new name in the Bear house.

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