I thought I’d better post some sort of update on the advent calendars. My aim to do six has proved most optimistic, bordering on the insane. So I have slashed the number in half and am making three. Not many, but it occurred to me the other day that I began crafting at a time in my life when I have the least time in which to do it. Two preschoolers and a renovation project of a house tend to mean not a lot else gets done. Then there is the tiredness. Oh, the tiredness. The old, old moan of the mother. I love the comedy sketch of Michael McIntyre’s in which he mocks a tired mother saying ‘We’ve sold the bed. What’s the point.’
The thing is, I’m all right up to a point. That point is about 14 months. When I was at university in Glasgow, in my final year, I was reading and studying so much I could feel my brain actually changing. I feel the same after about 14 months of sleep deprivation, but, um, not quite in the same way. I feel more like a beach after a storm. All sorts of weird stuff, useless stuff, half-broken bits of memory, are being washed ashore and vast swathes of important things (appointments, whole conversations, birthdays) are swept out to sea with no trace left behind. It’s all very odd and the only thing that makes it all ok is the knowledge that it does get better. I will sleep again. One day.
And so one day I will also be able to make copious quantities of advent calendars, should I wish. I might be able to compose coherent sentences and hold adult conversation (not overly much call for that at the moment, to be fair) In the meantime, above is a glimpse of some decorations for this year’s.
(Yes that’s the bloody culprit/sleep thief)