Every day I watch as my son makes breakfast with one hand.
It is quite genius.
One hand cradles the phone while the other fries eggs, makes toast, and opens a tin of beans.
One eye turned left, and the other turned right like Egor in a chefs hat.
I saying nothing. I am calm and composed. After all, the boy is 20 years old. He has seen life. He has moved out, broke my heart, and moved back home. His old flatmate refused to do his laundry.
Once my son’s eggs are fried, and his toast is buttered on the right side, he takes to the stool at the kitchen counter. He props his phone against the teapot or maybe my hormone tablets box left there from the night before and begins to eat.
And watch. And eat. And watch. And eat.
From what I can tell, he enjoys neither of these activities.
He experiences a watered-down version of a breakfast that could be memorable and a show that could be funny.
If he turned off the phone and enjoyed the sensation of those squishy little tomato beans bursting between his teeth, he’d be happy.
If he held off on breakfast for twenty minutes and watched, with both eyes, whatever it is he’s consuming on Youtube, he’d be happy.
But he doesn’t. He tries to do both. So he misses the funny bits of the video and doesn’t appreciate the sheer joy of dipping the crispy apron of the fried egg into the tomato sauce of the beans.
We’re all guilty of this stupid phenomenon. Trying to do as many things as we can.
It’s crap. Rubbish. Pointless.
The past few weeks, I have struggled writing my book. Really struggled.
I want a clean house. But I want to write a book.
I want to spend time promoting our Youtube channel. But I want to walk the dog.
I want to spend time with my daughter, who, right now, is like a young colt kicking and screaming to be let off the training rope so that she can gallop to a big city and wear black kohl eyeliner. But I want to make some money.
I have been trying to do it all. And what have I done? Not much.
So last week I made a decision. To focus on one thing at one time.
No more beans and Youtube for me. No sir.
One hour, one thing.
And it’s working. The stress has lifted. I feel more productive as opposed to a rabbit trapped in the headlights.
If you’re struggling with the same thing, try this:
Get a sheet of paper. List all of the things that you need (or want) to do. Allocate a time for each. Do NOT let one bleed into the other. Focus solely on what you are doing, even if that task is mundane. Slow down. Be realistic, and be kind.
And never forget that beans make you fart.
Quote That I Love: It seems to me that one of the great luxuries of life at this point is to be able to do one thing at a time, one thing to which you give yourself wholeheartedly. Unitasking. – Author: Michael Pollan
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In two weeks time my boy, my firstborn, Sonny, who I adore more than life itself is leaving our home and going to live in a flat with two other guys.
To say that I am heartbroken is an understatement.
Every day, for the past two weeks I have woken up with a tight clenching knotty feeling in my stomach. It’s hideous. Like a Rotweiller that refuses to let go.
I get out of bed and go into the bathroom and I sit on the loo and cry my eyes out quietly.
I don’t know if this is normal. This reaction. Probably not. This has never happened to me before so I don’t know. All I do know is I wasn’t expecting to feel like this.
I have never understood the term ’empty nest syndrome’. Not until now, at least.
I used to look at other mothers who still have their kids at home past the age of twenty and think they were a bit weird. That kid needs to move out. Cut the apron strings.
But now it’s happening to me and I feel as though my world is falling apart.
He’s not even going far. Only into town. He’ll be right there. But I don’t care. He’s leaving.
And yes, I hear you, Tessa, when you tell me that he will probably be home again in two months.
And thank you, my sweet girl, you are mature past your years.
But right now I can only see today and I am terrified of being without my entire family unit. It has always been us four. Always. I can’t bear it.
Two weeks of feeling like this. But you didn’t know, did you?
Of course, you never knew. Because I didn’t tell you.
You may have seen me on TikTok or on Facebook. You may have read my chatty emails. And you didn’t know that these past 14 days I have been putting on a big fake front to hide the fact that my heart is breaking in two and all I want to do is take my family and run far, far away.
“He had to go some time. They can’t stay forever. You wait until he’s been gone a week, He’ll soon realise which side his bread was buttered”.
I don’t care. I don’t care. I don’t know if any of these things are true but still; I don’t care.
I probably won’t publish this post, this string of jumbled words that I am typing rapidly on my keyboard with tears streaming down my face.
But if I do, it will be for one reason only.
Because I want you to know that the person who smiles or waves at you from across the street, or sends you a happy emoji on Facebook? That person who cut you up at the roundabout or ignored your friend request? They’re probably going through shit.
They probably woke up crying.
They probably sat on the loo at eight o’clock in the morning and wished it was bedtime.
They’re probably going through a huge change and adjustment. Feeling like their world is ending.
So please remember. We are all the same.
It happens to us all. Noone is immune to sadness. It’s shitty and it hurts and it’s horrible to go through. Let’s always strive to be kind.