Why is being a kid so amazing? Because when your mum picks you up from school and it’s a warm spring day without a cloud in the sky, you can play around and have fun with the other kids rolling down the hill. Doesn’t matter that you might get freshly cut grass all over your clothes. You don’t care about that. You don’t even know that’s an issue. You’re just happy and having fun playing with your friends and life is good.
Looking back through the past few weeks of self-portraits, I’ve realised that I’ve done black and white A LOT. I do love black and white, its simplicity, how it removes distractions, leaving you just to focus on the lines, shapes, and light. And with so many images today over processed in Photoshop, black and white remains timeless, not trendy.
But maybe the black and white has also been a reflection of life lately, its starkness indicative of the miserable dreary winter that wouldn’t end. Maybe subconsciously I just haven’t been able to see in color the past few weeks.
Today though, today, I went for a run in shorts. Shorts! Two days ago I was feeling so optimistic that I cleaned off the deck and retrieved the outdoor furniture from hibernation, all while wearing capri pants and flip-flops. The flip-flops were admittedly a stretch though.
So this week, color, lots of lovely spring color. The seasons are turning (finally) and I can see in color again!
Ah, the sea. I miss the sea, the beach and the salt air. Maybe it’s because I went to the beach so much as a kid, but the sounds and the smells of the beach (and ideally the sunshine) just instantly make me feel better.
But I live on an island. How is it even possible that I miss the beach? Maybe it’s just the unfamiliarity of my surroundings and the fact that travelling into the unknown with a 3-year-old in tow is a slightly more considered thought process.
So on my birthday we went to the seaside for the day. And when we got there I said to myself, why on earth have I not done this more often? Granted, it was an easy journey on a random weekday when then weather was typically English (read gray, windy, cold). Certainly, the traffic on a gorgeous summer’s day would present its own challenges. But still, this was a reminder to get us out exploring much more often than we do.
It wasn’t “the beach” by my definition of the beach, I’ve still not learned to fully appreciate the rocky shores of England, I want vast expanses of smooth soft sand. But it was a lovely day spent with my little man. And there were plenty of rocks to dig through and treasures to find, feathers, shells, and pieces of fishing net filling up his little bag.
And I do love me some colorful beach huts. Even on the dreariest of days, their little rainbow stretching along the shoreline can’t help but put a smile on your face.
The boy is totally about robots these days. They go to the playground and to bed with him. He cannot get enough of them.
Me: What do you want to be when you grow up?
Him: A robot driver.
Me: Do they teach you robot driving at school?
Him: Yes.
Me: What skills do you need to be a robot driver?
Him: It’s like Little Dragons, kicking and punching.
Me: What would your robot driver name be? Chicken feet?
Him: No, that would be silly. The robots wouldn’t like that.
We get our robots from the “robot shop.” I wonder, if there were robot shops, what would they look like? Who would shop there?
It’s actually a beautiful thing, the way he gives them names and makes up stories and conversations between them. Some are “really nice”, like Wall-e. They all fight sea monsters. He makes them fly around making “sssshhhh” airplane noises. The Transformers are a personal nightmare as he’s not quite old enough to transform them himself so this task falls to me. I’m regularly admonished with “Mummy you didn’t do it right.”
And there are the questions. “Why are robots made of metal?” “Do robots have skeletons?” As a parent, how do you keep coming up with the answers? Sometimes I just don’t have the energy to invent something.
This week’s robot lexicon, it changes on a regular basis. It’s probably changed since I wrote this down. And no, I do not know how one came to be called “gray onion.”
Here’s looking at you 44.