Counting Chickens

I’ve spent the day trying to get myself organised.  It’s been a bit busy in our house recently with one thing and another, not least of which is my dissertation for my Masters degree, the deadline for which is looming at the end of the summer.  It’s a Classical Studies degree through the Open University and I’m writing about the Romans in Wilderspool which is an area of Warrington not far away from where we are.  I’m absolutely loving it, but it takes up an inordinate amount of time, hence my need to get organised.

So I’ve spent the day picking things up that are in places where they don’t belong, finding things that I thought I’d lost and generally trying to regain some control over my house.  I like to know where stuff is so that I’m not chasing round for it at the last minute (from school permission letters to PE kits to text books to change for car parks – the list goes on).  I call it having my chickens lined up, and just recently they haven’t been lined up at all, they’ve been all over the farmyard and on their way into town!  My husband thinks this is funny.  He says I have an inner sheepdog which is probably true – I do like to know that everyone is rounded up and safe.  I know that sheepdogs don’t look after chickens, but I like the analogy anyway.

It’s dinner time now and I’m happy with what I’ve done today.  I feel calmer and less concerned about what the coming week is going to bring.  A calm Mum brings a calm house and that’s one of the most precious things I can give my family.


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