They are indeed daydreams now. The bubble has burst and reality is seeping back in. Home and happy and determined to keep my Donegal Spirit alive -more living, less letting the minuite cast a shadow over the big picture. But I miss it already... the expanse of sky, the length of laughter, the long days, the fire-warmed nights. I felt like I was in some weird parenting programme, living those experience you think are what parenting is all about before you actually become one and realise that parenting is really about crap, vomit and crying at 3am.
No, we actually made sandcastles, clambered over rocks, went on nature hunts, ate chocolate early in the morning, and read books about ballerinas in front of a turf fire. Poppy even provided the classic parenting bad hair day... as hubby and I sat toasting our toes with fire and our bellies with wine, Poppy came into the room with a large smile and a larger handful of hair in her hand. She'd taken the scissors to her glorious long locks. Looking like something from a bad 1980's orphanage, we eventually had to take her to a hairdresser to make some sort of sense of her cutting style. Just another notch on the parenting headboard - no doubt to be eclipsed in time by tattoos, pink hair and piercings (all by Poppy I have no doubt either.)
For four weeks I lived the parenting daydream..... and now reality has woken me up and I can only try and hold onto the feeling as long as possible.... and count the weeks until I am back.... 47 to go.