Pottering

No, not pottery, although rustic handmade pottery is nice too. But I mean a rare afternoon of pottering about the house, interspersed with twenty minutes at the nice playground on the way home from Tiny Talk and a half-hour walk with the Yamo when he needed a snooze before I made dinner.

My house was getting a bit unbearable. I am not a tidy person, but ironically I don't like living in a messy environment; it affects me emotionally. At least when I do get round to tidying up, wiping down and vacuuming it makes a big difference and I feel much better for it. There's still a bit left to do in the morning but I have put away lots of clothes, rounded up stray bits of washing, disinfected worktops, cleaned the washbasin, binned a million dirty tissues and plucked Mr Frog from the dusty gap between the bedhead and the window.

And all at my own pace. Not rushed. So if little man got a bit grizzly I could stop to read a book with him, give him cuddles or bounce on the bed. I like getting out to see people (tea and cake, yum), but it's nice to potter about at home too sometimes.

As for the pottery, it's bugging me that I can't remember where the dozy chicken jug and matching mugs came from.