It's been the busiest time I can remember.
A large chunk has been taken up moving my ma out of her home of 35 plus years. She was mad keen for it but then had a bit of a meltdown about it all.
I found it really hard to deal with. Sometimes we butt heads - we are very different people - but I've found in the last few years that I tend to be more the calming voice whereas before I would get upset and be offended by some of the thoughtless things she'd say. I'd arc up about something she'd say, she'd get defensive and shut down and all the old wounds would be lacerated open to bleed out again.
This time I didn't bite. It was plain that she was struggling, seeing her house in chaos and frightened a little by the prospect of change. Her husband - my second stepdad - had never moved house before and was out of his depth.
The thing was, she'd been at me to come and help (we live an hour and a half away) so in the midst of a crazy month with work and other stuff my husband, son, his girlfriend and I had headed off to pack, clean, move. When we got there, she wouldn't have a bar of it. Didn't want us to do anything, didn't want any of us taking over. Aaaghh!
After a bit of negotiating, we were able to help out - my strong 6ft 4in hubby and even stronger but equally tall son did some heavy lifting and things were accomplished.
It was a bit sad, my capable ma so flustered. When I went back again a few days ago with my youngest Blossom on moving day, to unpack at the new place and then clean the old, she'd turned the corner and was looking ahead, not back.
I took a last walk through the house, where I'd spent some of the best and worst times of my life, where I'd learnt about love and fear, heartbreak and honour, betrayal and beauty. The house was quiet and waiting for its new life. My mother had already begun hers.