So the other night it was around dinner time and I wasn't doing very well.
I had a headache, dinner was taking ages, I was frustrated about stuff, upset about stuff and just plain tired of stuff.
Anyway, I wasn't doing great and I was about to lose it.
Then I did lose it.
"That's it, I'm done", I said.
I dropped the utensils and walked to the other side of the bench. That was code for 'you're on duty, Andrew'. He took over and started dealing with dinner.
"Go on," he said, "Go and have some time."
"Where?" I said.
"In the other room. In the snug."
I breathed a big sigh of relief and took myself to the other room. I was going to flick the telly on for a bit, but decided to pull out a photo album to look at instead. I'd been wanting to do it for a while, so I took the opportunity and pulled a recent one off the shelf.
I sat here.
Right in this spot.
I was still upset, but could feel myself calming down after a bit because of the time out of the kitchen and the time with the photos.
After about 10 mins (even less, I think) I felt a lot better.
I love photos and the time spent with them did me good.
I smiled at Cody's antics and he and Andrew wrestling on the floor.
I saw my mother as a young girl on the beach in the 1950s.
I saw myself on a family outing in the 1980s when I was about 10 or 11.
I saw Andrew with his grandmother at her 100th birthday celebration.
I saw my own grandmother with her three youngest nephews.
I saw me doing stuff around the house.
I saw us.
I saw life.
I saw good things.
Andrew came back in 10 mins and asked if I was ready to eat my tea.
I was because he gave me the time I needed and because I chose the photos over the telly.
I love photos, they do their job well....
...if you let 'em.
PS. That album is still sitting there on the floor waiting for me to come back to it. I will. Soon.