Insomnia and Lavender Essential Oil

Given the usual stresses of life – children, parents, 20 years with a snoring husband etc… – my perennial insomnia is manageable.  Add to the mix; builders, two years’ worth of 3D design GCSE coursework to be completed in two weeks (thanks to an incompetent teacher), seasoned with a highly disturbed and violent infant in my youngest’s class, and the balance tips alarmingly towards no sleep at all.  Margaret Thatcher may have coped admirably with five hours of dormancy per night, but even she would have struggled with three hours of somnolence for long periods of time.

Desperation drove me to adopting a practice advocated by a wise cousin.  Sceptically, I placed two drops of lavender essential oil near my pillow and was amazed by the results.  Yes, I am still woken up – several times each night – by the most irritating foghorn of snoring imaginable, but the quality of my hard won sleep is deeper, calmer and more refreshing.  What I had previously dismissed as “an old wives’ tale” is in fact, incredibly beneficial.

If only there were essential oils to deal with snoring husbands, incompetent teachers and psychotic six year olds!

 

Happy Mothering Sunday

Here am I sneaking around the house at five o’clock in the morning!  Everyone else is tucked up, sleeping peacefully and I am a woman on a mission.  I have already prepared most of the lunch and completed almost all the tasks which would usually feature in my day.  Soon, I will be “woken” with breakfast but, before that, I must just unload the dishwasher and double check that my home is ready.  It is Mothering Sunday and if my preparations are incomplete, I will spend a week undoing the chaos and devastation that befalls my kitchen – all in its honour!

Wherever you are, whatever you are doing; enjoy the day.  Spring cleaning starts tomorrow!

The Calm Before The Storm

The hallway has been decorated, the cellar floor tiles lifted and stored on the patio and the plants – on one side of the front garden – replanted elsewhere.  Sections of garden wall have been lowered and bricks stacked, hen coops re-located and my potting shed crammed to the gills with the “might come in useful one day” detritus and paraphernalia that has loitered in various nooks and crannies for a year (to the day).  Stoves waiting in the drawing room and a door somewhere else all mean just one thing.

The builders – complete with mini-digger, scaffolding poles and attendant chaos – are coming tomorrow.