P is in sPontaneity

"We're all going up to Kenwood later for a picnic and listen to Rufus Wainwright play. Do you want to come?" Pond mamma asked me. "It'll be fun!"
It did sound good even if I don't really know Rufus, but did I have the energy (flip, do I now after posting all morning?)
"Thanks," I said. "Let me ask my son." He was playing pass the football by the poolside with the children of these parents I'd met.
I called over to him.
"These people have invited us to a picnic at Kenwood House tonight. Do you want to go?"
He looks up at one of the mums.
"Yes please. Thank you so much for inviting me!"
I felt a tug on my heart.
"I don't know how we'll get back from there," I say to a mum. The dad amongst them must have heard me because he said, in a broad northern Irish accent: "I can give use a lift back if you want. They're all on push bikes but I've got a car."

It was an amazing evening. My son didn't want to come home, he wanted to stay out under the sky, all night, playing with the other children. At the end of the night, the dad hoisted him up onto his shoulders, so he wouldn't have to walk back. His car was back by the Heath's Tennis Courts.

I was giddy from Cava, the only contributing thing I had in my fridge, left over from my birthday.

We all wove along paths and through woodland, my dream for a while to do that at night.

The beauty of travelling is that you can go with the flow if you allow yourself to.

Got home to a text from Jab saying there was a street party in Kentish Town the next day. Were we coming?

11.30pm I poured my son into bed, a big smile within me.

Saturday was a long day and life really took care of me. Really took care of me and my son.

I love life. I've really got to start trusting it.