It will all come together, right?

“Put a whole orange in the orifice,” hollers my Nan.

“Garlic,” asserts Mum, “Whole garlic cloves in the pan - gives a smashing flavour.”

“Just rub it with butter,” scoffs my Mother in Law, “No need to fuss about.”

Andy looks at the clock and falls back into his pillow with a groan; there is still loads of time. The entire Matriarch Trio girlband are right outside our bedroom door.

“However you do it,” tries mum again carefully, “It might be worth getting it going now, Andy love… it takes a while for it all to come together.”

*
All is calm, all is bright.

Except it’s not. Because nothing is remotely calm when you have teenagers and kittens in the house. Everything is teetering on the brink of, gah, didn’t see that coming.

There’s learning to drive, applying to University and staying out late. There’s climbing curtains, dropping from window sills and falling into water bowls. There’s plenty of joy, but not much peace.

It will all come together, right?

*
The cooking tips did finally stop. Mouths were too full of Andy’s delicious turkey dinner to remember to moan. Apparently his meal prep timeline was just fine - it took a while, but everything came together beautifully.

And as life tumbles on, with its curveballs and crazy, I try to tether myself in the goodness of each right now moment.

The hope that however out of control things feel, however much this anxious heart flounders and flips and tries to assert some semblance of order by texting “need a lift?” and patting at waterlogged furry legs, the joy is always in the journey.

I’ll hope that there’s a plan; I’ll hope that it will all come together right.