Today's topic felt particularly close to home, being a mother of two. I had literally just made myself a cup of tea to sit down and do my object writing and felt the drink is such a good representation of how a morning/day/week can go - best intentions discarded, the mother can become the last priority of the household. The job is difficult, and is littered with these moments, but there is a wonderful bliss in reclaiming yourself and celebrating your family. 

A cold cup of tea, its milk turning to skin against the abandoned porcelain mug. The steam long turned to dust. The same dust that flurries up from beneath the forbidden trampoline as a searching arm begs for the sacrificial dummy that was mercilessly discarded in a fit of frustration.

I've often seen abandoned beverages with the milk skin pulling at the side of the cup on the verge of putrid. While that's a strong image, the moment is fleeting. The cup sits as a memory of a rough patch, but in a later moment of calm a new drink is made and enjoyed fresh. 

I feel I could write on this for hours.