~Close your eyes and picture the warmth of the sun on your skin... that's how being loved by her felt~
Harry Styles is a nepotism baby turned new father, left clueless with a newborn baby to raise, he is overwhelmed and under pressure. Matters are...
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My hands glide over each curve, slowly moulding them as they fit each defined crease that I am rubbing with my thumb to smooth out. With hands coated in thick layers of grey clay, I spin the wheel with the mechanism, pumping my foot to make it move faster.
My concentration is supposed to be solely on the potter's wheel in front of me and the small pot I am currently shaping but with the girls also playing outside, I have one eye on the wheel and the other on my children.
In all fairness, neither one of them is getting up to trouble right now. They're happily drawing on the patio tiles with thick rounds of multicoloured chalk.
It's peaceful today. The soft hummings of Harry's old playlist echoing from the kitchen where he is making dinner. The beautiful sound of Freddie Mercury's voice easily transitions into Stevie Nicks' when the playlist moves on to Fleetwood Mac.
It's nice, the soft breeze of the approaching autumn and the fluttering tweets of nearby birds. Harry's melodic voice in the kitchen singing along with his favourite songs. The sweet giggles of my happy daughters as they draw pretty pictures on the tiles. And, of course, my hobby and one of the things I love doing most.
Feeling the wet clay glide round and round under my fingers is magic enough in itself but the soft movements which allows something so beautiful to be made has always blown my mind.
I have more pottery pieces than I know what to do with. I suppose I should probably stop making so much stuff that I have no purpose for but I can't fight the feeling of contentment and accomplishment that I get from building something with my own two hands.
"So, I've been thinking-" Harry starts as he walks over to where I have set up my pottery wheel in the back garden. He leans down as if he is about to press a kiss to the top of my head but decides better of it as he walks by before taking a seat on the porch swing a few metres away. "How would you feel about me signing the girls up for a ballet class?"
"I have always wanted them to do ballet," I mutter. "But I can't really afford that right now. Maybe when we have our house and I have them settled in a routine once they start kindergarten next year..."
"No, Sunday..." He pauses. "You're not following. I'm offering to pay for the classes."
I shake my head, smiling at him before returning my eyes to the task at hand. Any small slip up could mishape the entire vase and I don't want that.
"No, I think you're the one not following, H. I know that you're offering but when have I ever let you pay for something like this?"
"Sun-"
"This isn't a plate of waffles or a bag of jelly beans at the store, Harry. This is enrollment at a ballet class in a dance school. There are two of them-"
