I’m having a reflective moment. Taking a second to look around me and notice what’s going on, to have a good think about my two kids right here, right now. All too often I am trying to keep two steps, or two days, ahead. I can stand and look at my kitchen calendar and imagine that I’ve already lived through a day, mentally scoring it out so I can start thinking about the next one. That’s just silly. What was it that Garth said to Wayne? “Live in the now, dude.”
Miss L is four and a half. She’s stretched, no baby chub left, her fine white blonde hair finally long enough to create two stick-thin plaited ponytails. Looking at herself in the mirror, sparkly stickers, any of the Disney Princesses, hair bobbles, Lelli Kelly adverts and dresses all feature high on her list of favourite things in the ‘whole wild world’.
Her questioning is getting more incessant.
‘Where does bacon come from Mummy? What happens to it’s head Mummy? Do we eat pigs’ heads?’
‘You know when you decide that you want a baby, how do you actually get one?’
‘Can horses open doors?’
I’ve decided this week that I’ve turned into a bit of an ostrich, sticking my head in the sand when it comes to what’s on the news every day. My head feels too crammed to introduce any new thoughts, new worry, new guilt. And I can’t cope with hearing about the horrible things that happen in this world. I choose not to look as when I do it forever plays on my mind. So I find myself turning the page, turning over the channel, ignoring the real life out there.
Any concerns I have about the wider world stay as just that. I don’t act on them. So, what does all of that make me I wonder. A poor global citizen? A rubbish example for my kids? Shallow? Normal?
Be honest. Are you a bit hairy? A wee bit? I think I’ve always had the potential to be a bit stubbly but that potential is now being realised, allowed to bloom, now that I’m 35. I think I may end up as one of those whiskery old women unless I keep myself in check. Grandchildren will wipe away my kisses. I will give itchy kisses. Or if the light hits me in a certain way you’ll see that I have little wispy chin hairs, like a nanny goat.
Yesterday we had a great day enjoying my city’s festival; The Edinburgh Festival Fringe. We went to see ‘Stick Man’, my friend and I and our four kids. As I pondered whether we were about to spend 45 minutes watching a man dressed as a giant pepperami, I saw a familiar face pass me, join an equally familiar face in the queue. Two people from my past, married to each other now, good, old friends that I’m not in touch with anymore. Without thinking, not missing a beat, I followed him, tapped her on the shoulder and we all hugged. As I stood looking at her I tried to remember exactly why we hadn’t spoken in so long, it’d been maybe nine or ten years. She’d been my best friend. What the hell had happened again? And how come, whatever it was, didn’t matter anymore?
No tasting milk at security. No mad dash underneath the ropes to grab Baby P’s hood, choking her. No missing the pre-boarding slot whilst the boy has a last minute wee with the boarding passes in his pocket. No heaving handbag, weighed down with snacks, water bottles and take-off sweets. No little hands in my hand. Yip, that’s right. A long weekend in the sunshine with the girls. No children. Oh. Yeah.
I feel like I now live with nature. When I open my blinds in the morning I’m excited by what I’ll see. I look for rabbits hopping about at the end of the garden. I look into the hills to see what weather is waiting there. I can hear birds, lots of them. And I can’t believe my luck. I still feel like someone is going to knock on the door and ask for the keys back. My new home is in the country. And I’m loving it.
This is the view of my garden from the back steps. I sit here and have my first coffee of the day when I’m not at work.
5 o’clock dinner. 6 o’clock bath time. 7 o’clock stories and bed. It’s been like that, pretty much, for the last four years. Not exactly like clockwork, but not a kick in the arse of it. We have these magic numbers in the back of our heads when we make plans. Miss L likes routine and Baby P has known nothing else. But what about me? Is forever looking at my watch, frantically trying to stay one step ahead at all times, making me a bit dull?
