Killing Me Softly

1. Strumming My Pain With His Fingers

2. Singing My Life With His Words

3.  Singing Clear And Strong

I love Son 1 aged 6y 6m. I love every bit of him. I love the way he’s determined to be the World’s Cleverest 6 Year Old, because I’ve told him I’ve held that title for 40 years. “You’re nearly as good as I was the day before I was seven,” I’ve told him. “That’s when I became champion.  And you’ve got six months to go.”  I love the way he dances, wiggling, strutting his stuff. I love his sly smiles. I love his shouted laughter. I love the way he takes forever to eat savoury food and then bolts his pudding and asks for seconds.  I love the way he floats on his back in the bath with his eyes shut. God I wish I could do that.  But I hate, hate, hate the way he won’t stay in his own sodding bed at night.  Every 90 mnutes he wakes me up with his little fidget flicker fingers, prod prod prod on my eyelashes.  He’s only got two nights in his own bed to go before he gets his General Grievous Double Light Sabre. It’s upstairs in my wardrobe, behind my suits, waiting for liberation. He’s had two nights to go for about three weeks. He couldn’t give a stuff. Line Of Sight   And I am so tired that every squash spill is an atomic disaster.  I am not depressed. I just need some sleep.

The Man went off yet again to work on The Boat.  Son 1 and Son 2 aged 3y 6m wanted to go to the Holiday Park Swimming Pool. The Mighty One Granny and Granddad were due on the afternoon flight, into the Airport a few miles form the HPSP. So off we went.  Son 2 slept on the way there, his dark eyelashes fanning on his red chubby cheeks. Son 1 was reading Dr Seuss in the car: “Day, play, we play all day. Fight, night, we fight all night. What do you think that means?  We Fight All Night?”  I really can’t think my darling, I said.  The pool was great. Someone said to me that there’s no such thing as badly behaved children, just the Wrong Environment. Swimming pools are the Right Environment.  Active, learning a Life Skill, can’t get their clothes messy , no TV, no computer games, no sugar, we don’t have to tidy up and I can’t eat anything.  Bliss.   Son 2 and I went down the Great Whirly Green Slide together.  He only wanted to do it once. Son 1 didn’t want to slide unless we were up there too.  They played and played with their diving toys. Son 2 is fab. He wears his little shark goggles and dives and dives and dives. In the water he is a Big Boy.  As usual, another swimmer came up to ask where we got the diving toys. “They really make him go under, don’t they?”  The EArly Learning Centre. But the True Grit comes from very deep within his little soul. 

We left the Holiday Park and drove round three enormous sides of the Airfield to get Granny and Granddad. A bit of a squeeze, but Son 1 and Son 2 chattered in the back and Granny was enchanted. We went to the Hotel With A River View and the boys frisked G and G’s tea tray for the biscuits. We had coffee, we came back. I made sea bass and chips for tea. The boys were so tired they sat propping their little heads up on their hands as they ate.  Son 2 wolfed his fish. Son 1 ate a few tiny pieces at gunpoint. I had a Cauldron Foods vegetable roast The Man bought me ages ago. It cooked in a little plastic bag, like  a vegetable haggis. It was horrid.  After the boys had gone to bed I put up two blog posts. This was a Good Thing. Lack of sleep, Office Busyness, Sorting Nanna and socialising have dented my posting rate recently.   But I am Here Now. First Steps

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