Some days … I struggle with the realisation that we are going to be late.
My pleas, requests and cajoles to get dressed, find shoes, brush teeth, comb hair go unanswered; I say it once, I say it twice… by the time I get to the sixth request I am feeling my blood pressure rise.
Ultimately we do get into the car, in some form of readiness but inevitably behind schedule. As I slam the car door and start the ignition the tirade begins. The words tumble out, one on top of the other, heating the air and creating a car full of friction. The more I rant the more obvious their silence… I am cross, I am frustrated and I am on a roll. I look in the rear view mirror and then I see their faces and I realise that dressed and on time are irrelevant when there is a game to play.
Some days… I remember that there is a talent to getting lost in play.
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Some days… I’m cleaning the house with a steady grumble. They are old enough to clean up after themselves. ‘The floor is not a wardrobe’ I hear myself mutter, ‘I didn’t sleep in this bed so I shouldn’t have to make it’. The words just slip out of my mouth with a life all of their own. Eventually it is the sticks and stones that break the camel’s back, literally! What could two small boys possibly need with so many of them (sticks not camels… obviously)… and why inside the house? That’s it, I’m throwing them all out… and then I see their faces and I understand that these sticks and stones are magical elements in the mind of a child.
Some days… I remember that unmade beds make amazing forts and clothes on the floor make great stepping stones across treacherous croc filled waters. And a house full of sticks and stones could be just the talisman needed to keep our home a sanctuary.
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Some days… are long days. Bed time has come and gone, and gone some more. There is a path worn from sitting room to their respective beds. This is ridiculous! Can’t a parent get any down time? They have had all day to go to the toilet/ drink water/ finish that story, so why, oh why, do they save it all up for those bewitching hours? Limits are reached, more noises are heard, steps are stomping down darkened corridors one time too many. But actually they are all asleep… and then I see their faces and I forget all bedtime mischief.
Some days… I remember that we need to be well fed and watered before embarking on a night full of dream filled adventures.
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And then there are some days when I am that child… and that is when they see my face… and they smile in solidarity!
