Twelve

We arrive, late as usual, to find children and adults milling around, dressed in floral May crowns. Sunlight streams through the trees and the sky rises high above us all in a clear vibrant blue. The children scamper, immediately, excited to join the play with their friends. I drop the bags and breathe.

A little tug at my leg

“Mummy, can I have a crown?”

So we sit and weave. Long trails of ivy circling round and round, adding daffodils, forget-me-nots, blossom and dandelions. Satisfied, she disappears once more, happily bedecked.

And so we while away the morning. The children work, making and crafting, building and sharing. Tools are carried and plans made. Little backs arched and plump tummies pushed out whilst heads listen on one side then nod in agreement with each other. All of a sudden a decision is reached and in a flurry of activity they all scatter before returning to each other at the far end of the woods.

I watch them working on their shelter, adorning and reinforcing on all sides. Not even the lure of the fire and popcorn can bring them from this important task.

All around life strains forth. Amongst the wood smoke little voices bring glowing touches to the idyll.

 My Lady Spring is dressed in green,

She wears a primrose crown,

And little baby buds and twigs

Are clinging to her gown;

The sun shines if she laughs at all,

But if she weeps the raindrops fall.

My Lady Spring, my Lady Spring

Eleven

I lit the little light, last night

Laid in bed, through sleep, I heard 
A muffled word

… “Mummy”…

She lay there and smiled
Small and wild my beautiful child
And quietly said

  …”Out of bed”…

The dark, dark night lit only by our little light

Ten

Something unknown broke across sleep and woke the boy.

With practised calm we lift him from his room to ours. A quick glance between us as we wonder 

‘how long will this one be?’ 

We sit on the bed, quietly, waiting for it to pass. Small arms flail and the young voice fills the room with misery.

Turbulent emotions flood through him, intensity flowing into us. Holding tight to the hope that arms and legs are not truly aimed at us, we wait.

And watch

And wait

Occasionally hushing or cooing or saying his name, we wait

And watch

And wait

Until the tide ebbs, recognition returns and we are able to hold and soothe him. As quickly as it came it is gone. He sleeps quietly, soundly and we lay there. Trying to transform all that we have absorbed.

Nine

We took a scooter each, thee and me, and headed out into the dark towards the beach. You wanted to find the first star of the evening. Down we go, weaving in and out and past each other. The dark warms and holds us in our own little bubble. Over the cobbles and across the lights we laugh, though this is serious fun. 

Down on the stones we look out over the sea. All the stars are cocooned away in the cloudy sky. 

'Never-mind' you say, 'lets scoot.'

Along the front we whirl and twirl, looping and figuring eights.

'Like this Mummy'

Then we stop and sit. You wipe the bench with your sleeve and explain the magic of the stars. I watch the city lights flashing and winking. Blurring past our stillness.

On the way home you ask me

'What do you wish for mummy?'

Eight

This is my favourite cup. I am always pleased when it happens to be at the front of the cupboard, waiting for one teabag or another. We get on well the cup and I. It’s smooth rimmed, sturdy weight reassures me that, actually, all is well. 

I daydream journeys. My cup of tea takes me to far-flung adventures; all the colours of the world are collected by my trusty camper. And then, revived, I return. Eyes open into the deep, insular square of my kitchen. But my cup still whispers:

'The world waits for you yet'

Seven

  

Sat on the train you pick up the pendants around my neck.

‘What that mummy?’ Little fingers move the beads, up, down and along the thin chain.

‘It’s a heart bead that Louie gave me’

‘Neckyoull?’ 

“Yes, on my necklace”

Kneeling on my lap you quietly contemplate the mismatched jewels. Then, satisfied, all are dropped and you throw your arms around my neck.

‘Tired mummy’ you sigh before leaning backwards and shaking your head from side to side until the wisps of hair swoosh around your face. 

Eyes closed a small smile grows until you laugh, delighted with this new accomplishment. 

And we glow in the shining golden warmth around us.

Six

'I don't need my wellies today' you told me. 'I don't feel like getting wet or muddy.'

I don't think you could resist.

The silt left behind in the bath after soaking your jeans-socks-legwarmers-jumper and shoes was so beautiful. We made prints.

[post-script: you stripped off and jumped in to wash it all away before running a hot deep bath and taking a long afternoon soak. And this makes me smile every time I think of it.]