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.]

Five

This is what we do

We change

And fold

And wipe and clean

This is what we do

We feed and bathe and sort and tidy

This is what we do

This is what we do

We smile

And laugh

And pick and press

This is what we do

We fix and make and play and sing

This is what we do

This is what we do

We wait

And save

 And think and hold

This is what we do

We cry and rage and shout and frown

This is what we do