When you go away, that’s not looking after. That’s what he said.
Fall For The Line
Every time we fall for the line. It is a new era of tiny commitment. An hour and a half per fortnight. Sealed with a hug.
‘Thank you for looking after my boy.’ The new rules?
Yes.
The new rules…
oh, yes they are the old rules, but… the new rules are a call the day before, a call an hour before,
to confirm, you understand. To confirm, you understand. To confirm that tiny commitment. So the first time…
the first time… the first time…
no call the day before. No call the day before. No call the day before. Silence the day until
just before, just before, just before, to say she will be there. She will be there to see her son.
But she isn’t.
They search and she isn’t. ‘Mummy, where are you?’
A boy shouts for his mummy and she isn’t there. ‘Mummy doesn’t want to see me.’
Our house is sad.
An upset blanket on a sorry sofa. A basket of difficult Duplo.
A box of lost cars.
Our house is sad, but rescued by a dear found Aunty.
When our sanity kicks in, we know that we are not alone in our despair. We know that she is too.
He Was Told
Told him she would and then didn’t turn up,
didn’t turn up, didn’t turn up. She didn’t turn up the first time,
the first time he was told, he was told that she would,
she would be there
she would turn up to see him
He was told.
In three years,
he hasn’t been told,
up to now,
yes, not told, not told.
Why?
Because, she doesn’t turn up,
she doesn’t turn up that often.
Absent.
We try to protect him from hurt.
Out Of The Deep Blue
The call woke us from our doze. Sleeping through another
red herring on the box
again.
She rang and asked how was he. Out of the deep blue. Out of the deep blue. A blue where he’d said
that he wanted to go to the park with Mummy. The keyboard is wet.
Sending Postcards
Sending postcards, the list grows. Grows long.
Send one to Daddy…yes.
Send one to his other parent, should we? We add a greeting to her mother’s post. A small decision, but we still try.
Strange Week
The last past aunt has stepped over the edge. Bananas and basic custard in memoriam.
Another adult orphan adjusts to life without visiting Mum. We have been there.
But new life too comes twice.
The baby named after a State like her brother arrives safely and then the brave one
who hooks up to a washing machine three, four times a week
now has three kidneys. Three kidneys.
Can two words sound more exciting? A new life.
Homework
Superman was wet, but tomorrow’s Monday. A 6 years old’s
time for homework.
Renamed ‘home challenges’. Use your super powers. Pill sweetened by new name. The princess frozen, reluctant yawns through loads of literacy. Know the meaning,
please,
as well as the spelling?
Help pushed to the limit, but still the oldie enthuses.
A Step Away
A step away, a close touch distance
after meeting. I am a step away.
A step away, the adult child again
so clearly absent. I am a step away.
A step away, the adult child again
we see her here. I am a step away.
A step away, muddy returns from early history.
I am a step away. A step away, brush off the urge to absorb their pain.
I am a step away. A step away in blood, but that let down reflex
in this old dry body still comes with hugging as if he were mine own.
The Wood
Planted in this thicket. Our height, breadth
and health dictated by weather,
luck, lifestyle
and that fecund mix of leaf mould around our roots
that smells of the outdoors. The young tree here
in the green centre, has grown from seed from the nurtured and loved
willow at the edge by the motorway.
She has grown 32 years, but bearing only 12
confused rings, branch whorls that show the times of drought.
Unsteady growth too late for coppicing.
He, the sapling has rooted, down
to rich soil. He is sheltered by the gentle oak
with my unrelenting, unrelated ivy springing from
the undergrowth clinging to their limbs. The woodland is heavy with
softwood, tender sprigs pinning the wind, swaying and bringing
a kinder breeze to our woodland. We pick sticks for fuel.
Pluck and taste loaded blackberries. Remembering bluebells.
We Never Have Fish Finger Sandwiches, Never Ever
You are my home, you two. You are my home.
Routine 1 Wake Wake at Wake up at Wake up at 6 am. Pee? Pee. Pee? Pee - right.
Pee whether you want one or not.
Urgent for one, two, three. Two standing and one sitting. Oops - wet pyjamas.
Wet sheet.
Oops - wet pyjamas, but dry sheet
Wow - dry pyjamas. Dry sheet and a smiling Flat Dog.
Yes that’s what we do.
We do and discuss first thing. Well done, a dry night.
Cuddle in the big brass bed -hey lady lay. ‘Can I have some TV?’
Hey Duggie, Postman Pat, Dinopaws. Breakfast?
Poppa’s bread.
Maybe Marmite and Ginger Jam.
Porridge with Nanny’s gravy all the way from Canada via Costcos.
or seeds with letter cereal and fruit.
Tea in china cups and saucers. A habit from taking tea
at the haven that is Kings Heath Park.
We do everything in moderation.
Never ever.
We never have chipolatas
with bacon and eggs and beans and mushrooms and black pudding fried crispy and dippy marto
cooked in a sticky, non stick pan. No never ever.
But the marto is reduced sugar and salt free. We do everything in moderation.
We do everything in moderation, I wish. The adult bodies tell a different story. I could see that picture from yesterday.
Routine 2
5.30ish for supper with a lion or maybe a gnat. Pudding only if you eat your firsts…
remember Aunty Mair…
‘What isn’t eaten now, eaten at the next.’ ’50’s, waste not, want not.
Hold back, hold back, but… we cannot resist to spoon feed chick, head up, beak open. Then the slow up…
front ways, backwards, crabways, fireman’s lift up and over
the wooden hill to…
the jungle turned space station to check it’s there and then ricochet
to the temple of the bath - posh wallpaper! Buttercup towel ready warming.
Clothes off - easier said than…
Water adjusted - bubbles and what toys? Is there room for the boy?
He climbs in, spoon feeding pays…
a moment of wonder as we remember the tiny dab who first dipped here.
Routine 3
Waiting in the cockpit buttercup oozes
towards me. The boy is lost, eaten by the towel.
Found!
Fight him into jamas. Then the exquisite time. We hit our library.
A story each to tell, before the snuggle and the big bed.
Freeze Cars 2
Day off.
Ignored strike so
we are watching Cars 2. Boy, me, dog
under the blanket,
Big Fish still in his ocean dreaming of a misplaced mackeral.
Out of our blue, Small Fry
‘It’s lovely with Mummy.’ Freeze Cars 2.
So I gently repeat what we have murmured before. Did she come last time?
Did she come the time before? Has she come often before. ‘Mummy loves me.’
Yes, she does but she can’t show that love. Through turning up.
No, but I am gentle. I am gentle.
He had a More Nan, sadly gone, so
we decide on More Mum for me.
Just between us. When times are hard. When there is an ache.
When there’s a strike and we are watching Cars 2. He talks about the boy with backward hair.
Suncream
Extra water resistant…hypoallergenic…UVA - highest rating…SPF with antioxidant complex
Strip off the little nipper…squirt…and slather, slather, slather…rub it in…rub in well…only two tablespoons for the whole body…so it says…doesn’t seem enough…is it enough?…rub it in carefully everywhere…everywhere…every nook and cranny…on this little torso…oops, there’s a missed bit…where?…behind there…needs more …another squirt…running out?..running out…need the other tube…50?…is it 50 factor?…is it 50?…he needs 50…not 8…he’ll burn and then how do we explain that to…who to?
Explain to ourselves. The buck stops here.
Remember ears and tops of toes. Or seek shade and cover up.
Wednesday Aunty Naomi
Never underestimate the role of aunty.
We love an aunty.
(Ah, but not the one who chased to remove the wobbly tooth.) Never underestimate
the role of the aunty. Aunties turn up. Regular like.
Others can let you down. But an aunty is regular, like…
Like, if you are lucky, bowels. Only prettier than…
Often prettier than…
Let’s hear it for Lost Aunties
Paddy, Stella, Mary, Cora, Doris (not real), Mair and the almost lost Mary of Banana Custard fame. Aunties never let you down.
We love an aunty who turns up like clockwork, is so pleased to see us and puts us first, like a grandmother. (Well, almost.)
A round of claws for Aunties everywhere except those who think they are dentists.
Aunties Revisited
I am in my office, pretending to clean and I can hear the shrieks of laughter from above. An aunty has arrived while he was asleep. She snapped him from eyes closed to eyes wide open and horrified. They are playing and I’m listening carefully, but I have no idea about this game. Is it loud ‘shops’? The newly found micro goods were on the stairs. Have they made it to the under bedside? Beneath the space station, there is a tiny Aldi with a very nice Christmas wire basket and till.
They descend - I’ll find the squeals wrapped in a towel are about bath toys.
Stuff
Dog barking. Nodding off.
Strawberry manilla milkshake. Toast, no crusts.
Nodding off with gentle snores. Where’s the phone.
Toast with no crusts, squares or triangles. Raining.
Where’s the phone? Too late. Shoes?
Raining. No bike. Tea or proper coffee. Shoes? Got one. Fresh pasta.
Tea or proper coffee? Sweetner? Rescued.
Fresh pasta. More please.
Strawberry manilla milkshake, more please. Rescued by Paw Patrol.
Dog barking and farting.
No To Not Much
No to not much.
No to dirty football shirt. No to bare feet in the garden.
No to throwing marbles…anywhere.
No to airplaning in the Co-op by the bread aisle.
No to hiding under paddling pool when it’s full of stagnant water.
No to skateboard after the bloody incident when Nan was splattered with blood…
…and you were too.
We will all obey Aunty Alice’s Golden Rule.
There will be no kissing and hugging during meals.
Spag boled little fingers, tomatoed mouth - no thank you.
Kissy wissy, huggy wuggy will take place before and after meals, not during…