Aimless witch walk
9.22 am ( Feb half term holidays)
I was up in the night again with Naoise, though only once. He woke me at four. An accident. Undress. Shower. Dry with a towel. Count all toes, smile. Put on clean Pajamas. Fetch warm milk. Glass of water. Ripe banana. Feel head for fever. Medicine in mouth. Sympathy, words of kindness. Tuck him back into bed. Arm over his little body. Back to sleep cuddles.
The shelves are emptying of the valentines tit tat, scented candle in ceramic holder, wicker shaped heart, heart shaped keyring, mug, all at knock down prices more than eighty percent off. Baby pink cava still positioned at the front. Even love is repackged and sold back to us as commodity.
Having a lazy Sunday, wondering aimlessly around Clitheroe with Patrick and Naoise. Naoise is still under the weather, pale and needs to be carried in-between short bursts of walking. We sit on a bench and eat our supermarket sandwiches, Naoise barely touches his, he takes just a few little bites. I worry when he eats like a fly. He is more interested in the little robin who is on the look out for a piece of bread. I throw a small piece to him, and Naoise delights in him snatching it up cheekily in his beak and then disappearing quick as a flash back in to the bushes behind the bench.
We walk up and around the castle. Its a small, partly ruined but a castle no less. From the top you get a great vista of a view, over to the left The Trough of Bowland , to the right the hills of the Yorkshire Dales, below Clitheroe toy town and in front the fields of Lancashire working there way up to the pregnant belly of Pendle Hill. Its enough to make a five year old boy smile.
He runs down the stairs at a dizzying speed and I shout don’t go too fast, you’ll slip, but he is nimble, agile and sure footed, probably no need for my words of care and caution, as a child I would have pegged it just like him. I am not sure I am a very confident mother, I fuss and worry and perhaps protect the children too much. I see danger everywhere. I do want to wrap them in cotton wool, I do. If I could, I would lay a field of cotton down to prevent the hurt of their fall. Instead I avert my eyes when heights are scaled and inevitable risks are taken.
Its hard to write this, to get a flow of thought. Syd is sitting at the living room table, completing his geography homework, he keeps interrupting me asking for assistance with information or an ear to hear what he has written. I am thankful that he is just getting on with his work, and that he is no longer listening to music escaping through his ear plugs.
Clitheroe is mainly shut up for Sunday. There are a few charity shops open, the odd cafe and the newsagents. Patrick takes Naoise to the toyshop to spend some pocket money. I go to the hardware store to buy some wooden pegs, I want to make a family of dolls with Naoise. We visit another supermarket this time to buy some local crumbly Lancashire cheese that the children adore. Naoise enjoys ordering the cheese at the counter, watching a piece being sliced, weighed, wrapped in paper.
Syd: Right mum, I’ll read this to you: St Ives is a small sea side town on the south coast of Cornwall………….