International Women’s Day

7am ( been awake since 5.45am up at 6am)

Happy International Women’s Day 

Naoise snuffly (king sized duvet cover) is doing the rounds in the washing machine, the corners of the cover that he pushes up his nose have become blackened, it is time for a wash. He will hate me for it, washing will ruin the smell of it. The dirty comfort of it.

Naoise woke early and I fetched  him milk and banana to eat as he was hungry and then washed him in the shower as he was dirty. I have plonked him into bed with Patrick. They are both ill. I was hoping to get out with Syd today but I may be catering and nursing ill man and boy instead.

The weather is looking dismal compared to yesterdays bright shine. There is grey and sheets of rain falling at acute angles. I went to try and find some paracetamol in Syd’s bedroom. Its chaos in there. The unpacked Paris suitcase lies on the floor spilling its contents, clean clothes wrapped up with dirty. I still haven’t heard any stories of his time away. I hope he tells me some of them soon.


The dining room table pile is growing, it seems to have a life of its own. Its interesting to see what happens if I stop sorting. As I thought, it is me that is the main sorter. I must teach the boys to sort. Sorting is dull and boring and tiresome. Why do we have all this stuff, all this clutter in our lives. I was going to say unwanted clutter but that is dishonest. The boys love the clutter of lego and so the clutter keeps coming.

I must clear the table though. A table is the heart of a home. A place where dishes are placed, food and stories are shared. Where conflicts can be ironed out with a sweet spoon of apple crumble, or a sip of tea.

The washing machine sounds as if it may take off. I don’t want to write anymore now. I was hoping to write something more profound for International Women’s Day but I am all out of ideas today. The washing machine drum slows its pace to a stop.

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