Bank Holiday Monday. All is very quiet. The day seems brighter and warmer. Woke up to hear Patrick going to the bathroom. One pigeon resting on the ridge of the mill roof. Naoise breathing gently. Slept alright but was awake at three Patrick woke me, he had come home from working in the office. Always interruptions,never a full nights sleep. I feel tired, my eyes are still adjusting to the light as I stare at this screen. A few cars on the road. Naoise breathing gently.
The two of us watched two BBC documentaries about Sharks. We fell asleep watching the programme about Sharks. Naoise is still fully clothed. I never realised that there were so many species of Sharks. The strangest was the Green Land Shark, which was slowly blinded by a parasite that lived in its eye and fed on the cornea. Swimming blind searching for food in sub zero temperatures with only smell as its guide. I thought that all Sharks laid eggs, but his is not true. The lemon shark grows her cubs in her womb each has a little placenta, umbilical cord, and after birth a belly button.
Blinded. I have become blinded.
Naoise made a film, called tickle, tickle. The beginning of the film shows him coming into my bedroom I am sat in bed writing this. He tries to get my attention but I am staring at a screen writing this, and ignore him. Watching his film back I realised how sad it was that the screen won and he lost. He was being so beautiful and playful. I need to get a balance on this project. Naoise is more important than this writing.
Naoise breathing gently.
We cooked together. I am determined to help my children to be independent and self reliant. I am a child from a family of four, mostly ignored, happily mostly ignored. I grew to be very independent, got myself to school and back alone. Caught buses or walked to friends houses. Played wild in the woods. Roamed free. Could bake a cake by the time I was eight. By nine I was able to take a tube train to central London on my own.
We made a rhubarb crumble together with the fruit I pulled from mum and dad’s garden. Naoise is good with a knife. I watch him and try not to intervene. He is careful and precise. He likes the responsibility. He does not want to rub the butter into the flour to make the crumble. This is the best bit, shame, I enjoy it instead of him. Baking is simple and satisfying.We sprinkle the almonds on top, rest the pot on the oven top ready to bake.
It was a bitty, boring day. I made lunch, cleared up, put washing in and out of the machine. Played a game of cranium with Naoise. I took his old shoes back to the shop and got the new ones. I walked around a pound shop gazing at stuff, I picked up some hair slides and bands then put them back. I like the idea of wearing plats. I looked around another shop, caressed clothes on racks, admired a pale blue teapot and again left with nothing. Happy that I had not succumbed to consumerism, desire, shopping therapy.
I get back home and bundle Naoise into the car to go and visit a friend who lives in the woods. Her house is a magical place, walk up the garden, climb a stone wall and you are surrounded by wood and wild. We play on a rope ladder. Naoise swings with his foot in the loop at the bottom. We walk up the hill towards a cluster of rocks and a cliff. Naoise is told he can run where ever he likes, that he can show us the way. He loves this freedom and is off. My friend tells me about the free-range kids movement in America, It was started by Lenore Skenazy in 2008 after she wrote a newspaper column about allowing her nine-year-old son to ride the New York subway alone. (Leave our kids alone: parents of free-range children bemoan land of snitches, Ana Codera Rado, The Guardian, 4th March, 2015)
We reach the rocks. Each of us swings on the three rope swings then lies down and looks at the blue and the green. Ravens nest in the cliff top. Naoise reads the graffiti on the rock face Charley loves Rob. Back home and a cup or tea and a biscuit.
Naoise breathing gently.
Work today at the studio, complete the presentation that I was unable to concentrate on last week. Ironic that I failed at writing a presentation about failure. I shall try not to get stressed and anxious as it clouds my head and I cannot make or do or think or anything.
Naoise breathing gently, more cars on the road.
Naoise wakes up I think I have poo in my pants mum.
Naoise is in the shower.