Dinosaur Days

8.09am

Naoise drawing of a dinosaur, a flying dinosaur. The train passing on the track. Cars on the road. Not raining. More cars hurrying to work. I am slow to work. This is work. Home is work. Children is work. I wish there was other work but for now there is this. There are dinosaur days. Days of reading and hugging and playing. Days of baking buns and eating them all up. Days of feeding the fledgling robins oat cakes in the back yard. Days that seemed to slowly pass but now speed by. Soon the dinosaur days will be gone. Naoise is back to school on Tuesday and Syd is back to school on Wednesday. Where did the summer go? Where was the summer ? So fleeting, there were glimpses of summer behind clouds and between rain. It was a pause. I feel in some ways the dinosaur days have only just begun. I mean I have just got used to this way of life and now it changes again. We leave children at the gates of the institution and go back to our adult lives.

Now the dinosaur days are disappearing I want them to stay I don’t want the comet to come, ┬áthe morning rush, the begging children out of bed and into clothes time. I don’t want it. I don’t want the reality of adult space. I fear what is next. I have to cover double studio rent and find work. Work its all work, coping without work, having work, domestic work and looking after children work.

There are frustrations in the household to contain, ignore and live with. I cannot speak of these specific frustrations as that would either be unkind, too truthful or the truth would get me in trouble. So I am silenced by my own art project that set out to be honest.

I forgot to log the day that Naoise lost his tooth. I wrote nothing that day. I think it was a Saturday. Saturday 29th August. The tooth becoming loose caused him great distress, it eventually fell out in his sleep. He woke up to tell me that his tooth was out and in his mouth. We kept it safe. Safe for the morning. He decided he did’t want to put it under the pillow and give it to the fairy as he wanted to give it to me. Naoise is the most generous, kind and loving child. I am proud of all of these characteristics.

He has started lying though, he steals my mobile phone and hides it behind his bed. Its hard to know what to do about lies. We all lie. We are not always truthful. Some days have not been dinosaur days, I have wished them past. I have wished the summer over. I have wished it over because of exhaustion and a want for adult time, free thinking, space to exercise so that I no longer expand. I try not to wish time away. I try. I hear footsteps on the stairs.

My neighbour in his hi vis jacket going to work.

My friend departs in his car, we cross a few notes, catch up on each others lives, just a little, just a moment. Often there is little to say and report.

I have to take the children to buy their new school shoes today. Back to school, there is an entire industry based on back to school. Coax your kids back with consumerism. The promise of a new pencil case, bag and shoes. Little to get that excited about. Both my children have hard feet to shoe. Naoise feet are long, Syds feet are big and wide.

Oh Syd. Oh Naoise, how you fill my days. Fill my days with romping and organising and getting through each day. By ten I am exhausted and collapse into bed. It is not a surprise then, that this project fell apart, my job of caring become full time, and if its all full time, when is the time that you are meant to make, to dream, to create. The only time to create is with your children, in collaboration with them. Facilitation. I convince myself that facilitation is the heart of creativity. I provide a situation for creative activities to occur. I pass on. I nurture. Why is this not enough ? When will I ever settle with enough?

I have lost the thread. Need more tea. Need to get up. There is more warm and light today.

Ahhh the stones I walked in-between the stones as the sun fell. It gets dark at 8.30pm now. The days are shortening. Need to loose the weight of the summer, I cannot fasten the button on my favourite jeans, I can feel the spread and the extra fat. The fat of the summer of care.

Police van passes.

I need toast. Hot toast, butter and marmite.

 

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