Day Five: House of Illness
7.38am ( awake since 6.30am up at 7am)
I am so so tired, least its not snowing today, the sky is white and filled with nothing, as if a polystyrene cup has upended itself onto the world. The children are eating chocolate breakfast, its Saturday so hey why not?
Not much to say. Head numb. Syd goes away to his dads this weekend, I will miss him especially as its Mothering Sunday tomorrow though I much prefer International Women’s Day, seems less of an opportunity to sell cards, flowers and chocolates.
I walked up the Pexwood Road. I saw a weeping wall and my robin. Robins are territorial so it is the same one I see at each passing. A kind friend bought me a coffee and I moaned at her about my week inside looking after the family, she listened and offered me some sound advice. I went to the supermarket and bought all the provisions that were needed for the day and trudged back up the road towards home.
Each day much the same as the previous, medicine doses, catering, playing, clearing up, cuddling, holding, stroking hair, reading stories, lifting a small body into the shower, towel drying, fetching warm milk for supper, wishing children to sleep.
In the late afternoon, I managed to get to the studio to work for a couple of hours, nothing creative just some admin work, but still nice to be elsewhere, to be outside the home.
Syd has drawn and scratched graphical self portraits of himself into his lovely wooden bedside table. Perhaps it is lovelier now. The drawings are Roaring. I tried not to get annoyed, or show that I was upset with what he had done. I looked carefully at the images he had made, I do like the images but wish they had been drawn on paper not furniture. I will in time learn to just love them not for the act of teenage vandalism but for the joy of the drawings themselves and the time that they mark. I think I have similar self-conscious scribblings recorded on the blue cover of a school notebook, and there were naughtier scratchings marking wooden desks. I doubt that you would get away with scratching motifs into the wood of a school desk these days, not without at least a week in seclusion. I am glad then that this right of passage has been gauged out of the wood that furnishes our home. It is safe to experiment with graffiti here. Expression and creativity is both encouraged and permissible.
The children are squabbling. Patrick has got up to sort it, but I best stop here, there is bound to be a conflict to iron out. Naoise wants a wrestling fight with his dad. He is pleading him for a fight.