When all of life’s pleasures are expected to be provided by the same daily routine and interaction with the same four people, we latch on to small pleasures where we can find them.
Yesterday we had several, providing a variety of reactions from a wry smile to unbridled joy via a warm parental pride.
Clapping for the NHS
Last Thursday Henry was just nodding off as the clapping started so we promised him this week he could come and join in. We duly forgot and they were both tucked up in bed when, at 7.55, they were dragged back out and downstairs (with very little cajoling it should be said) to stand at the front door and celebrate all those phenomenal people who are literally risking their lives for their country.
Bella wasn’t really aware of the whole clapping trend so as she trailed Andy downstairs, a bit bleary eyed (with eye mask just shoved onto her forehead) she could be heard asking ‘Why are there doctors in our house? Oh, why are they on our road? Where are they? I can’t see anyone.’ But she clapped anyway. Henry, as expected, loved the whole thing and announced that all the nurses were working so hard they would probably have to hibernate for, like, a year afterwards. Yup.
Licking the bowl
We made crispy cakes. An Easter tradition normally allocated to Aunty Ray but in her absence we produced our own slightly ropey versions using stale cornflakes and decorated with white chocolate buttons best before 2017.
Lost and found
One of the quirks of our 1930s house is a balcony on one of the front bedrooms. Its purpose is entirely beyond me but there it is. Our road may not be a busy one but I still have little interest in sitting up on the first floor surveying the street. Nor can I face using it to showcase all manner of pot plants, hanging baskets and other horticulturally impressive offerings. For the simple reason that to water all that would involve dragging endless sloshing watering cans into the house, up the stairs and through a bedroom.
Anyway, the decision as to how we use the balcony was rather taken out of our hands two years ago when the key to the door that leads onto it went missing.
I blamed a few people - as is my want - but the thing never reappeared. Until today. In the pocket of some shorts last worn in the summer of 2018. My shorts.
Being pregnant three times has few benefits (besides the children), particularly if you produce babies as, um, sturdy as mine and have to embark on a Mega Weightloss after every arrival. The ONLY upside to gaining and losing weight in such tedious rotation is the ‘new’ wardrobe you get to unpack when you’re finally in a position to wedge your still slightly oversized ass into your pre-pregnancy clothes.
And this morning, joy upon joy, I dusted off a pair of shorts last donned in the summer of 2018 only to find said key nestled in the pocket. I would wager it’s almost better than finding a fiver in there, though we still have no intention of using the bloody balcony.
Make do and mend
As wonderful as this warm weather is, it has rather caught us on the hop as far as the kids' summer wardrobe is concerned. They seem to have grown out of everything they wore last year and, thanks to being largely housebound, I haven't got round to stocking up on shorts/sundresses etc. But unlike their baby brother, the big two only appear to grow up, not out, so I am able to improvise.
Bella is now wearing last year's dresses as long tops, with Henry's old shorts underneath, and I have been chopping the bottoms off Henry's old jeans to make shorts. Jobs a goodun.
Being proved right
Please excuse the domestic element of this point. I have now been writing this blog for 21 days and am very touched by the number of people who read it, comment on it and tell me how much they are enjoying it. But sadly those people do not include my dear husband. He is admittedly very encouraging and hugely supportive of both the concept and the commitment, but somehow he can’t quite find the time to have a gander. He claims he does, but I am pretty sure he doesn’t. So this post is a little test. Andy, if you see this thank you, I love you and yes I would love a cuppa, cheers. (And it doesn’t count if someone - I’m looking at you, Judy - has told you to read it.)
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