My son turned
six today.
For him, he had
a ball.
His favourite
two things are minging around the house, and hanging out with us, in that
order.
So that’s what
we did.
Which is lucky.
As the other
choices were pretty limited, anyway.
I queued up in
the ASDA car park, 2 metres apart from all the other shoppers, waiting to be
admitted to buy his extensive request of party food.
It was a fantasy
list of everything a six year old would eat if there were no rules, no
boundaries, no parents to say ‘you’ve got to be fucking kidding me,’ under
their breath.
Coke. Cookies.
Fairy cakes. Sausage rolls. Crisps. A big cake with smarties on top. Donuts.
Haribos. Ice cream. Chocolate buttons. Fanta.
I bought the
lot.
It was a
diabetic coma in a trolley.
We’d also bought
all the gifts he’d asked for, which were surprisingly modest in comparison to
his banquet.
It including
worry dolls, so he could tell them what he was fretting about, put them under
his pillow and have them disappear by the morning, which completely broke my
heart.
See, I don’t
know how to answer half of his questions.
Some are tricky…
I don’t know how
guinea pigs say sorry to each other.
Or why
blueberries aren’t called blackberries, when some are more black looking than
actual blackberries.
I don’t know how
Rebecca Rabbit manages to do all the job she does in a day.
Or why your
nails grow faster in the sunshine.*
I don’t know why
mixed fruit squash tastes nice, but if you mix orange and mango squash together
yourself, if tastes revolting.
I don’t know any
of these things and lots more besides, but that’s OK. I say I don’t know and
he’s also OK with that.
It’s the other
tricky questions that are harder to not know.
The ‘when can I
see my friends properly?’
‘Will I go back
into year one at school?’
‘Will we be able
to go for a pizza after swimming again soon?’
‘Are we allowed
in the park in the summer holidays?’
‘When can I see
Nanny again?’
It’s those
questions I can’t answer. But that doesn’t seem adequate. When you’re little,
you look to your parents as the holder of all knowledge.
If they don’t know
it, it’s probably not worth knowing.
But this shit
really is worth knowing. We all want to know the answers.
Yet we have no
idea what the future holds. What the world will look like when all this is
over, if indeed there is such a thing as ‘over.’
I’ve purposely
stopped watching the news, the ignorance of not being plugged in brings a bit
of relief.
There’s a day by
dayness to everything at the moment. Like we can deal with what’s in front of
us, that hour or afternoon or week, but the long-termness is just too much for
our brains to cope with.
And when we do,
a lethargy takes over to protect us. A tiredness. Like hibernation.
But other days,
or hours, or minutes are shrouded in optimism.
Seeds start to
sprout (YES! Who isn’t a wannabe Charlie Dimmock in lockdown?)
Bird song seems
louder.
It’s possible to
cycle down the street without feeling like you’re going to be knocked down by
oncoming traffic.
The world is
continuing regardless.
While we are
home.
We can’t answer
many of our children’s questions right now, but we can squeeze them a bit
tighter.
Be that worry
doll for them.
So they won’t
need them anymore.
* Apaz your
nails grow faster in the sunshine as our body produces more vitamin D in daylight,
which is important for nail growth. So that's one question answered
anyway...
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