Relentless Parenting: 2013 365 Challenge #110

Learning how to Muck Out

I don’t have many words today.

Lack of sleep, residual illness and a day with hyper children have been a recipe for spectacularly crap parenting. Plus the research I did for yesterday’s Claire post left me concerned about how much homework Amber will be expected to do, come September. It sparked an interesting debate on my Facebook page and I feel better for the welcome perspective, but when I’m low little fears become huge. Sometimes parenting seems relentless and my resilience sadly lacking.

I also managed to go to the wrong surgery for a doctors appointment about my infernal knee, and I’m scared to walk the dog in case she runs off again.

Feeding the Lambs

Looking for the positives, Amber has decided she wants to be a farmer after watching the rangers muck out the lambs for half an hour at the Farm this morning. I think that’s a much better ambition than being a show jumper (especially as she’s never ridden a horse, but happily knows that pigs make sausages and cows make burgers.) They both got to feed the lambs too, because it was raining and cold and there were about five people at the farm. A bit different to Easter week.

Amber’s Creation

We also had a great craft session in the afternoon. I managed to leave Amber to her own devices with a project rather than helping her achieve perfect results (as I normally would), because Aaron decided he wanted to decorage a dog, not a dolly. I made him a dog out of some green felt stuffed with cotton wool (Well it’s meant to be a dog anyway) but he’d lost interest by the time I finished it. Amber’s dolly looks like the result of a deep sea accident, or maybe something designed by Vivienne Westwood, but she loves it. And I’m delighted that she’s broken free and created something that looks nothing like the picture on the box. The hardest thing about Amber’s homework will be letting her do it by herself and make her own mistakes.

Mummy’s more precise version

As part of my research for today’s post I needed to find out how six-year-olds write. I browsed the great Radio 2 page for their 500-word story competition (a writing competition for children), but most were written by slightly older children. Great stories though. My favourite is Cow on a Bus: it’s read by Richard Wilson and is very funny.

Instead, for my research, I dug out an old school book of mine hubbie found during the last clear-out. I have no idea how old I was when I wrote the contents, but judging by the handwriting it must be between five and seven. This was my story including all typos, spelling and punctuation (i.e. none) – if I get a chance tomorrow I’ll scan in the page (including illustrations) for giggles.

One day there lived a little boy he was walk in the woods he met a big giant the boy said he hat a secret tell me what is it I will not tell you I will pick you up and put you in my pocket and he walked to the castle and on the way he met a bigger giant the bigger giant said what is that in your pocket a little boy the two giants walked on to the castle on the way they meta the biggest giant so far when they got to the castle they put the boy on the table and he told them the secret they all ran away and he went home and told his mummy

At least my punctuation has improved since then! 🙂 Hubbie asked what the secret was. I have no idea. I probably never did! Right, time to dredge up some energy for Claire post (it’s 11pm. Have been faffing with photos and research all evening. Tut tut.)

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Below is the next installment in my novel Two-Hundred Steps Home: written in daily posts since 1st January as part of my 2013 365 Challenge. Read about the challenge here.You can catch up by downloading the free ebook volumes on the right hand side of the blog:

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Claire looked down at the painstakingly formed words, written in pencil in the lined workbook. It didn’t look like much. With a glance at her niece’s eager expression, Claire swallowed her apprehension and began reading.

One day a girl walked in the woods. She was looking for a handsome prince but only found a slimy croaking frog. I wish my fairy godmother would come and turn this frog into a prince. The fairy godmother arrived in a sprinkle of stars. I have come to grant your wish. She waved her wand but gave a loud sneeze and with a puff of smoke she turned herself into a frog. Oh bother said the fairy godmother as she hopped away with her wand in her mouth. She wondered how to turn herself back into a fairy. The princess couldn’t help because she had run away.

The fairy godmother talked to the other frog and found out it didn’t want to be a prince, it liked being a frog. The fairy frog hopped until it came across a cottage in the woods. A girl with gold hair was climbing out a window, running from the sound of roaring bears. Little girl said the fairy godmother, if you wave this wand and turn me back into a fairy I will help you escape the angry bears. The little girl picked up the wand and ran off with it into the woods. Drat said the fairy and hopped through the window. Hello Daddy Bear said the fairy frog, that little girl with gold hair has stolen my wand. Never mind that said the bear she ate our porridge and broke our chair. She is a naughty girl.

The bears and the fairy frog ran after the little girl. They found her stuck in a muddy puddle waving the wand and shouting at a slimy frog sitting on her head. Mummy Bear took the wand and turned the fairy frog back into a godmother. The fairy godmother thanked the bears and the frog and turned the little girl into a wasp. You naughty little girl, you will be a wasp until you are sorry for stealing the porridge and my wand and for breaking Baby Bear’s chair. The fairy godmother waved goodbye to the bears and the frog who didn’t want to be a prince and went home to bed.

Claire read the story and smiled. She certainly has imagination. There are full stops and capital letters too. I wonder if I should add punctuation? How much are parents meant to get involved in their child’s homework? Looking up at the expectant expression on Sky’s face, Claire decided to leave the masterpiece as it was. She hated it when Carl found fault with a presentation that had taken hours to prepare: why burst the girl’s bubble by suggesting she add speech marks? Maybe they could work on them later.

“Well done, Sky, this is very good.”

Her niece beamed and then nodded. “Yes, I know. I’m very good at stories, Miss Henley says so.”

Slightly taken aback, Claire hesitated before laughing out loud. Oh for the confidence of youth.

***

Snot Funny: 2013 365 Challenge #105

Bouncing at the Park

Apologies: rant ahead.

Goodness me when the Martin boys do ill, they really go to town. Daddy has barely left bed all day and littlest Martin has been fighting a temperature of 39C (102.2F). He at least has mostly maintained his sense of humour, unlike the rest of us. Shame he seems to also have developed the art of projectile sneezing.

“I’ve got snot,” has become today’s catchphrase.

I just hope they’re well enough for nursery tomorrow. Daddy’s already decided he’s off sick – a great start to Week Two of working with no sick leave – and I’m desperately in need of a break so I can be ill.

I made the mistake of going back to bed during the Grand Prix this morning, figuring Daddy had it covered, only to be woken by a piercing scream an hour later because Daddy wouldn’t get the kids some chocolate milk. Aaron had a dirty nappy and I went down to find Daddy asleep and the kids trying to escape into the garden. Thank God the back door was locked because if the gale force wind that’s swirling round today had caught the door one of them might have lost a finger. Sometimes it’s easier to be the parent in charge than listen from the sidelines.

Pushing Dinosaur in the Swing

Don’t think I’m having a moan about hubbie. Well, not much. He is properly sick and a fetching shade of pale green. Catching a virus after working his first long full week in months was too much for his immune system. It just wasn’t helped by him going to bed at 2am Friday night because he watched a movie (that’s what Sky+ is for). I try for sympathy but I’m a rotten sick person myself and am even worse at caring for ill people. Mother Teresa I am not.

The only way I survive is to keep busy. I dragged the children to the park and the supermarket (mostly because we needed dog food and there was no way I could leave them home with Daddy). Poor kids have spent all day trying for cuddles and I’ve been saying “in a minute” quite a lot. Partly because Aaron’s furnace-hot skin contributes to my own fever and partly because being ill makes me grumpy so the kindest thing I can do is stay out of the way. I’m not a very cuddly person at the best of times. In the end we survived with lots of Calpol (kiddy pain relief) lots of TV and lots of bottles of milk.

Now how can I work all that into a Claire post? Hmmm maybe it’s time she has to deal with the joys of a sick child.

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“Sky? Wake up, poppet. We’re here.”

Claire looked over to the passenger seat, surprised to see her niece still slumped asleep against her seatbelt. Reaching over, she gently shook the little girl by the shoulder and was shocked to feel hot skin beneath her hand. Claire released her seat belt and leaned over to look at Sky’s face. The perfect pixie features were pale, with two spots of colour in the cheeks like Aunt Sally. Not that she would know who Aunt Sally was, of course. With a shaking hand, Claire felt Sky’s forehead, although she knew the girl was ill by the heat radiating from her as if she were a mug of hot coffee.

Damn: A sick child is all I need. What do I know about caring for sick children? She looked across the hostel car park at the residential brick building of Sheringham YHA. After all the beautiful places I’ve stayed in for one night wishing it could have been longer, I couldn’t have picked an uglier hostel to spend a few days in with a poorly child. Where’s the rolling green lawn, the gothic manor, the roaring open fire? I should have taken her back to the Peak District with me – I knew Norfolk was a bad idea. No wonder they don’t have a picture of the hostel on the YHA site.

For the first time since she arrived at Berwick Upon Tweed a month earlier, Claire didn’t want to even enter the hostel in front of her, never mind spend two or three days there. What the hell am I going to do? I can’t take a sick child in there, it looks horrible. But I’m not going to find anywhere else on Easter Sunday.

She pulled out her iPad, then remembered Sky had flattened the battery playing games in the car. Getting her phone instead, Claire checked which hostel they were booked into after this one. Wells-next-the-sea. I wonder if they’ve had any cancellations and can fit us in early? Can’t hurt to ask.

Claire sat with the phone in one hand, the other resting against Sky’s arm, whether to provide comfort or monitor temperature she wasn’t sure. The phone connected after the third ring.

“Wells YHA, Peter speaking.”

“Ah, hello. My name’s Claire, I’m booked in with my niece in a few days–”

“Claire, hello. You’re on my list to call.”

“Oh God, there isn’t a problem with the room is there?” Panic fluttered in Claire’s stomach. Staying in the horrible building in front of her for two or three nights would be bad enough, without having Wells cancelled as well.

“Not at all, I always call beforehand, to ensure our guests know what to expect.”

“Oh.” Claire wasn’t sure how to respond. She hadn’t heard of a YHA manager doing that before. “Well, I was actually calling to see if you had any space for us earlier than next week? Like from tonight?”

She heard the man on the phone suck air in through his teeth. I knew it. It’s Easter Sunday, of course they’ll be full. I seem to remember it’s a tiny hostel anyway. There was silence on the line and Claire hoped it was because he was checking on the computer rather than doubled over, laughing at her naïvety.

“Hello? Claire? I think you may be in luck. We had a couple leave early and I think they were due to stay tonight and tomorrow. I’m not sure about the following day – I believe you were due to join us on Wednesday night?”

Claire nodded then realised how stupid that was. “Uh-huh,” she acknowledged. “I guess we can always come back to Sheringham for that night if you can’t fit us in.”

“It’s a private room we have available – en-suite –” Claire exhaled in relief. “–but it is £49 a night. I hope that’s okay?”

I could get a hotel room with breakfast for that! But I guess beggars can’t be choosers and at least I tick one more place off the list. More importantly I don’t have to stay here. She looked at the uninspiring building outside the window, shivering at some inexplicable vibe.

“We’ll take it. My niece is poorly and I need somewhere nice for us to stay.”

“Oh dear, how old is she?”

“She’s only six.”

“Poor mite. Bring her to us; we’ll help you take care of her. Do you have Calpol?”

Claire had no idea what that was, but wasn’t about to admit it.

“Er, no. I don’t.”

“Not to worry, I’m sure we’ve got some or someone staying here will have some – help little one sleep. We’ve also got a stack of Disney DVDs she can watch in the lounge if she’s up to it. Don’t worry, we’ll take care of you.”

As she hung up the phone Claire felt for the first time in her life that a guardian angel might be looking out for her. Glancing over at the flushed cheeks of her still-sleeping niece, she thought privately that she might just need one.

***

Maurice and Man-Flu: 2013 365 Challenge #104

Poorly Little Martin

Today is a day when I wish I’d done less cleaning on my last nursery day and remained a Claire post ahead. Because – although the clean house is nice – Family Martin has Man-Flu.

All of us.

We’ve never ALL been struck down simultaneously before. I’ve had to write drug distribution on the chalk board because my brain is fuddled. It hasn’t been divide and conquer so much as Divide and Survive.

Still, being the heroic one who took the kids to the Farm – after a quiet morning and some calpol meant they were too full of beans to be indoors – I got to go back to bed mid afternoon and finish my book. The Amazing Maurice and His Educated Rodents. A marvellous book. I love Terry Pratchett. I love the sophistication of his world building and the insidious nature of his social commentary.

This children’s Discworld novel discusses morality and religion in a way that hasn’t affected me since Granny Weatherwax in Carpe Jugulum. I’m not very good at reviewing books because I can’t tiptoe around spoilers (and I hate spoilers). All I’ll say is this is a book I really hope my children read, as it approaches philosophical questions of what makes me me; ideas and beliefs, shadows and darkness, in an accessible and compelling way. It also deals with Stories: what constitutes a story, the difference between stories and the real world, including a ‘real world’ rather than ‘fairy tale’ ending. Terry Pratchett at his best.

I don’t think it gives anything away to include this quotation, which I believe encapsulates what religion should be about (as someone who isn’t particularly religious):

If there is a Big Rat [God], and I hope there is, it would not talk of war and death. It would be made of the best we could be, not the worst that we are. No, I will not join you, liar in the dark. I prefer our way. We are silly and weak, sometimes. But together we are strong. You have plans for rats? Well, I have dreams for them.

Love it.

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“Auntie Claire, look!”

Claire turned her head at the unexpected sound of Sky giggling. After an hour moaning in the car that the iPad battery was flat and twenty minutes of shoe shuffling and whining in the queue, Claire had forgotten that her niece could laugh. The decision to come to Merrivale Model Village already seemed a bad one, and they’d only been inside ten minutes.

We should have done Sea Life. I could have bought a coffee and left her to it knowing she couldn’t damage anything. If I leave her in here she’ll probably trample on the exhibits or start playing with them. Seeing her niece still waving and jiggling up and down, Claire swallowed a sigh and went to investigate.

“What is it, Sky?”

“Look!” She pointed at the scene in front of them. “That little woman is…” she lowered her voice to a whisper that probably carried to the edge of the village, “showing her boobies! See?”

Claire peered at the tiny model people. Oh god. There’s a half-naked woman being arrested at a football match. Seriously? Don’t these people know kids come here?

As if confirming Claire’s worst fears, Sky took a deep breath and said, too loudly, “why is she showing her boobies, Claire? What are the policemen doing? Did someone steal her clothes?”

Looking round wildly for assistance or guidance, all Claire could see were other parents trying not to smile. Avoiding eye contact, Claire wrapped her arm around Sky’s shoulder. “Don’t talk so loud, darling.”

“Why not?” Sky’s voice would have filled the O2 Arena.

“Other people are trying to enjoy their afternoon out, that’s all.” She hoped her niece had forgotten the interrogation about the streaker, but she was out of luck.

“Why didn’t she have a top on? Was she sunbathing? Sometimes Mummy sunbathes without her top on in the garden.”

“Um. I’m not sure. Why don’t we go and look at the train? Or the high street?” She pulled at her niece’s hand and led her away from the traitorous football match.

“Oh, look Sky, the hospital, let’s go there.”

The Whys didn’t stop: It turned out the hospital was full of realistic details, like some poor man having his leg sawn off. “Why are they cutting his leg, Claire? Is he poorly?” Then, “Why is there smoke coming from that house? Is it on fire? Why haven’t the firemen put it out?” Even the castle let Claire down. “Why does the princess have a pointy hat, Claire?” Unable to remember whether it was called a wimple or a hennin, Claire once more resorted to her stock phrase, “I don’t know, darling,” all the while cursing the quirky nature of the model village.

I guess you have to have a sense of humour to run a place like this. Claire looked at the Boggitt and Scarper builder’s sign and the Lord Help Us Hall and smiled. How much time does it take to put all these people in position? If you couldn’t have a laugh you’d go bonkers. Claire read a tiny sign declaring, “Keep off Grass, Guard Ducks Patrol this Garden, Survivors will be Prosecuted,” and laughed out loud. Maybe the sick humour is to keep the adults amused. God knows it must be boring to be a parent at a place like this. Or anywhere.

She tried to tune out the Whys, but discovered if she didn’t answer quickly enough, Sky’s voice became louder and more shrill. As the question was usually one Claire didn’t want to hear echoing amongst the milling families she had to respond swiftly and with detail. ‘I don’t know, sweetheart,’ had apparently lost its effectiveness.

Claire felt drained and defeated, as if she’d been wrangling in a Board Meeting for two hours, rather than wandering with a six-year-old for twenty minutes. In desperation she gazed round the site, longing for something safe to distract Sky’s inquisitive mind. She caught sight of a sign and her heart lifted.

“Oh look, Sky: A Penny Arcade, why don’t we go there?”

“What’s an arcade?”

Claire thought about the rare visits to Uncle Jim when she was Sky’s age. He would take his nephew and nieces to the amusement arcades, a bag of tuppences hanging heavy in their pockets, gleaming highlights in their eyes knowing their parents would definitely not approve. They would gorge themselves on candy floss and stand at the machines for hours, feet welded to the sticky floor, the smell of cigarette smoke in their nostrils from Uncle Jim’s rolling tobacco.

With her mind and heart full of happy memories, Claire shone a sparkling grin at Sky.

“You’re in for a real treat.”

***

My Review Of Terry Pratchett’s “Wee Free Men”… (akrummenacker.wordpress.com)
Magrat: note spelling (vulpeslibris.wordpress.com)
Terry Pratchett – Wee Free Men (sffbookreview.wordpress.com)
Dodger, Terry Pratchett (booksjadore.wordpress.com)
A Hat Full of Sky Read Along, we’ve come to the end. (littleredreviewer.wordpress.com)
And Then I Read: THE WEE FREE MEN by Terry Pratchett (kleinletters.com)
[Books] I Shall Wear Midnight (geeky-guide.com)
The Colour of Magic (logosconcarne.com)
Merivale Model Village Pictures

Talked to Exhaustion: 2013 365 Challenge #101

Playing in the Sand

Today has been a great, if exhausting day. As it’s the school holidays we met up with friends to combine childcare and have a good old natter.

My kids were so excited they were dressed and standing at the front door by 9am. This is unheard of behaviour: normally I have to cajole them for at least an hour to get ready to go out. Shame we didn’t need to leave until 10am!

I had to spend the next hour pleading with them to play quietly by themselves while I cleaned the kitchen, knowing we wouldn’t be home until bedtime.

Our kids play so well together even though they’re 1, 2.5, 4 and nearly 5. My friend and I were able to natter for most of the day, interspersed with the kids’ chatter and fairly non-stop feeding of the troops.

Look at my car, Mummy

A slightly nerve-wracking trip to the park chasing my two on their scooters had me aching for bedtime at 2pm (my son apparently has a dare-devil streak and likes to free-wheel down the hill on a scooter he can barely control). We were revived with ice-cream.

Funny how talking all day can be exhausting though, especially when you don’t do it very often. Two days in a row? I’m practically comatose. I fed hubbie frozen chicken and Smash for dinner because I could barely lift my arms or eyes to do anything else. Even typing is using muscles that ache and plea for bed. I certainly don’t have many words left. Thankfully I’ve sketched out my Claire post for today so I can crawl under my duvet in an hour or so and recharge.

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“Auntie Claire, why hasn’t the Easter Bunny been? Couldn’t he find me?”

Claire opened her eyes and blinked them into focus. Inches from her face a little pouting mouth quivered beneath eyes full of tears. Bugger. It’s Easter Sunday. Why didn’t Ruth tell me Sky believes in the bloody Easter Bunny? I mean, who believes in the Easter Bunny? Isn’t that an American thing? The shops aren’t even going to be open today.

Trying to locate some clear thoughts in her cotton-wool brain, Claire felt an urge to pull the duvet back over her head and pretend her niece was a bad dream. The quivering turned into a wobble and Claire sensed an imminent meltdown. Conscious of the four other women asleep in the dorm, she let out a quiet groan and forced a smile.

“I’m sure he forgot you were travelling, Sky, and left your eggs with your Mummy. You can look forward to getting them when I take you home.” The wobbling showed no sign of abating, and the tears were tumbling now, running rivulets down little red cheeks. Don’t cry, please. It’s too early.

“I’ll tell you what. We’ll go to a coffee shop today and you can get a babycino and a large piece of cake.”

A calculating look crept into the tear-drenched eyes and Claire felt able to breathe. “Chocolate cake?”

“Yes, if that’s what you want. With cream and ice cream.”

The face disappeared as Sky climbed back down the ladder. Claire’s duvet clung onto her like a lover, but she knew that her niece wouldn’t sit quietly on her bed for long. Sure enough, a minute later a voice called out, much too loud. “Auntie Claire, can we go to the coffee shop now? Please?”

Claire groaned and wrenched herself free from the warm cocoon of sleep. Leaning over the bunk she hissed in as quiet a voice as would carry, “Soon, Sky, but shush please, other people are sleeping. Get dressed and we’ll go down for breakfast.”

Zoning out the muted grumbling from below, Claire sunk her head back into the pillow and closed her eyes. Moments into a beautiful dream, of lying on a warm beach towel being baked by the hot sun, Claire felt a tug at the duvet followed by arctic air ripping the warmth from her body.

“Sky, did you just pull my covers off? You selfish little brat.” The words were out before she could stop them. Claire felt the blood rush to her face as she realised how awful they sounded in the still of the room. Please god let everyone else still be asleep. Lulled by the ensuing silence, Claire figured Sky must have not heard her harsh words. Then she caught the intake of breath that signalled a brewing storm, and she tumbled down out of the bunk-bed as fast as a Marine called to attention.

Wrapping the quivering shoulders in a smothering hug, Claire stroked her niece’s hair and shushed her. “I’m sorry darling: that was unforgiveable. It’s not nice to pull someone’s duvet off when they’re hardly awake, but it was wrong of me to call you names.”

The sobs still came. Loud wracking cries echoed out through the cuddle, leaving Claire’s skin prickling in mortification.

Thank god we have a private room booked at the next hostel. The sooner we get out of here the better. Claire comforted the child as best she could, then helped her get dressed for the day.

I’m not sure I’m going to survive two weeks of this. Ruth, my dear, I take it all back. You’re a saint. I was right, too. Parenting is most definitely not for me.

***

A note about my 365 Challenge… (starchaserxoxo.wordpress.com)
365 Days Of Awesome (hopefulofwords.com)

Embracing the positive: 2013 365 Challenge #100

Quality time with Daddy

Day two without Daddy and we’re still smiling.

We met baby group friends in the park this morning and ended up spending the day with them, dividing child care and managing the various tantrums of four children aged between 2 and 6. It was rather depressing to discover that 6 can be as whiny and unreasonable as 4 – I’d hoped there was light at the end of the parenting tunnel.

At the park, my psychiatric nurse friend gave me a much needed talking to about guilt and childcare, echoing what hubbie had already said last night, to the effect that writing IS my job, even if it pays a pound a day. The kids will have to go to school so they may as well learn they have to go to nursery, and we manage the tears and tantrums. It doesn’t solve my concerns that nursery is too small especially for littlest Martin but I have to manage that by stopping off at the park on the way home and making their home days active.

It’s easier to moan than fix things and I’m awful at letting guilt excuse inactivity. However, as my husband said when he didn’t really want to get out of bed this morning: Time to grow up.

We realised last night that we’re hippies at heart but ones who like a few material possessions. And certainly hippies that couldn’t home school. So certain things in life have to be put up with. I have to put my fears of school shackles aside and embrace the positive. Not something I’m good at. But as my nurse friend wisely said: “your low self esteem came from being told often enough that you weren’t good enough. If you tell yourself often enough that you are, eventually you’ll come to believe it.”

Sounds like hard work to me but I’m willing to give it a go! Time to accept that confidence needn’t be arrogance and guilt and excessive humility are not attractive traits. Gosh, I feel like I’ve been on the therapist’s couch today. No wonder I’m tired! Embracing the positive: A good thought for my 100th post.

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“I’m bored.”

Claire looked over at the little girl on the sofa next to her. A crumpled magazine lay discarded on the floor and she stared at Claire, arms folded, bottom lip jutting out like a bad collagen injection. The pitch of her voice stabbed through Claire’s headache like a stiletto heel. Swallowing her irritation, Claire pushed a smile in place and lowered her book.

“Sorry, sweetie, have you finished your magazine? We’ll go up to bed in a while but, as we’re in a shared dorm, I thought it might be nice to sit down here in the lounge for a bit.”

Claire had no idea what she was going to do once the little girl was tucked up in the bottom bunk. She wasn’t looking forward to another battle over why Sky wasn’t allowed to sleep on top either. The idea of explaining to her sister that her niece had fallen five foot from a bunk-bed during the night was not something she could contemplate without horror.

Sky’s sulk didn’t show any signs of waning. Claire sighed, her cheeks aching from the forced smile. “What would you do at home before bedtime?”

“Mummy reads me stories, or I watch The Simpsons with her.”

The Simpsons? At bedtime? No wonder the girl has nightmares. Searching her brain for an alternative to enduring whatever banal stories Pony Magazine had to offer, Claire caught sight of a teenage girl on the opposite side of the room, engrossed in a game on her iPhone.

“What about computer games?”

Sky’s eyes lit up and then died, like a short-lived supernova. “Mummy doesn’t allow computer games. We only have one computer and she uses it for her work. She says they’re all silly games that will rot my brain.”

And watching the Simpsons won’t? I wonder about my sister sometimes. No wonder she’s so tired all the time. Aren’t games designed as free childcare?

“Well, why don’t we see if there are any apps on the iPad that your Mummy wouldn’t disapprove of? What about reading and writing ones?”

The tiny face fell. “They sound boring. Jenny has one where you paint fingernails, can we download that?” The girl scooted across the sofa and snuggled next to Claire, tucking herself under Claire’s arm. Not sure whether to sigh or smile, Claire pulled her iPad onto her lap and began searching for apps.

Twenty minutes later she returned to her book, glancing over occasionally at Sky to make sure she was okay. Her niece’s face was tight with concentration and all trace of boredom had gone. It can’t be that bad, surely, if it makes her happy? Ruth doesn’t need to know.

Retrieving her paperback she thumbed through the pages until she found her spot. Katniss was in the trees hiding from Peeta when the shrill of a ringing phone broke the silence. Damn. Turn that phone off, will you? The noise continued until Claire realised it was her phone, jangling in her pocket.

With flushed cheeks she fished it out and looked at the number. Her dinner sank to the pit of her stomach and she considered hitting cancel. Don’t be a coward. Slowly releasing a deep sigh, Claire selected answer and put the phone to her ear.

“Hello?” With a glance at Sky, she got up and walked over to the window. Her niece didn’t register her departure.

“Claire? Hi, how are you?”

The voice caused her dinner to start a tango in the bottom of her tummy. “Hi Michael. I’m fine, thanks.” She heard him hesitate and hoped her frigid tones would cause him to cut the call short. I doubt it. Michael must have a leather hide not to have got the hint already.

“I rang to see how you are? After the mugging and all. You haven’t posted much on Twitter recently. Not that I’m stalking you or anything,” he added quickly, as that exact thought went through her mind. “I was just worried.”

“I’m looking after Sky for a couple of weeks.” Of course, Michael doesn’t know about Ruth’s illness. It seemed strange, Michael not knowing something so essential to her life. She tried to decide whether he needed to know now, and concluded he didn’t.

“Really?” The shock in his voice made her grimace. “I thought you hated spending time with your nieces and nephews.” There was something else in his voice too. Was it hope?

“I do.” Let’s put an end to that seed before it germinates. “Ruth needed some time, that’s all, and I couldn’t say no.” She looked over her shoulder. “Besides, she’s old enough to be good company. Most of the time.”

“Children are, you know. They say the funniest things, and they make you really live life. Everything is new and fresh seen through their eyes.” His voice was soft; it made Claire shudder.

“Yes, well. It’s about time I put this little lady to bed. We’re in a shared dorm and it might take a while.”

She heard him breathe out, and knew she had offended him with her curt response. Serves him right for not knowing when to quit.

“Of course. Well, as long as you’re okay.” He paused.

Don’t say it, don’t say it. Please.

“I miss you.” And he was gone.

***

Is Low Self-Esteem Making You Vulnerable to Depression? (psychologytoday.com)
Celebrities and Sippy Cups Poppy Montgomery Talks about Mommy Guilt (everydayfamily.com)
Do you have High or Low Self Esteem? (onlyronsworld.com)
That Scary Thing Has a Name. (lettersofreconciliation.wordpress.com)
What price do you put on yourself? (imconfident.wordpress.com)
This is a childcare crisis of David Cameron’s own making | Stephen Twigg and Yvette Cooper (guardian.co.uk)

Swimsuits and Spring: 2013 365 Challenge #98

Paddling Pool Fun

Despite it being only about ten degrees C outside the kids are running round in their swimsuits and playing in the paddling pool. I think they genuinely don’t feel the cold. It’s t-shirt and jeans weather at best! Who am I to argue though? They’re having the first day of summer fun in half a year and it’s wonderful to see.

As a result, hubbie and I have had a properly productive Sunday. I’ve done half a dozen loads of laundry, stripped the beds, hoovered the carpets and cooked and baked. Hubbie has emptied the garage and put stuff on ebay (a major feat, I should point out). We even made it to the pub, although after a G&T on an empty stomach I remembered why I don’t drink any more. I went through tipsy to hungover in about thirty minutes. Sad.

We spent this evening watching How to Train Your Dragon. What a marvelous movie. I wanted to see it at the cinema and never got around to it. I love dragons and Toothless has to be the most adorable dragon ever. I wish I’d seen it before I wrote Dragon Wraiths, although maybe it would have been a different kind of novel if I had! I liked the ending (I won’t give it away), I thought it a nice touch of realism.

The weather forecast is rain for the rest of the week, so I don’t think there will be much more paddling pool fun, unless I bring it in the playroom and fill it with teddies. Never mind. One step closer to summer and amen to that.

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Claire gripped Sky’s hand and watched nervously left and right. Kings College spread out behind her, stark against a blue sky. Wind whistled along King’s Parade and it was cold in the shade, despite the sun peeking over the buildings in front of them.

The hand in hers tugged and, when she looked down, a pleading face said, “Can I run along the wall, Auntie Claire?”

Claire clutched her paper coffee cup in close and shook her head. “I don’t want you falling and grazing a knee before they get here.” She resisted the urged to check her phone for the fifth time, to see if they were late or if she was still early. Maybe they won’t come. Fiona definitely wasn’t keen. Perhaps they forgot? I should have asked for his number. How did people ever meet up without mobiles?

Sky drew patterns on the pavement with her pink shoes, scooping demi-pliés like a ballerina. Distracted momentarily, Claire watched her performance while Sky used her hand as a bar.

“Do you do ballet, Sky?”

“I did, last term. Mum said we couldn’t afford it once I grew too big for my leotard.”

A worm of guilt wriggled in under Claire’s rib cage. Her sister was always quick to complain about being poor but she’d figured that was the usual moaning she heard in the office, when Account Execs complained they couldn’t afford the coveted pair of shoes or designer handbag.

“Are leotards very expensive?”

Sky shrugged and continued practising her ballet positions in the shade of King’s Parade. Something about the movements snagged at Claire’s memory and she was surprised to discover she remembered the names. First position, second, third. Her feet twitched, as if they wanted to join in.

“Did you enjoy ballet?”

Sky let go of Claire’s hand and twirled a pirouette. “Oh yes. Hannah and Jenny used to go to the same class as me. They’ll be a certificate ahead of me now.” Her pixie face pulled down in a frown, making the cold in the shade a degree cooler. How expensive can it be? The cost of an M&S sandwich and a latte for a class? When we get back I’ll arrange with Ruth to pay for her ballet classes and costumes. Every little princess should dream of being a ballerina if they want to.

“Hey Claire!”

Distracted by her niece’s impromptu performance, Claire had ceased her relentless search of the street, and the hail startled her. With her heart hammering loudly, Claire yanked her head up and she scanned the approaching faces until she located the source of the voice. Without realising it, Claire’s face broke into a wide smile. She grabbed Sky’s hand, as much to resist the urge to hurry over for a hug as to ensure the girl stayed by her side.

And then they were there, facing each other. Claire smiled awkwardly at Fiona, then beamed down at the children. Last of all, she met Josh’s smiling eyes and forgot to breathe.

“Glad you could make it. We’ve been having such fun here: This place is so old. We can’t wait to see round Kings.”

Claire waited a beat too long before nodding. “Us too. Oh, this is Sky, my niece. Sky, meet Josh, Fiona, Lily, Sophie and Lucas.” She indicated each in turn and then looked down at Sky. The girl was peeping out from behind her legs. “Shy, Sky? That’s not like you.”

Josh dropped down to his haunches and twinkled at the hidden girl. “It’s okay, we don’t bite. Are you having fun with Auntie Claire?”

Claire felt as much as saw Sky nodding. Slowly the girl came out and shone a grin at Josh. Claire looked down at her niece’s glowing face and felt a jolt in her chest.

Yes, poppet. I feel like that too.

***

The Parent I Am and the One I Aspire to be: 2013 365 Challenge #97

Amber having her face painted this morning

I don’t have many words today.

Lack of sleep and residual illness has turned me into at least four of the seven dwarfs. I’ll let you figure out which.

Instead of waffling on as usual, I’d like instead to share two thoughtful and beautiful posts about being a parent: both written as letters to a child.

One describes the parent I’d like to be, the other the parent I am far too often. Again, I’ll let you decide which.

It won’t be hard.

An Open Letter to My Son:

Like some poor, naïve fairytale mother, I’m trying to help you navigate your way through a forest that’s by turns enchanted and haunted. The path is familiar, as if I walked it once years ago, but different, too; overgrown and seemingly impassable in some parts, and unexpectedly clear in others. And as we pick our way through the undergrowth, as we do our best not to trip on twisted roots and sharp stones, I try to remember the lessons I’ve learned from all folktales I used to know.

For example, I won’t make the mistake that Sleeping Beauty’s parents did when sending out invitations to her christening. Unlike them, I’ll be sure to invite the dark fairy godmothers as well as the good ones, because I know that they’ll come anyway, slipping in through back doors and lurking in corners where you least expect them. I’ll let them give you their murky gifts in broad daylight, so that I can look them in the eye while they do so. Then I’ll smile and thank them, recognizing that I have to let life give you the bad as well as the good.

And when I send you out into the world alone, as I know that I will someday have to, I’ll give you something more substantial than bread crumbs with which to find your way back home.

And I won’t make you go to your grandmother’s house alone until I can be sure that you can tell the difference between an old woman and a wolf in a nightgown.

…

I Wasn’t a Good Mom:

Dear Daughter,

Today, I wasn’t a good mom. The morning came too soon after a long and exhausting night. I rolled out of bed and put pants on an hour before you normally woke up. When I came into your room you were ready for me, your hair tousled and your smile crooked. “I up!” You said reaching your arms out to me. “I pay wif toys!”

I didn’t smile, not because I don’t love you, but because I just needed more sleep. And then the day came and you stuck stickers to the couch and I grumbled under my breath. You tried to play tag and kicked me in the chest and I yelled, “BE NICE TO MOM!” I realize now, I wasn’t yelling that at you. I was just yelling at the world. But how could you know that? You couldn’t, and I’m sorry.

And when I went upstairs to go to the bathroom and you said, “NO MAM GO PODDY!” And I said, “Shut up!” It wasn’t my finest hour of parenthood.

I’m sorry I cried when you ate my lunch. The lunch I bought for both of us to feed my feelings. Because my feelings needed chicken nuggets, but apparently so did you. And I’m sorry I put you in time out when you made your plate do a little dance on the table. I’m sorry I didn’t kiss you when I put you down for nap, choosing instead to run away and lay in the guest room bed and just dwell in some silence.

…

These are only extracts of the posts. I encourage you to read the full version, and to follow these inspiring blogs. They get me through many hard days as a mother and a writer. I’m off now to use what words I have to give Claire some parenting challenges of her own. It’s far more fun making it happen to someone else!

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Claire swore loudly and heard movement from the passenger seat. “Damn. Idiot.”

“What is it Auntie Claire? Why are you cross? You used a naughty word. Mummy says only uneducated people use naughty words.”

Claire gritted her teeth and tried not to utter any more swear words. She suspected Ruth was unlikely to talk to her ever again after this fortnight away with Sky but there was no need to add teaching Sky four-letter words to her list of misdemeanours.

“Auntie Claire is frustrated, that’s all poppet. Nothing to worry about. I’m just trying to find a parking space within a twenty-minute walk of the hostel.”

I knew staying in Cambridge for the Easter weekend was a mistake. I didn’t want to drive far on Good Friday and all the other hostels in this area are on the bloody coast or miles away, or both. How was I to know it was going to be five degrees outside and no one in their right mind is heading to the beach? She glared, as if the weather was solely to blame for her bad humour.

Trying to keep the rage in her head was a new challenge and it seemed to make driving harder, as if the hindrance of not being able to yell at the other incompetents in their protective boxes affected her judgement. She braked suddenly to avoid a gaggle of cyclists. Damn those egotistical morons. Pay some damn road tax and then you can swoop in front of me and cut me up with the impunity of an HGV. She swerved around a woman dawdling on an old-fashioned bike, complete with wicker baskets front and rear, pedalling as if she was on a country lane.

“Where are we Claire; is this Cambridge? I’ve never been to Cambridge. Mummy says it’s full of tourists and shops and it costs too much to park. Nana was going to bring me but then Mummy got sick and now she has to take care of Mummy. Are we nearly there? I’m hungry and I need a wee.”

The blood drained from Claire’s face. Need a wee? Now? I have no idea how long it’s going to take to get parked. What is a six-year-old’s bladder control like? Is it urgent? I may not love this car but I don’t want pee on the seats, never mind getting the booster seat washed. Claire forced the brakes on her runaway thoughts, realising that her mind had taken on the urgent, rolling interrogation style favoured by her niece. As if every piece of information in the universe needed to be questioned and answered that instant or the world would fail.

Taking a deep breath, Claire tried for calm. “Not long now, sweetie. Cross your legs. We’ll get you to a toilet as soon as we can.”

Claire found herself swept back into the one-way system and cursed the Sat Nav for not keeping up. Useless box of junk. You’re quick to give me the same instruction twenty times when it’s obvious I need to bear left. Now, when I could use a hand, you’re two streets behind. The swear words built in her mouth, demanding to be freed. Claire tried to remember what stupid words Ruth used when she was irritated.

“Fumbling fiddlesticks!”

Sky giggled and the carefree sound released some of the tension in the metal box jammed in by a hundred other metal boxes. Deciding to pursue the happy accident, Claire pummelled her brain for ways to distract Sky from her need to pee and her incessant questioning.

“Did I tell you we’re going to meet friends of mine tomorrow, for a day out at Kings College?” Hmm, okay I don’t suppose Fiona counts herself a friend, but you can give a child too much truth. “They have children, too. A bit younger than you. Hopefully we’ll have some fun.”

Sky swivelled round in the seat, tearing her eyes away from a Disney advert on the bus in the next lane. “What are their names?”

“My friend is called Josh and his wife is Fiona. Their children are…” Claire paused, searching her brain for name cards. “Um, Lily, Sophie and, bugger what’s the boy called? Er Jack? No, what was the name of that dancer on Got to Dance? Lucas, that’s it.” Claire smiled, pleased at her miraculous recall.

“Auntie Claire you said another naughty word.” Sky sniggered and then covered her mouth with her hand.

Claire turned her attention to the slow moving car in front and cursed her unruly mouth. I’m going to have to get a swear-box, otherwise I’m going to have Little Miss Prim pulling me up every five minutes. She decided the best plan was to ignore Sky’s comment and continue with her conversation. “So, anyway, Lucas is the eldest – just a bit younger than you – then Sophie and then Lily is still a baby. Will you help me show them round Cambridge? They’re from Australia and this is their first visit to England.”

“Wow, do they have a pet kangaroo? Do they speak funny, like on Home and Away? Wait until Hazel finds out at school, she’s going to be pea green with envy.” Sky turned and stared out the window, lost in a world of one-upmanship.

Glad to have finally struck on something to stop Sky’s verbal diarrhoea, Claire concentrated on squeezing the Skoda into an on-street parking space two blocks from the hostel. I just have to remember to move it before 9am or I’m in trouble.

***

Sharing the Load: 2013 365 Challenge #96

Amber’s artistic photo of Daddy

Today was the last week-day with all of us at home together, hopefully for several weeks. Hubbie starts work on Monday, fingers crossed, and will be out the house from breakfast to bedtime (the children’s bedtime that is – I rarely snuggle under the duvet before midnight).

The little ones are going to miss him and – for all my moaning about space and routine – so will I. Today was a fairly typical day in our recent lives. I stayed in bed writing my blog while Daddy fetched breakfast for the kids (The lie-in was allowed because I spent last night formatting hubbie’s manuscript for Kindle).

I got up around 9am and took over child care, although I actually baked a banana cake while the kids were in the toilet, not realising 2yo was wiping 4yo’s bottom (a job I still do normally, since she got a bad infection). Poor hubbie wasn’t quick enough out the house, so ended with the clean-up job. He won’t miss doing that, I guarantee it. [Just re-read that bit: too much information. Sorry.]

Dressing up fun

Hubbie then escaped and came in only for cake and lunch. But he was there, pressure-washing the decking and patio, where we could see him. At 5pm I legged it to the shops, having realised earlier that I had no gift for the party Amber’s going to tomorrow (blame the illness!). I tried to go earlier with the kids but they were resistant and I was weak in my still-a-bit-ill fragility. Got back from town an hour later to find the kids playing football with Daddy on the sparkling clean decking. I unloaded the shopping and left them to it, after a quick kick about, to come walk the dog.

The only downside to the day I can see is that hubbie’s clearly had too much childcare duty and is losing his sense of humour. I don’t think he’ll be sad to miss breakfast to bedtime. And once we hit our stride the kids and I will be fine too. But it’ll take some adjustment, as all routine changes do. At least the longer days mean I’ll still be able to walk the dog when hubbie gets home. Not sure what’s going to happen to Claire, when I lose my precious mornings in bed dreaming up her adventures. Certainly the quality of my writing has been badly affected by two days of illness, so I guess we’ll see.

________________________________________________________________________________

Claire glanced at the slumbering child in the passenger seat, and smiled. I survived my first twenty four hours with my niece out in the wild, with no A4 sheet of instructions to guide me. Honesty compelled her to add, just about.

She thought about the lunchtime battle to get Sky to eat her sandwich, which had unexpectedly resolved itself when Claire got up and left the café. She had only been aware of a need to put distance between herself and the tantrum. Standing outside the door, watching her niece turn purple in fury, was definitely a low point in the day. The outraged looks on the faces of the other customers in the tiny and crowded room had caused Claire’s face to take on a similar hue, albeit for different reasons. Their looks of condemnation prevented her re-entering the room, even when Sky stopped crying and sat – shell-shocked and alone – at the wobbly Formica table.

The quiet and contrite child who had emerged ten minutes later seemed to justify the action but Claire had been conscious of a terrible surge of guilt at her behaviour. She’s the child not me. Sky took back her angry words of hatred and declared she loved her Auntie Claire so no lasting damage seemed to have resulted from the incident.

Still, I hope it doesn’t happen again. What if we’d been in Starbucks or a restaurant instead of some tin pot coffee shop? Claire thought of the decibels of noise that had leaked through the prefab walls and shuddered.

There was more to this parenting lark than first appeared. If Sky hadn’t been an angel since lunch she would have been strongly tempted to take the girl to her Dad’s; to spend the two week Easter holiday with reinforcements. It just confirms my long-held view that I wasn’t born to be a mother. Auntie maybe, but that’s it. Michael was wrong when he said he saw maternal feelings in me. Silly deluded idiot. Unhappy memories of that night swirled around her in the car. Claire gripped the steering wheel and frowned them away. There was still an hour’s driving to the hostel she had booked them into for the night.

She turned the stereo on to Radio 3 and drove into the evening with Mozart and a peacefully sleeping girl for company.

***

Dinosaurs and Prison Ships: 2013 365 Challenge #94

Victorian Operating Theatre

I took the children to Peterborough Museum today for a change. Even though the sun made an early appearance, the arctic wind is still blasting through Northamptonshire and it’s not much fun outside.

It wasn’t much fun walking across town either, although I had the kids pretending we were on an expedition searching for polar bears as we pressed on, head down, through the gale. I’m not sure they bought it. Think they would rather have been hunting mermaids on a sunny beach. Me too!

We have a nice little museum at Peterborough, with dinosaur fossils from the local area (it seems weird to think of Mammoths and Ichthyosaurus here where it’s so flat and dull!), a mocked up prison ship with hammocks the kids could climb in, a Victorian operating theatre (The building used to be a hospital) and other interactive displays and things for the children. Mine are a bit young but they still had fun.

Station Master Aaron

The only negative experience was waiting thirty minutes for two harassed but helpless coffee shop staff to bring us a pot of tea and two toasted tea cakes. They could do with putting their better staff on at lunch time. I was naughty and spent the wait grumbling loudly. What I wanted to do was get behind the counter and sort them out!

A lovely day, but definitely one that reminded me why I could never home school. I know so little about things like the Battle of Waterloo or the different types of dinosaur and, though I remember enjoying learning about them once, I have little desire to learn it all a second time. I’ll help them with homework as much as I can, but I’m happy to leave the teaching to the professionals.

Short Claire post today as I’ve been crook since getting back from the museum and can’t seem to get my brain into writing gear. Forgive me, I’ll try and make up for it tomorrow!

_______________________________________________________________________________

Claire looked down the list of hotels on her iPad, conscious of eager eyes watching from the passenger seat. Scanning the Laterooms site, her eyes noted the hotel rooms near her budget. A B&B in Peterborough, a Days Inn hotel near the services. She looked over at the angel in pink sitting on a booster seat and kicking her feet. Do I really want our first night to be in some grotty hotel by the motorway? That’s not an adventure.

She examined the list again. Hotel and Spa, that sounds perfect. A quick trip to the sauna might just warm me up after this charming trip to see my mother. In the corner of her eye she could see Sky’s pointed toes trying to reach the glove box. Bugger, I don’t suppose I can take a six-year-old into a Spa. What do parents do when they need to relax?

Then a name stood out – a Country Hotel near Huntingdon. Clicking on the picture, her screen filled with an image of an ivy-encrusted building full of charm and character. That’ll do. She selected a twin room, trying to ignore the £89 price ticket. It does come with breakfast. I’ll just not include this receipt next time I file my expenses. My treat. A quick internet search revealed a zoo nearby. That settles it. We can go to the zoo first thing and then drive to the hostel after lunch.

By the time they reached the country hotel thirty minutes later Claire regretted passing up the Spa. Sneaking down for a dip after her niece was asleep seemed idyllic compared with enduring more hours of endless chatter. How does she manage to talk non-stop for so long? And with such shrill enthusiasm?

Claire’s brain rang with the high-pitched babble and her throat felt parched after answering a stream of random questions. The two-week Easter vacation stretched ahead of her like a desert road: long and relentless and without relief.

***

Wake me, Don’t Wake me: 2013 365 Challenge #93

Meeting the Easter Bunny at the Farm

Can I start with a random aside? I think Easter Bunnies are rather creepy. I wouldn’t normally take my kids to see one but we went with friends to the Farm today and did a bunch of stuff we don’t normally do. Doesn’t the bunny here look like he’s thinking of kidnapping my children?

I read a post yesterday about why school is hard for parents as well as children:

Ten Ways School Sucks for Adults as much as Kids

It got me thinking about structure and life.

Where is the happy balance between waking up knowing what the day ahead holds and waking with the excitement of not knowing what’s happening next (or with the option of rolling over and pulling the duvet back up over my head while the kids take themselves off to play or watch TV)?

Watching TV while Mum does cleaning

Hubbie found out – today – that he won’t be starting work tomorrow after all.

IT issues apparently.

He might start next Monday, he might not. Considering he has been out of work for five months you’d think an extra few days wouldn’t matter. But we were all looking forward to at least a temporary return to routine. Now we’re back to muddling through, taking each day as it comes, making plans after breakfast, if at all. Routine seems like a holy grail that’s persistently out of reach.

On the flip side, the idea of Amber starting school this September scares me: Having to be organised five days a week, 38 weeks of the year, not just for me but for four people. And doing that for the next fifteen years (at least). In the days when I had a job, I barely managed to get myself to a desk by 8am every day. And what about days like today when the sky was finally blue and the sun shone. The Farm was the only place to be after so much cloud and snow. What if today had been a school day? Will I be like my Dad and take them anyway and sod the consequences? I’ve never been one for breaking the rules, but surely they’ll grow more as people for the odd adventure?

The thing that worries me most, though? How will I manage five days of clean, ironed uniform? 🙂

________________________________________________________________________________

“Auntie Claire!”

Claire braced for impact as a whirling dervish of blonde hair and pink net hurtled down the corridor and hugged her knees. Déjà vu. I wonder if she has any other way of greeting visitors? This time Claire didn’t feel the urge to shake off her niece. Instead she dropped to her knees and gave the narrow shoulders a tight hug.

“Hey Sky. I’m so sorry I wasn’t there to collect you yesterday.” She avoided making eye contact with her mother, who had appeared behind Sky in the corridor. “Crossed wires, I’m afraid.” She looked down at the elfin face and saw a wobbling bottom lip. “Don’t cry, Sky. I’ll make it up to you.”

The jutting lip vanished and blue eyes sparkled. “Will you take me shopping? Mummy says you spend an ob… omscene… amount on clothes. I don’t know what that means, but it sounds fun.”

Blood rushed to Claire’s face but any chagrin at her niece’s repeated words vanished when she caught sight of her mother’s face. Ha, forgot your granddaughter can listen did you? I wonder what other titbits I’ll discover? It’s going to be like working with Carl again, but it will be worth it to find out what they really think of me.

“Hush now, Sky.” Madeleine pulled her granddaughter away and sent her down the corridor with a push. “Ruth’s in bed. Sky’s bag is packed so you can leave whenever you want to.”

Looking up into those blank eyes, Claire wondered when her mother had become such a cow. Then the words sank in, and she rose slowly to her feet. “I thought I was spending the night here? The hostel is booked for tomorrow.” The idea of trying to find two beds in a hostel at short notice on Easter weekend made her throat dry. She was about to remonstrate when she sensed the emotion pouring off her mother, filling the close space around them. Claire shivered. The need to grab Sky and walk back out the front door consumed her.

“Fine. We’ll find a hotel.”

She pushed past her mother and went in search of her niece.

Claire waited in the doorway until her eyes adjusted to the gloom, breathing quietly as she listened to see if Ruth was awake. At last her sister’s form materialised out of the dark and she saw the glittering light of open eyes.

“I’m so sorry,” Claire whispered, walking towards the bed. “Did I wake you?”

“No, I rarely sleep. I stay in bed because Sky tends to leave me alone a little bit more. I love her to bits, but she’s a bit overpowering at the moment.”

“And me not collecting her yesterday didn’t help. I really am sorry, I was convinced you said Thursday.”

A dry chuckle turned into a hacking cough. “I probably did. I put the cheese in the breadbin and the butter in the cutlery drawer yesterday. My brain doesn’t seem to be working quite as it did.”

Her words were barely audible but they twisted like a corkscrew into Claire’s rib cage. She wanted to scoop her sister up in a hug and tell her how much she loved her. The words wouldn’t come. Instead she brushed her hand gently across Ruth’s hot forehead.

“I do stuff like that too, and I don’t have your excuse. Don’t worry about Sky. I’ll take good care of her. Hopefully two weeks of peace will allow you to recoup your strength. You’ll be back to yourself in no time.” Her voice sounded fake to her: she hoped her sister was more convinced.

Ruth reached out a hand. As Claire took it she shuddered: her sister’s bones poked through her wasted skin like broken sticks in a silk sack. I’m glad it’s dark.

Her sister squeezed, the action barely registering against Claire’s grip. “Take care of my little girl, Claire. I know she’s in good hands.”

Claire nodded, unable to speak, even though she knew her sister wouldn’t see her response in the dark. She lowered the hand to the bed and turned to go before her emotions overwhelmed her. As she reached the door, she heard Ruth call her name.

“Claire…”

She returned to the bed and bent close to catch the whispered words.

“…Thank you.”

***