At a loose end one day this week, I gave both kids a ball of yarn each and while T lay entranced, winding his fingers through the blue lengths of string so like his big brother used to do, M went straight for the scissors and asked that his be snipped into a million little pieces and more. For over half an hour he sat playing with the pieces, rearranging into piles, loading them into a box to pull them out again, such concentration and intrigue on his face. Then finally he laid then all down. “I’m done, Mum”, his face said, but I wasn’t..I wasn’t ready to lose the breathing space this had given me, space to sit back and simply watch these incredible human beings grow. So I gave him sticky paper and sat back again, mesmerised at the glimpse into his mind that the picture evolving revealed. The hour that all of this took was too precious to be disturbed with camera clicks, M’s distraction would readily have torn. But that morning too, was too precious not to be noted down anywhere, to be lost as another weekday morning with the boys.
For once both boys are flat-out on their tummies and contented in dream during afternoon hours. There are a zillion and one things needing doing – big important things too, like, you know, planning a move to a town we don’t know to a rental not found in, oh, just 14 short days – but this here space trumps organising, despite and in spite of the indisputable fact that this post will be forgotten in a few days, relegated to the back button at the bottom of the page lest someone finds it by chance; still, the lack of profoundness of the words on this page makes it no less important in the story of our lives than the unexceptionalness of two boys and two odd balls of wool.