We can’t go out. We can’t go to the shops.
I’ve got food in and we can cook.
But it really involves not going out.
Self isolation is four walls and many faces of boredom, many times a day.
Read a book, draw something, mam’s got a raging headache and a face like a tomato.
“I have something for you mum” are words that every parent knows are laced with a few meanings.
The first is innocent and lovely, probably a little handful of daisies or a hug.
The second, however, is something unwanted, sinister and must be approached with extreme caution and cynicism.
“Oh yes?” comes my reply (raised eyebrow). I am the master after years of being tricked, poker face is on and braced for impact,
And there they are in my hand, a scrunched up pile of months and months of school letters, casually handed over without a single drop of sweat shed.
Months of letters.
Suppose it could have been a slug or a dead spider.
What I tell my little ones as they drag themselves into Monday.
Anything else can wait.
Anything else is just that.
When the sun returns and warms the earth, there is nothing better to do than to feel the new air move through your fur and whiskers. Both black dog and black cat know there is nothing better than sun on warm fur. The other little one is busy half way up a tree, chasing flies.
Here’s to all struggling with winter spew virus. Those who’s washing load just tripled over night because sheets and clothes need incineration. I share your pain and frequent need to scrub your hands in bleach.
May the soothing kitty of purriness ease your woes and may the spew cloud of misery pass soon.