C'est us

- March 20, 2008

Ghin when he had his cold. Sipping apple juice while on the road. I feel so sorry for him - for a child who hates the car he spend so much time in it.

Here's one with the retro setting on.

Oisin on the last day of school.

Getting ready for their singing performance.

Part of his Spring book - it reads The Mother Hen Awaits Her Chicks. Now according to Oisin his teacher came up with the statement - but according to the teacher he did. I have no idea who to believe. I don'r really mind either way. Because the school is just the kind of gentle, tender and nurturing environment which i have wanted for him and myself.

Essay

I'm really sorry having been so remiss to anyone who still bothers checking this page. I've been working on the school's website and time isn't much. It makes no sense, but i somehow feel DEEPLY RESPONSIBLE for the house and the state or rather statelessness it's in. Peter and Oisin do their share as well, but i could be doing so much more - theoretically, although where i'd find the time i energy i do not know.

As a person i do need my fair share of reading, writing, thinking and resting. These days i have retired to bed at the unheard of hour of seven when i put Ghin down. I will either stay there the whole night or usually i'll wake and work even more on the school's website.

If anyone wants to see the site, it's here. Since i don't imagine a wide number of people read this blog it should be ok to put it up. Also it's not been edited by the teachers as yet, so it's totally unofficial. But it would be nice that SOMEONE saw the fruit of my labours.

Peter will be off to St Francisco - his namesake city - now in a few days time. I will be with the kids. A different rhythm always settles when you're playing three three rather than four-three. It's less complicated, if that can be believed, and i see friends and other people a lot more. I also tend to get things like the finances done while he's away. What strange sublogical principle operates under these circumstances i've yet to tease out. Perhaps being on my own - really alone - in the evenings allows me to concentrate more on things which i detest doing. Simple distractions like the TV going, like Newsnight chattering away can pull me from chores that need doing. So i look forward to it, in a way.

I get really depressed about the wire situation in the house. Why is this place filled with wires? That will be my task while he's away, to tidy up the wires. Also really pissed off with the door situation. I was all ready to get some new doors when i looked at the old ones and in a fit of guilt thought, there ain't nuthin' wrong with these doors except they're so bloody ugly. The curse of ugly useful things. Uh! They are perfectly serviceable.

So... i did manage to get round to getting some lovely IKEA boxes for the DVDs. They look very very very neat now. But Oisin now does not open the boxes to see what DVDs we have. I can't tell if this is a good or bad thing. In fact i am wondering if getting DVDs is a good thing. I perhaps should invest in somekind of hard drive that stores all the films. Yes, it's called Sky.

However the wire situation - i could work on that - but the door thing really really gets me. It's the same thing with the bathroom. There isn't anything wrong with our suite except that it's a wee bit faded and old - but its works. It probably will work for the next thirty years. It could probably work after i'm dead and buried. Problem? It's a horrid pale peach blah colour which i've put up with and never really liked - but perfectly serviceable.

Oh, sigh...outside the wind is torturing the bare branches of the beech tree. I can't wait till it starts bursting - the pale husks that wrap the tiny buds all shed and flying about, cicadas, shells, sheathes all discarded for the coming green dress to be worn to the spring ball.

Never has winter taken such a long long time to pass. My thoughts turn to work and how i will work next year. How i will miss the boys so horribly. What could possibly justify me not being there to watch them the poetry of their growing limbs, their tantrums, their smiles. Someone said, it had to be done - putting them into childcare. Nothing like that should ever have to be done. Children are the most important things in the world. How did they become so marginalised? Made into widgets, commodities? How did we get here?

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