Sunday, June 8, 2008

Message in a Bubble

Our second weekend without Nick and the rhythms have become more predictable, we have settled into each other and easily move through meals and games and Borrowers Afield at bedtime, clary sage to calm and something that reminds him of daddy to clutch as he sucks his thumb and then lets it fall out again as sleep steals over him.

And we have had arguments and exasperation, but they blow over like a storm at sea leaving us holding each other, apologising, making promises and starting another game of chess.



Every morning we toast each other with fresh carrot or beetroot juice. I feel rather like Morticia - downing a glass of something so deeply red and velvety and wiping my tawny moustache away with a napkin before I scare the postman.



Today Fin had a bouncy castle birthday party to go to, so I baked some lemon fairy cakes with the smallest amount of honey (I'll give you the recipe soon) and gave him a bottle of sparkling water and some crudites to munch. He came out looking pink and sweaty, brandishing with obvious excitement, a bottle of bubbles and a balloon that had yet to be inflated. These two items were the remainder of a party bag stuffed with sweets that he had returned to the host without a flicker of doubt. On the way home he reported with mild alarm that there were no carrot sticks at the party - in fact no vegetables at all. 'Just junk really'. A little tear of maternal pride welled up for such a boy.



When we got back I filled a tub trug with warm water and Fin sat out in the garden like a king, blowing bubbles into the air. They floated up over the house and down the street popping on cars and bushes and an old couple who cooed over Fin for taking such simple pleasure in a tub of water and a bottle of bubbles.



We sat on the doorstep in the early evening sun, Fin wrapped snugly in a large white towel trying to fit all of himself onto my lap again like he used to. 'I miss daddy' he said simply. 'I know' I replied and we watched the last few bubbles drift off over the roof tops, bound for Spain.