Today I astounded myself by managing a tiny writing exercise. It is a shared moment, like a worded snapshot.
Having written it, I know that I will treasure it in future seasons. It conveys more of our conversations, thoughts and rhythms than a photo or video ever could. I’ll definitely be writing more of these!
Bang is unburdening his wonder and I am working through the series of tasks that line up for one-after-the-other attention until everyone is fed and in bed. Quinn wants to be raised high enough to see the mysteries kept from him. How my hands move and shuffle noise, smell, colour and heat until there is a meal.
There is talk of trapped rats. I have to rehearse the tale to Bang several times over until he can place it in his head that we killed something, that a rat in the house is not good but the ones at the store are alright. He treats the subject with reverence because late last night his daddy came to him with serious whispers about danger and fingers and not touching.
A plastic “vinosaur” [spinosaur] is repeatedly held up until I agree, aloud that it is “very nice”. Again, we revisit the subject of the removal of the key from the young man’s gullet; that visceral manifestation he once witnessed when he walked in on me mid medical drama.
I can’t open tins one-handed and Quinn is transferred to his high chair to survey and eat orts all the way to supper, when we all notice his good idea and join him.