#atinylife Snow in March

The sun had been out

warm – well, through a window, anyway.

Chat at the school gates

was all about Spring,

finally.

Here at last.

 

Later, on the phone to my mother,

she told me

according to the weather she’d heard

we’d have snow tomorrow.

 

Aye, right.

 

The next day I woke

to snow falling from a slate sky

as if March was clinging to

WinterSnow in March

frightened of what Spring

might mean.

 

I pulled gloves onto

my frosted fingers

turned the heat back up

in the car.

The hat hadn’t fallen out of use

because of gnawing Spring winds.

 

And I told myself:

‘Snow up to Palm Sunday.

It’s always possible.’

It’s my version of

‘ne’er cast a clout

till may be out,’

because I don’t know

what may looks like

(it’s the flower, not the month.)

 

Scotland will surprise you.

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#atinylife Politics

I don’t do politics.

‘I’m so bored of politics.’

We’ve all seen this on our newsfeeds, school run, or workplace.

Well, first off, I’m grateful that I have a choice.

For so many, talking about politics is dangerous, and I don’t mean they might lose a few friends for banging on about things that they think matter.

For others, a life without politics in it is harder, if it’s not safe for you to go home anymore…

Or if ever since you were born, the colour of your skin means more than anything else you might feel, know or have to offer.a-simple-pictorial-representation-on-politics

I try to remember: from when I get up, switch on the kettle, eat, drink, send my kids to school, drive on our roads –

that’s just the first half of my morning!

It all relies on politics.

#atinylife Hoovering

‘Can you do the hoovering?’

I’ve been ill for a week, (I know, I’ll stop going on about it soon, I promise). Once I could look around me again, I saw the familiar piles of earth from school shoe grips, little pieces of paper from the last craft project, and the wispy dust that seems to come up from the floor itself.

‘Can you do the hoovering?’

On the second day, I was well enough to hoover myself. But it was the principle of the thing. Why should I hoover now? Why hadn’t he hoovered while I was in bed? Why is the hoovering ‘my’ job?

‘Can you do the hoovering?’

The third day, I asked this of myself. He can’t do the hoovering. But he’s always working – against the box he was put in as a boy. It’s enough.

#atinylife Poorly

I’ve been a bit poorly over the last week and a bit. I could not believe how dreadful labyrinthitis made me feel! It took age to feel better, even with lovely medicine – God bless NHS 24, and the out of hours doctor service.

So I thought I’d shamelessly exploit my blog today to say thank you to the (approximately 1000,000) people who helped mepoorly out.

To the lady who I had never met before, who brought me flowers.

To everyone who messaged to see how I was feeling.

Special shout out to those who, when I said ‘a bit better, thanks’ replied with ‘Good. Keep resting though, OK?’

To the four households who gave up parts of their weekend to look after my kids.

And to Mr HB: for being himself. Working, feeding us all, parenting solo. And emptying the sick bucket.