I’ll admit it has been a dark couple of weeks. It was a relief when Gran died after a week of languishing. Then came the grief. And now commence the practicalities.
Dying in London is oversubscribed in March and the funeral is still a week away. My mum has a very slightly madcap plan to decorate Gran’s (cardboard, eco-friendly) coffin in jolly barge-type designs (the same type my Gran would plaster on anything that couldn’t move fast enough to get away) and has asked me if I want to help. I do, and I am bizarrely looking forward to it.
In the meantime, I have been ill with a cold and the almost-lost-voice which seems to be a feature of any mental stress these days. Trulove has been working and working. Pickle has been learning how to say ‘pish’ (fish) and ‘lash’ (splash). And Ziggler has been concentrating very hard on being firmly and resolutely three. She has a new refrain for any occasion upon which you might care to suggest she ought to, perhaps, do something. It is the fierce, scowly and staccato assertion that ‘I. Am. A. GIRL!!’ I don’t really know what it means, but I know that I’m getting a telling off when she says it. And she says it a lot. If she’s not saying that, she’s climbing up the ladder to the big slide shouting, ‘I CAN DO IT BY MYSELF can you help me?’ or she’s storming off in a teary rage because she’s not allowed any more biscuits. It’s exhausting. And it’s kind of funny, but not altogether when you can’t really breathe through your nose, can’t shout loud enough to tell her off and are liable to burst into tears at any moment.
Trulove took pity on me on Saturday and took the girls away and let me sleep and watch rubbish telly. They had a nice day out and I had a blissfully dossy, watching-rubbishy-romantic-dramas-about-women-overcoming-adversity, hanging-around-in-my-dressing-gown-’til-4pm day. And I felt indescribably better for it. It meant that Ziggler and I had a lovely time on Sunday when we jaunted off on a girls’ trip to see Chris and Pui at the local theatre. If you don’t know who Chris and Pui are, chances are you don’t need to. If you do, it is definitely the hottest ticket on the toddler circuit right now. I’ll be writing a glowing review later if you were thinking of going yourself.
So things are looking lighter. Today was sunny and springish and we went to the park with Daffodil and Tiny and we played with water and chalk in the back garden all afternoon (apart from the obligatory baby’s nap and toddler’s Tangled viewing just after lunch). We felt all breezy and playing-outy when we came back in and there was barely an ‘I. Am. A. GIRL.’ all day. Just two, I think, and only one double-crying point and that was due to a simultaneous bonked head and starving hunger, so fair enough really.
Recently Sausage and I were thinking how funny it would be to see your children having grandchildren. I quite simply cannot imagine what Ziggler’s grandchildren will be like. I can’t imagine what Ziggler’ll be like as a grandmother, though I suppose she will be over her I CAN DO IT MYSELF can you help me? stage by then. I wonder if Gran still thought of my mum as her contrary blonde baby? Will I think the same about Zig? I hope I get to find out.