On motherhood

She found that being a mother was not as natural as it sounded. Kids don’t come with an instruction book so she made it up as she went along. The rules were there to be manipulated and she tweaked them constantly, defining the moment and altering their small worlds to suit present conditions.
And they didn’t know any different, so she taught them the difference. She taught them about sameness as well, and about love, always about love, and how to piss your pants from laughing too much.

Can you make a good child out of a bad? She didn’t know and she didn’t want to have to try. She only knew, as only a mother can, that these two that she had grown, were real, live, thinking people. Two small life sponges that could either be filled with light or filled with stuff that could leave a nasty taste in later years.

Honesty and the art of idle chatter were the keys to unlock this mysterious cupboard. She read them stories and talked to them about things that she had no right to talk about, telling them about her own mistakes and listening to their valuable opinions.

When ‘finding yourself’ meant black nail varnish, peroxide and lager, she went shopping, supplied gloves and held the bucket. It was no good just giving advice when it wasn’t needed, they obviously needed to poke their fingers in the fire and it was her role to hand out the bandages until the lesson was learned. She allowed them to grow with a safety net that was full of holes – they would learn to land on the good bits.

And then, suddenly, they were there, these gems. Brilliant, multi-faceted nearly men, full of confident mistakes, full of bullshit and full of life. Her job was not done but there was hope that these gems will be free gems. Free to make honest choices, free to live without regret and free to shine and shine and shine. And they will.