It’s 5.30 a.m. and two out of three boys are awake and full of life. They go from 0-60 in a split second and it takes me a while to catch up.
I sit on the sofa, a cup of tea clasped in one hand and my book in the other. Yet I cannot read. Before I have finished a sentence I am interrupted. Over and over by these beautiful little voices. My eldest sits at the computer desk with all his pens lined up and a brand new notebook and he says to me, ‘I’m a secret writer. That’s how I’m going to earn money when I’m bigger.’
My youngest lets me absorb half a paragraph before presenting me with a reindeer colouring sheet. ‘For you, Mum!’ he says with a proud smile. Before I’ve even drawn half a breath to say thank you, he’s moved on to mock-threatening me with a pair of handcuffs and simultaneously asking if we can go and buy some Lego today with their Christmas money.
Another sentence and he’s waving his pyjama top in wide circles pretending to be a cowboy. The dog pads into the living room with a piece of pilfered cardboard from the recycling bin. I retrieve it from him, and my half-naked cowboy rushes over to arrest the errant Rottweiler.
My middle boy makes an appearance as I turn to the final page of the chapter and incites a game of tug o’war with the arrested dog.
I sigh deeply, more for my own sanity than a need for air, and I close my book in defeat.
But if anyone is interested, this is what I’m reading. And I think it’s good, but I’m not entirely sure due to my fragmented reading style.
If you do want a good book – I’ve been reading this in the bath and it’s amazing. I wasn’t overly impressed when I was presented with it on my birthday, but it is poetical, passionate and comedic and I’ve since forgiven the gift-giver. It’s beautiful.