Cleaning the wound of a seven year old. Using my paediatric first aid training. High fiving many, many children because a job done well deserves one, as does a fine attitude. Taking the role of 'Tybalt' perhaps a little too seriously. Reminding my husband once, twice, three times about the youngest boy's World War project. Resisting sounding like my mother by resisting telling my thirteen year old to turn Travis Scott down. Realising that the bags of cough sweets you offered to your friend and colleague to share have all gone but one. Recognising that said colleague has not been deterred from the sweets by the loud noise produced by opening the filing cabinet door with the sweets. Shocking myself by sending my mother an excited message about the upcoming festive period - this is not like me because I'm the Grinch. Double checking my possessive apostrophes when writing because my work and home lives are colliding. The real coffee with coconut sugar. The coconut sugar that makes me nostalgic for homemade African sweet treats. The ten year old reading on the toilet when he is meant to be in the shower. Changing a password and destroying my network connections to ... the world. Getting a hug from my eldest as a show of empathy. 'Big Wednesday' for Wednesday date night with prosecco and all the talk of the Santa Ana winds. For art work of dreams coming to me via a dear, old friend and all the excitement of framing and hanging it. For that triggering a reminder of my love of Tàpies and leafing through that book on my shelf. And for endings. Ending of a list. Ending a post. Ending the night.
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