security

There was a mini panic last weekend when my sister in law realised her keys were missing. Had she been the victim of that sneakiest of crimes ‘fishing’? Was there a baddie wafting her keys loftily in the air secure in the knowledge he could just walk in and be off with her valuables.

Living with my security conscious brother she called the police  and in her words.....

‘A lovely young copper came round - really sympathetic and helpful. I signed a statement which included the words: 'after a few drinks, I returned home, ate my kebab and went to bed' (classy eh?) . I then deadlocked the front door and worried about the impending burglary.... ‘
Later the next evening my treasure seeking niece shouted down the stairs,

'I've found your keys! '
......And there they were nestled between the ‘Hello Kitty’ duvet, and pink flannel sheets, not fished, not nicked, not even outside the house!

At least she knows however tipsy she always checks up on the kids, tucks them in and kisses them ‘goodnight’, breathing stale vodka and chilli sauced kebabs on their beautiful sleeping faces!

Kids always look so sweet when they’re asleep!!

The story however funny wheedled its way into my partner’s brain and squirmed worm-like till it had turned black and rotten and lost its humour.

This resulted in us having the same ‘discussion’ we’ve had since we first lived together.

I think our difference of opinion divides our view of the world. He was born and bred in the city and mistrusts everyone.

The first time we went on holiday together he wouldn’t let us go into the sea at the same time, one of us had to stay with the clothes on the beach.

..... in the end I insisted and still in that first flush of love he reluctantly agreed. The next year he’d bought a waterproof plastic neck purse........

And so we find ourselves on a Sunday night arguing about the worst situation we can imagine......

He wants to put the mortis lock on the door nightly because he worries about the scallies smashing the window and opening the deadlocked yale.

I worry more about accidents and illustrate the point by squeezing my eyes shut so tight I create a new wrinkle across the bar of my nose that no amount of mothers day oil of ulay will smooth – to simulate smoke filled room.

I thrash around the place, knocking off letters, toys, the mirror as my fingers grasp for the keys, I cough and choke on the floor, tripping over shoes, more toys, bags, quite the amateur dramatics.....

‘O.K. O.K!’ ‘ he relents.

‘We’ll just put the bolts on!!’

I win again.

My fear of being trapped and on fire and trumping his fear of baddies!

A friend of mine once told me of her fear of baddies coming up the stairs in the dead of night and getting to her children’s room first, because that’s the lay out of most houses, and it’s the lay out of mine too.

I keep the stair gate on, partly cause the two year old could run down the steep stairs in the middle of the night and off we go on another a and e run, but also cause my ears are finely tuned to it’s creak.

‘Don’t go downstairs the alarm’s on!’ I scream instantly wide awake, hair crazy, eyes more so!

Surely that I mean business Mum –voice would scare off even the toughest cat burgular!

Rush.....

Today I feel tired, rushed and slightly panicky.

In fact not just today, every day.

This feeling caused me to eat a packet of biscuits, surprise, surprise they didn’t help!

I feel like I’m gasping for breath, running through treacle and falling down the rabbit hole all in one go.

The two year old has started saying, ‘One Mint’ little index finger poised up in the air, which he got from me constantly saying, ‘One minute, one minute’ when he asks me to play, open something, look at him, read or generally help him in anyway. That should make me slow down, realise he’s the most important thing and leave the clothes washing, wiping the table, filling the dish washer, tidying the toys or whatever other task I think is pressing right now.

It doesn’t.

It just fills me with more guilt.

The five year old just screams my name, over and over again to get my attention, getting stroppier and stroppier until I finally snap,

‘I’m listening, now!’

Only to be met with a frustrated yelp and an

‘AWW! I’ve forgotten NOW!’

‘YOU MADE ME FORGET MUMMY!’

It only adds to the guilt, my language challenged son had something to tell me and I ruined it! (The fact this quiet, shy boy who struggles to tell his teacher his name never stops chattering, demanding attention and questioning me does not make it easier!)

Yesterday I was trying to read with the five year old, clear the clothes from the floor, spray a dry shampoo and put my make up on.  The eye shadow palette a luxurious present from my sister in law, huge- too big to fit in my make up bag lines upon lines of similar shades a row of ten browns, a row of ten pinks, ten greens, ten greys designed to make me pretty.

I did one eye in grey and then distracted by a fight, the two year old jumping on the bed and a shout from him indoors, I came to do the other eye and choose a grey a few shades lighter by mistake..... I realised this at lunchtime when I had a second to go to the loo at work and glanced in the mirror.

‘Looking good girl!’  I grimaced at the lank haired monster staring through my soul.

I drive to and from work, hunched over, neck thrust forward, willing the car in front to go faster, jumping the lights and zipping in and out of traffic queues, is this lane going quicker? manoeuvre manoeuvre, manoeuvre, cursing the minutes, hours, days, wasted that I should be spending with the children or spending at work, both roles getting enough to be ticking over in the tightrope walk most working mums carefully balance across, but not enough, not what I want, not what I know I should be capable of.

I just want to breath.......