Monday, 5 June 2017

Rainy night

The rain is lashing against my window, my kids were miraculously in bed relatively easily, and D is out at football so I am sat in a nice cosy bed with a cup of tea.

I am never really sure whether to write about news events. I want my blog to be an escape and about places we go and funny things my kids did or said that I can look back on. But when I was younger and I wrote a diary my uncle, who is a historian, said to me I shouldn't just write about things that happened, I should write what I think of them.

I don't know what to think half the time. I have woken up several times over the past year with a pit of fear in my stomach, about stuff in the news. I feel more and more scared of the world, but maybe that is partly because I am a parent so I am seeing it on behalf of my children who have to grow up in it. I get riled up about things that I never gave a second thought as a student or a self-involved twenty-something, when I was more worried about unsuitable boyfriends than politics. "Is there a big bad wolf in my world" my three-year old son asks me, and I want to hug him and cry but I laugh and say "No, that is just in the pretend world".

What I do find myself thinking about a lot is women from the past. My Gran had her first baby right in the middle of the war. My Gran would get worried if she was on the platform only 40 minutes before her train in case she missed it so I can't imagine what must have gone through her head when she was a first-time mum. Her own mum had her during the first-world war. I sometimes wonder what on earth possessed them to choose the middle of two world wars to procreate for the first time (not that they could have known it was the middle of course), but I imagine that people just had to get on with their lives to get through it.

My other grandmother was in first London, and then Coventry, when they were blitzed. That was bad luck. She must have been so brave but she didn't know it. She was anxious of everything - noise, TVs, frozen peas. When frightening events happen my gut reaction is to want to hide myself away or Rightmove Scotland (my default reaction to most things at the moment). I wanted to spend Sunday morning in my kitchen scouring the news but my daughter wanted me to take her out. I got dressed, aching with sadness for those people in London while she, blissfully unaware, sang 'We're the chipmunks!' in an American accent at the top of her voice until I was ready. And then we went out and watched the Smurfs.

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