Thunder

A mother sits writing in the early hours, whilst her family sleeps

2.11 am: As I sit here alone at my desk, the rest of my little family tucked up fast asleep, you would be forgiven for thinking that I am enjoying the silence, alone with my thoughts and wrapped in a snug blanket of peace and quiet, letting inspiration come to me in a rare moment of solitude.

 

Let me set a more accurate scene; our refrigerator makes a freakishly loud noise. I never realised this. Perhaps I don’t notice it because it is usually fighting to be heard amongst the chaotic rabble of two little children, one of whom has a running commentary on life as she knows it from the moment she wakes at 5.45 am, until she sleeps at 8pm, and the other, well, he has only just DISCOVERED his voice and the fact that he can shout randomly at anyone and anything. God help us all, including the refrigerator.

 

There is other noise too, but I will come back to that.

 

The scene is now more accurately set at least; now let me tell you a little story about how I got here; about how I got to “Wide Awake At 2.11 am”.

Today (or yesterday) was Monday, day of the mundane, day of catching-up, day of exhaustion, day of near-impossible positive thought. That’s right, I really don’t like Mondays.

My first glimpse of the day ahead was the biggest mountain of washing known to man. Or woman (let’s be serious here...) Maybe I should just move the laundry basket to Jase’s side of the bed? On second thoughts, what am I hoping to achieve here?

The next glimpse was of grey skies, low cloud and rain. Not “friendly” rain you understand, not the kind of torrential downpour we so desperately need to cut through the humidity and allow our nostrils to once again breathe cool, fresh air (the kind with the scent of damp grass on a dewy morning thrown in). Monday morning brought us a very unfriendly and annoyingly persistent drizzle. Not heavy enough to freshen the air, not light enough to continue with our “Dry Day” plans.

Cue next glimpse of moody children, grumpy from a hectic weekend and their first set of demands; “I want milk! I want chocolate! I want Cbeebies! I want Ready Go Out! I want MIIIIILK!”

Oh good.

The rest of the day until Jase came home from work continued along this vein; nappy-changing, bill-paying, tidying, washing, feeding, cuddling, dressing, wiping, praising, scolding, coffee-drinking, separating, playing, shouting, apologising. It’s all a bit of a caffeine-fuelled blur, to be honest.

Our rather late, wet-weather outing turned out to be a family trip to the Hypermarket, after Jase returned home from work earlier than usual. Now when I say “Hypermarket”, it is easy to be fooled by my location; I am not talking about ambling in a relaxed fashion through a fantastic display of continental cheeses, wines from every region possible and herb-infused meats to die for.

The shop I refer to is one that is situated in what feels like an ancient and gloomy aircraft hangar. It is a place that I would normally prefer to frequent under the cover of darkness, maybe even going so far as donning a wig and dark glasses. We choose to use this shop in the interest of economising; the items we return home with tend to be bulky, plastered with “Own Brand” labels and, most importantly, cost under three francs a piece. It is perhaps not the continental shopping experience I had hoped for prior to arriving in this country. Add to this a tired and teething one year old, too grouchy to sit in the trolley properly, his back arched angrily like a boomerang precisely in order NOT to do so, well, it makes for one stressful situation.

A situation I apparently survived...

Two hours later, the shopping packed away, the kids asleep, there is calm after the storm. Or is there?

I take the opportunity of a well-earned early night. I always think that sleep during the hours BEFORE midnight is magic; twice as restful and with that added bonus that, if you wake up, you have that joyful moment of realising there is AGES to go before you have to actually get up. Bliss!

And wake up I did, when Jase came to bed after midnight, with not only a hard day under his belt, if you get my drift. Hey, when the opportunities are few, due to curious toddlers running around not familiar with the concept of “knocking”, who am I to look a gift horse in the mouth, especially when I have a couple of hours sleep on my side?!

So my day ended “on the up”, you could say. The downside, however, is that I now have a rampant case of insomnia, combined with being temporarily deafened by Jase’s snoring.

So I sit here in my wakefulness and I am reminded of an excerpt from one of my favourite books “The Men’s Room” by Ann Oakley. In it, the main character, a woman called Charity, is lying awake one night listening disbelievingly to her husband’s snoring, describing him as “fighting with the air, making thunder out of it”. I know Charity’s pain.

I am really very tired now. I must go to bed (after locating my earplugs) and say a fond farewell to Monday....a day that we made love AND thunder! Now that can’t be bad for the beginning of the week...