Sunshine

I was in the pool this morning by 7.30am, stretching limbs that do too little in the way of exercise these days. "This time is as much about relaxing as getting fit," I excused myself, clambering out of the pool and sinking into the jacuzzi before chasing off the last of the bronchitis in the steam room. The other women there were complaining that the water was colder than usual but even if it was I couldn't care. That's SUCH a good way to start the day.

By the time I was home Dada already had everyone dressed and ready to go, so we took him to work before the nursery school drop-off, and already at the time of the morning there was a hint across the sky of what was to come. I tried valiantly to work this morning but the time / identity pressure is a tricky one to wrangle and I didn’t make much progress. Then it was pick-up time and we detoured on the way home, gate-crashing the end of mums and toddlers at the irish school. Coffee and chat and decorating biscuits and such a sense of being welcome and known, and then singing in Irish and checking out the treasure of the state-of-the-art toy library bus before heading home for lunch. By which point the sun was splitting the rocks so we packed the lunch in our trusty nappy bag and headed for the beach. We trekked across the sand, aiming for the bridge out over the rocks. By the time we got there we had become Diego, Dora and Boots, and the bridge was our ship, and we were running late. We made it just in time to eat lunch on the sun deck and then we sailed away to Scotland, apparently, before returning to harbour. More trekking across the sand and then an impromptu game of jumping off the life buoy stand. The Little Dude was fearless, balancing precariously on a ledge, with an assured, instinctive feel for his own centre of gravity. The Boy was more cautious but just as adventuring in spirit. I tried coaxing him gently into letting go of my hand, but he was having none of it. “Jump!” I shouted in encouragement, and he sort of stumbled half-heartedly off the edge, both hands in contact with something stable all the time. “That wasn’t jumping!” I said, to which he replied with a customary roll of his eyes and said “No, it was falling in style!” and I laughed so hard I thought I was going to split my sides. Back to the car for our now traditional flask of hot chocolate, and now we’re at home with one bundled up cosy snoozing in the car, and the other languishing on the sofa.

I love days like this; I feel poignantly grateful that I’m the one sharing my boys’ days with them, and so, SO glad for the gloriousness of a beach in sunshine after so very many months of hibernation.