Let today be the day the girl child had her first full day at playgroup by herself. She jumped in puddles and got her socks wet, “played and played and played” but at what or with whom she cannot say. She required a full change of clothing due to wee (bottom half) and general water messing (top half). She blagged her way into the kitchen and tried to charm an extra yoghurt from one of the staff members “mmm… that smells good…!?” Despite it only being her first week, in a room full of settled-in boys and girls, she has, I’m told, got her feet firmly under the table, as if she has always been there. No tears. No emergencies.
Up until now, I have mainly been on childcare duties interspersed with phone calls and internet research, with Mister being at the house, sorting out the dirty hands-on flood stuff. Today we both tackled it. I got emotional about the sausage butties and tea from the phenomenal Fossy’s Flossy’s voluntary food wagon. Because I get that. Food. That’s what I want to do in a crisis – feed people. So to be fed by somebody who doesn’t know me, and who isn’t getting paid, with donated food, while they freeze to death in their little wagon. It gets me. Then there was the visit to Homebase, and the sight of people nonchalantly browsing sale items to beautify their homes. And me, in my bright yellow waterproof trousers, blue jacket and bright pink Wellies. Although admittedly, I selected the Wellies for sheer comedy value. Because if you can’t look like a clown when you are cleaning shitty water off a hula hoop, when can you?
The skies over York have been a talking point, tonight. At sunset, the most beautiful golden light bouncing gloriously off panes of glass, hanging low on the horizon, beneath the strangest cloud formations. Truly ethereal.The first tentative murmurings of Spring can be found fighting their way out from the mire today, including the first snowdrop in our garden. Its clean white bud swinging delicately over a puddle. Hope.