Three Beautiful Moments
This is the week when it seems everyone I meet is tired, not well, snowed under, stressed. It’s suddenly a month to Christmas, but a break seems a long time away and too long ago. Money, waistline, politics, Masterchef without John Torode. It all adds down. At times like this I count my blessings. Christmas has always been a great time to be Jewish. It’s like a Get Out of Stress Free Card. But much more than this has made me happy this week.
The nights are cold and clear, the stars are sparkling and the rising winter sun casts a peachy bloom over the city at 8am. This weekend I had the holy trinity of parental joy. Didsbury Son featured well in the school play and the whole event was so palatable I hardly had to check my phone. My joy, the briefest of winks from the stage during the bow. I knew what it meant.
The Mighty Headed boy is a sturdy bundle of noisy joy. His urgent “come now Daddy” when there is a jigsaw on the go or a biscuit spotted in the kitchen is conspiratorial in the gentlest of ways.
But the simple joy that dismissed all cynicism and put me in a good mood all day came at about 5.30 this morning. My pearly princess, after a fractious hour of coughing finally felt the Calpol surging through. She sidled across the bed to me so her right side was glued to me and her head was pushed against my chest and sleepily placed her left arm on my chest, falling asleep to her own mantra, “my daddy”.
Sometimes there are things more restorative than a good night’s sleep.