What's in the kid these days?? We have our usual bedtime chat about, I don't know, whether a giraffe can drive a car, or why it just isn't possible for Blessing's dad to have been coloured blue ever, and somehow, SOMEHOW, he steers it into talking about his own dad. This stuff is fraught with landmines these days. It exhausts me, to be honest.
When Martin died, Sweeney just seemed to roll with it. He seemed to accept without question what was happening, all the hard things that were happening. Now he's getting kind of stroppy about it. "Why have I just got you??" he asked tonight, after a long, circular conversation about whether we could go check if his dad's eyes were still closed.
I'm so sick of having to tell him his dad is actually dead, over and over. Having to be kind about it. Feeling kind of stroppy that I have to do this at all. Like I said, it's a minefield.
In other news, we went to Frank's birthday party yesterday, at Staglands. One day we'll go back and actually look at the animals and not just run like madmen around the tracks. Met some nice new people, met up again with some more familiar faces from the kids' parties.
In other, other news,I'm thinking of orange cupboards in the kitchen. Maybe it's the ancient Penguin copy of Cold Comfort Farm I'm reading every chance I get right at the moment. Maybe it's the bowl of gorgeous oranges on our bench. Maybe it's all the lovely orange tops Sweeney's wearing these days.
Who knows?? So, Sweeney's having deep, confusing, yearning thoughts about his dad, and I'm thinking about paint. My mission this week is to get Sweeney's mind onto paint.