I’m getting better at piecing together small snippets of information, and turning them into a sensible and almost comprehensible picture of how life continues without me.
I’ve learned that TVs R Us and Daddy likes being on the computer.
And I’ve discovered a few other disparate bits of information which almost make sense.
“Olive cried today. She was scared when she saw all the people in the audience.
She’s not the kind of child who cries normally, is she Mummy?”
“I’ve got a toy that has 24 games.”
“When the little ones came on they had to sing “Away in a Manger” so fast they couldn’t keep up with the music.”
“I’m going to put you on the table so you can hear me play Jingle Bells.”
“Have you got us a good present this time?”
“I picked up a baby. It cried.”
“We’re making Christmas cards, but you can’t see them until Christmas Day.”
“It was certificate day but we both failed. Everyone in my group failed.”
“Hannah’s light’s still on and Daddy’s not doing anything about it.”
“I was so scared I was shaking and I was hoping no-one would notice.”
“It was my turn to have the advent calendar chocolate at school. It was Turkish Delight and I didn’t like it, but I ate it because Miss was watching.”
And then there was the conversation Ben had with the friend I’m staying with.
He chatted to her happily, and when she mentioned her two cats, he replied, with his usual tact –
“Mummy says they’re really annoying in the night.”
I like cats, honest.
I just don’t appreciate being woken in the night by anything other than my children – and even they only have special dispensation when they’re ill.