Hi, my name is Rosie. I am lucky enough to live in the beautiful town of Tayport in Fife, I am thankful to be here, I love this place and I love feeling like I am becoming part of a community that makes me feel warm and welcome and reminds me of all that is good in the world.
I am mum for two small humans whom I adore. They also drive me mad. I am not a ‘blogger’ I don’t even read any blogs. But this lockdown will bring out the best and the worst of us and make us try things we didn’t imagine we would like, such as Almond milk – I am a convert, no more moo juice in my hot drinks.
So, back to my reason for filing your screen with my words; I would like to share with you some of the ways I am entertaining my children and some of the ways that they are entertaining me.
By all accounts I am quite a creative mum, I think perhaps I am just lazy and let them cause havoc? I’ll let you decide…
It’s the crack of early and I am sat in bed while the kids watch the idiot box in the lounge. In fact, I am in my daughters’ bedroom, so that their dad can have a lay in in our bed before he goes to work (it is also his birthday).
My eldest (she is 7 going on 8) has just marched in and asked if she can get more cereal. I love how independent she is becoming. Now I can hear my youngest (she has just turned 4) saying “more, more, more!” and her big sister is helping her. It is likely that we will end up with a river of milk across the table and floor, but I am willing to take the risk for this moment of solace.
We had two weeks of self-isolation as a family due to one of the girls having a cough and a temperature and that was just in time to piggy-back onto the new measures of social distancing and staying at home, so we are pros by now (a.k.a. stir-crazy). We spent about a week playing at happy families, somehow we managed to pull together in a time of crisis, just like in a film, we were angelic. The girls played together, they were model sisters and perfect children; helping each other, giggling sweetly, inventing new games, putting up with each other’s annoying habits (just like their parents they are chalk and cheese in many ways). Their father and I were ever so supportive to one another too. Of course, this has all changed and we are all getting on each other’s nerves now as you may expect.
In the beginning, I had a nesting instinct to clean and sort through the flat like a dervish and I came across a tent, not the massive six-person tent, but the teeny tiny one from Aldi, the one that you would only ever sleep in if you were under 21 and at a festival. Well, the children were ecstatic, it was almost as if I had taken them on the holiday to Italy we had to cancel and so this was to be their new home for most of the morning every day for the best part of a week. They filled it with whatever they could grab fast enough: toys, books, blankets, the cat. They made mud pies and collected leaves from around the garden, bossing each other about and serving brown sludgy soups to one another. To my mind that was a massive success. I will define what I mean by success: the children were content, I didn’t fuss over them, I was left to get on with things I needed to do with minimal interruption. They were practicing how to be independent and, as we know, children learn a great deal from role playing, albeit on their own or with others, it’s as if they can safely test out life before they have to do it for real. Then towards the end of the week they got bored and deserted it, leaving the maid (yours truly) to clear it up, nagging for help and getting lots of complaining in return.