I’m home again. Mr B drove up to collect me and take me back home from the Middle of the Darling Daughter’s house. On the way home there was lots of water on the road and plenty of tears in the car. You could
say it was rather a wet journey back...
Once inside the door there were a number of immediate signs that I had been away for a week. A vase of dead daffodils on
the dining room table and another on the kitchen window-sill. A wilting plant on the hall table, desperately needing water. A small pile of emails on my arm-chair, printed out for my attention.
Mr B has also taken advantage of my absence to lay claim to the “Always Right” mug. Regular readers may remember that one of our Sons-in-Law (the New Dad, as it happens) gave us each a mug for Christmas, one bearing
the inscription “Always Right” and the other “Always Wrong.” When I am at home I am scrupulously careful to ensure that we use the correct mugs, as in I am “Always Right” and he is “Always Wrong.” But look,
there is the irrefutable evidence on the draining board. You only have to turn your back for a minute and the whole world turns upside down. However there is no doubting that Mr B is pleased to have me home and, let’s face it, is there anything better
than feeling wanted?
I had tried to pack just as much as possible into my last morning. Poor Baby Boy didn’t know what I was going to get up to next.
We read all the way through the Noisy Nursery Rhymes Book. His favourite is Hickory Dickory Dock, though this may be because while reading it I walk my fingers up and down the length of him, pretending to be the mouse, which makes him screw up his nose with
pleasure. (Or possibly it just tickled.)
After that we read his “First London Taxi Book”. I suspect Faris knows more than any other not-quite-two-week-old-baby
about London taxis. For most of his short life he has listened to his father practising his suburban “runs” on him – that is, reading through list upon list of road names in a low, rumbling voice, while watching over his baby son. The
effect is so soporific that I am seriously considering capturing the sound and marketing it as another baby soother. Like The Sheep but with wheels.
we drove home we enjoyed a scrumptious Sunday Lunch, cooked by the Middle of the Darling Daughter who knows how to keep her parents happy. Roast beef with Yorkshire puddings, and apple pie to follow. Baby Boy was lying quietly in his Moses basket
while we tucked into our feast – he really is a most obliging baby. Though maybe he was simply lying low for fear I might start off on the Noisy Nursery Rhymes again.
It was so very hard to say goodbye – even though I know it won’t be long before I see my littlest boy again. Like all good grandmothers, I left him with some sage advice. I told him to be a good boy for his Mum and to pay attention
to everything his Dad has to tell him. I told him he was very precious and said I hoped he would remember me whenever his Mum reads to him from the book of Noisy Nursery Rhymes. He stretched out in his mother’s arms, straight arms, straight legs –
playing the soldier. He knows I love my little soldier.
On the way home I suddenly remembered I had forgotten to tell him the most important thing - that I love
I am just hoping he took that for granted...