Struggles

Time is passing by so quickly – in spite of the current godawful groundhog day situation. So much has happened recently that I’ve wanted to document, yet my recent head fug has put paid to that.
Now, in the spirit of positivity,and in a desperate attempt to salvage a sense of normality in the hope that life will one day feel good again, I wanted to list some of the happenings that I thought I might not like to forget when, as an old lady of ninety, I look back upon my life and ponder this strange time – when socialising was clandestine, and hugging was a sin.

Right, where to start, oh yes…

Big Seymour has become jobless. He has decided to brave the world of self-employment once more, and as a result, today finds himself digging holes. In the fucking snow.
This decision to take back control of his life didn’t come easily, but there is only so much M25 traffic one can face in a lifetime. And he had seen enough.
Little Seymour Number One has become a bona fide Paragon of Virtue. She has given up crisps and all junk food, taken up yoga and tidied literally everything. This should make me happy… but instead, I worry. Is it normal? Is it sustainable?
My role in The Play What Was Cancelled is in jeopardy. After a couple of recent Zoom rehearsals (!), my lovely director said I looked “distracted”. The play is now going to be a radio version, and so line learning stress is minimised, but I think she is worried about my delivery. I am supposed to be strong, vulnerable, feisty, brave, broken and composed all in one person, and apparently, none of my efforts convey this… perhaps I should step aside.
On the plus side, it may be a good thing that the play is now to be a radio version, as I have definitely aged over the last few months, and my face is better suited to radio.
Little Seymour Number Two has a new phone. She is now moulded to it. She can often be found on her bean bag, scrolling and nibbling. Technology is useful, but when is it too much? Having said that, she blitzed her brother’s bedroom yesterday, making it look all lovely, so I can’t be too concerned.
Christmas was, unfortunately, crap. My fault completely. The one highlight, though, was Mini Seymour’s gifting technique. She went “Christmas shopping” in my wardrobe. She found my present box, were I pop stuff I find throughout the year, and wrapped a gift for each member of her family. I tried to feign surprise when I opened the photo frame I’d earmarked for someone else entirely, and Boy Seymour ended up with a Star Wars toy that was destined for a nephew. But bless her for trying. Giving was important to her, and she improvised within her capabilities.
The Shiny Van has departed. In its place is an old Landrover. I now have to learn to drive a completely different vehicle with a bonnet the size of Asia. It’s lovely, though. I just need to dig out my tweed.
Mini Seymour has developed muscles of steel. Yesterday, she tidied her bedroom- a miracle in itself. Not only that, but she moved her bed and chest of drawers and appears to have done so without damaging anything – or herself. She’s tiny. I’m baffled.
Boy Seymour is growing up. His trousers are swinging around his ankles, and his face is filling out. He’s up and down like a fiddler’s elbow, the little wotsit. But he has an appointment in London next month, at his hospital to discuss his wobbly legs, and so that in itself is a sign, hopefully, that the world may soon return to a pre-pandemic state.
Uncle Bacon is here again. In an attempt to protect Grandma E from The Covid, my brother has moved back in. It’s working ok, mainly because the smaller of the Little Seymours are not here during the day,and so Uncle Bacon and the big girls can actually work in peace.
Until 3.30 at least, when we get home. Then there’s no hope.
The reason for the the small Seymours being out all day is that they are in school! This is brilliant! A privilege. And they can be there because, after years of volunteering, I finally have a paid job there. This is a lifesaver, not least because of Big Seymour’s current precarious earning status, but because I need to keep busy, and the others can have peace at home to work.
Yes, I am now teaching small people. Very small people. Smaller people than I am used to, but under these strange circumstances, you go where you are needed. Once I adapt to the new levels of behaviour, expectation and general fidgeting, I am sure I’ll be fine. For now, it’s a learning curve.
And yet through all this, The Covid continues. Gone are the heady, guilt-free, balmy days of the last lockdown. Yes, they were frustrating, but also curiously enjoyable – in retrospect at least. This time, everything just seems so.. sad (or is that just me?). For how much longer must we endure it?

The vaccines are miracles of Science, and we can only hope that soon, very soon, we can go about our lives again without fear of law breaking, fines and the deadly virus, of course. The poor kids’ minds are in danger of festering to mush, and society as we know it is unrecognisable.

This time is bleak, but it will pass. It has to.

I am consciously counting my blessings.