ACE, ACE BABY- CORONOVIRUS DIARIES

ACE, ACE BABY- CORONOVIRUS DIARIES

She scores the winning goal. Hailstorms again in South London today. No hail or thunder can stop the eight year old wonder. Little things.  Every small thing counts. A job with NHS commencing soon. Forty hours stiff. Forty hours shifts. A little museum outing,  a butterfly house visit. Rebuild and reconnect with the husband in the horizon.  Family not terribly supportive in times of crises for they have their own crises. Midlife, kids, babies, un-paying tenants, financial crises. Pick your crises is the fashion of  de jour. Somehow yet somehow, existentialist crises amid plague seems to be the dark crown over it all.

Mother has a little swim to soothe the artheritic knee, no more soccer games for her.  Endless visits to the GP and hospitals. Eight year old girl is her sole pride and joy. And the almost ten year old boy wonder with his many eccentricities; pascaterianismn  being his latest one. Therefore she worries about them endlessly. His weight, his lack of interest in supports, the daughter’s aversion to books. Husband’s apathy about anything kids related. “His parents barely had time for him in his childhood!” Her inner voice excuses him again.

Yet, he spends all gaddamn given hours perfecting his “tennis’. He fails to take the son to any supports nor does he encourage them in any activities or music or reading.

She is exasperated before launching into a very public argument with the husband  about his lack of interest in the family and the son. Son’s education.

“ I am saving for their future!” He declares himself virtues again.