Ye Cannae Change the Laws of Physics
I have a problem with Klingons. I don’t like it, but, not only do I accept it, I consider it a privilege and, paradoxically, a pleasure.
It turns out, I am the centre of gravity in my house. When I move through the house, the children are sucked into my orbit. I am like a comet with a tail of cute debris in my wake.
When I go into our (rather cramped) cupboard-under-the-stairs to retrieve jackets, shoes, bags, the mop or the brush or the clothes horse – invariably I turn around with my arms full, and trip over one or two or three children who have seen fit to follow me in.
When I go into our (pretty narrow) laundry porch, within seconds I find myself boxed in by eager helpers. They stand between me and whatever it is I am trying to do at the time.
When I am sitting anywhere in the house for any reason, the children will play happily while I sit with my head lolling about like a bladder on a stick – but as soon as I look in any way purposeful, and go anywhere or do anything, they fall into line as if I were the Pied Piper.
And I am not that fascinating. Neither are the chores I am attempting to complete.
I sometimes wish that I could slip out of my body and sneak into another room and load the dishwasher unassisted or sort clothes into piles without people diving through them. Or changing bed linen! Always an invitation to the children to shriek and dive and throw pillow-cases around.
I have yet to master the out-of-body experience.
So, I accept that I can’t be alone, when there are children conscious in the house. I am sure that soon, they will lose interest in my every move. I am also sure I will miss their limpet presence.