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Ernie had the day off school today. The lurgy hanging over the house had hit him (and me). It's not too bad, just making us all a bit snotty and tired. I had to go into town for a meeting and it seemed that everyone on the train was struggling too. Lurgy and fruit flies are the two plagues hitting our house and the UK right now. Oh, and soon, the actual plague.
When I returned from a chat that will hopefully give me a job that earns actual money (imagine), I kept an eye on Ernie and tried to make sure he wasn't on devices the entire time (even if I was- do as I say, not as I do). He played with one of his birthday presents, a Jumbo Pyramid made of chalk that is full of bits of treasure that you have to find by desecrating the sacred tomb and smashing it all to bits. He has to learn his rights as an Englishman some time.
As this is quite a messy activity he did it outside. Like his dad he loves history and archaeology. I quite like those things to, so hopefully I'll meet his dad one day.
He came back in and I carried on trying to get some work done. I got up to make a drink and noticed white footprints all over the kitchen floor. I was momentarily bamboozled before realising that he'd been standing in pyramid dust outside with bare feet and trailed it inside and had left a little temporary record of his time since then. The trail led to the toilet and back, which somehow made it more poignant.
I guess I could have been annoyed as some parents might have been, I guess I might immediately attempted to clean up the mess as another adult might have felt compelled to do. Maybe it's the archaeologist in me, and Ernie and his mysterious dad, but I liked having them there. I kind of wanted them to stay forever. Every little bump and breakage and paint stain that your children create serves as a reminder of what they used to be. And what could be nicer than a 9 year old's footprints surviving forever - like when a family of Neanderthals walked across wet sand before some geological disaster preserved their journey forever or just when you're at the seaside with your kids and see their footprints on the beach and feel sad as they wash away.
Of course the Neanderthal prints would be more impressive if the kids went to the toilet during the walk.
What is that magic in something so simple? Why was I yearning for the past even as the thing was happening? Why was I not annoyed that my idiotic son had got chalk everywhere? It was a chaos of footprints that he hadn't even realised he was creating.
I think the mess he's made outside might actually leave some kind of stain on our decking, so I guess that will have to be my permanent reminder of today.
The footprints are still there, though fading away. And I am glad no future archaeologists will get their hands on them. Those footprints are mine.
She's right. It will only help Gillis sell tickets, I am sure, but it damages SNL and won't gain it any fans, but will lose some.
SNL UK ironically shows that you can joke about every topic, in boundary pushing ways and still avoid being hack and half-arsed (which I feel would be the most hurtful accusations for Gillis).
