Scary stories from a lovely place
The other day I was lying on the spongy grass of my in-law’s backyard, reading and enjoying the late afternoon sun. The kids were playing happily inside the Polytunnel, a covered space to enhance the growth of vegetables in the cool of the Irish winter.
After a while I started to feel nervous. My peace was too blissful. A creeping feeling of my children’s naughtiness came over me. Every mother can relate. I was enjoying the peace, but also wondering why it was enduring. I decided to trust them, trust that they were merely enjoying the feel of the dirt between their fingers. Time continued to tick on and I realised as I read that I wasn’t actually hearing any of the words in my mind, just wondering what my children were doing.
I checked. And this is what I discovered. Silas had been using a trowel to pour dry dirt all over his brother, who didn’t seem to mind at all. After each load Silas was rubbing it into his head with a plastic plant pot. Oisín was shrouded in dirt. It looked like he had a newly shaven afro.
It was all in good fun and no one was hurt so I didn’t mind. They were cute, and it was funny.
While this incident doesn’t illustrate the kind of defiant naughtiness I spoke of recently, it does paint a picture of my children’s personalities. Silas – naughty and likes to experiment on his brother. Oisín – easygoing (except for the disdain for sleeping) and with a good sense of humour. But it was still naughty.
Tonight they were both very tired. But after the bath theywere in great moods. Playing together, laughing and chasing, knocking each other down, laughing some more, getting up and doing it all again. Maybe I should just learn to embrace the naughtiness?