Ritalin Boy would not have anything to do with the Rice Krispies his parents thoughtfully provided for his breakfast this morning, and stolidly ate his way through four iced buns, one after another.
I had hopefully thought that I might slope off back to bed once I had got Mark filled up with coffee and toast and off to his gainful labours: but I was just creeping back up the stairs when there was a howl of outrage from the children’s floor, and a voice bellowed: “Oh no! Ganny! There’s a dog in my bed!” and that was the end of that.
Everybody got up then, and Ritalin Boy started eating cakes, it was a bit like inviting Hansel and Gretel to stay, I could have followed his progress around the house just by the trail of crumbs for the first hour. After that it wasn’t a trail any more. There were just crumbs everywhere, occasionally dotted with the leafy bits off the top of strawberries.
I left him to it after a while and went to check the bank and make some phone calls. I finally got through the bank’s queueing system to speak to an adviser but had barely got through the first sentence when a small finger pressed firmly down on the hook button and the charming man at the bank was replaced by a high pitched giggle.
He wanted to play his favourite train game on my computer then. This came in an e-card from my parents last Christmas, and he has loved it ever since. It plays to the music of The Holly And The Ivy, which has echoed unseasonably and endlessly through the house ever since, because Ritalin Boy likes it a lot, and leaves it on constant loop even when he is not playing the train game, so that he can dance. It is still playing away in my head even now, although he is not on the computer any more because he is in bed and Mark is clearing up the flood in the bathroom after his shower. It is a substantial flood. The jug was a two litre one.
However in many ways it has been a glorious day. The sun shone, really shone, warmly and cheerfully and I haven’t needed either of my jerseys, still less both. Even as I write this the sky outside my window is clear and blue and the world is a still and untroubled place.
This has had an immediate and wonderfully cheering effect on us. Mark came home at lunchtime, because I had got to go to a meeting in Kendal this afternoon and Ritalin Boy’s presence would have made this impossible, he is not the sort of personality type that you would like to have anywhere near a meeting, especially not the sensible sort with an agenda and a chairperson and apologies, although I imagine plenty of apologies would be necessary afterwards: so Mark handed in his spanners at work and came home to take the boys and his book to the park, which in any case was a much nicer thing to do than be at work.
When I got home again it was only half past five but we put on our big sunhats and sat in the garden with a glass of wine anyway, and decided that our lives would probably work out better if he didn’t carry on going there. It is easy to come to that sort of conclusion in the sunshine. Rain does not lend itself to recklessness in nearly the same way.
So he is going to go back and collect his toolboxes tomorrow, and I think I am pleased, because he has said a great deal about the place and none of it was especially complimentary. He becomes very quiet and a bit scowly when he is not happy at work, but he is looking very much happier now that we have decided that there are worse things than being poor.
He is thinking again about the holiday as well, I can tell. We have got to take Ritalin Boy back home sooner or later anyway, and it might be possible to take the camper van and all of us go, maybe for a few days in the middle of a week when taxis are quieter.
I have got my fingers crossed.
