beckity

'What's this Molly?' I run my finger over the bruise on her shin. 'In school!' she exclaims, eye wide and thoughts tumbling forward too fast for her to voice them. 'I... I... was in class. Se cogner !' she says. 'Oh, you hit yourself?' I clarify. 'Yes!' she grins, and covers her mouth as if she's made a mistake. ' Se cogner , it's in French!'

I'm having a supermum moment. After waving Marek off for a meeting in Luxembourg at 7am, I have managed to pack the lunches, wake the girls, dress the girls, feed the girls, brush our teeth and hair and bike to school - Molly on the back of mine, Elsie on her pride and joy: her bike with no stabilisers. We have got through the door before the bell, Elsie has been dispatched to her classroom and Molly and I are walking up the steps to the 'pavillon' where the littlest of the nursery children are. A girl from her class passes with her mum, a woman with a friendly face and enviable dark curls. Her daughter is a little thing, blond and tidy. We go in and Molly shows me the routine - coat and jumper on the hook, bag on the side, little square of carpet for their morning singsong. As she gives me a goodbye kiss, her little blond classmate passes us and Molly turns to me saying something I don't catch. I think she is telling me the girl's name, so lean close and ask he

I pull the comb through her long hair, a tangle snagging at my hand. 'Ow' Elsie flinches. 'Naughty knot!' 'Sorry' I say and scoop all her hair back behind her ears. 'Go choose a book.' Molly already has one in her hand. 'Basia!' she declares, and Marek takes it from her. He sits, one girl on each knee, and I look on, taking in their expectant faces. Marek reads, pointing at the pictures and asking questions. 'Who can see Basia?' Molly points. 'Which dress is she going to wear?' 'The pink one!' Elsie cries. A pink dress. Unbidden, the image flashes in front of my eyes. It's been haunting me all day and that achey feeling in my core just won't go. She must have been somewhere between the ages of my two. 3 maybe. Floating. The picture was sickening but curiously peaceful. An arm raised by the waves, little legs out straight, shoes still on. Tightly curled hair cropped so short it wouldn't have been clear

The kids teach me something new every day.  Today Elsie taught me a new French word - we were walking home from school and she was telling me about the Chinese lantern she'd brought back with her. 'We've all finished our lanterns. Everyone has done a dragon on it. Look! Tomorrow, we're making an  éventail .' 'What's that?' I asked, genuinely puzzled. She turned and looked at me, with a look of surprise. 'A fan! The kind you hold and do this with.' she explained, wafting air with her hand in front of her face. I tried not to look gobsmacked and made a mental note. Almost four and a half and she's teaching me French. Later on the girls were eating their tea and we got to pudding. I'd made a chocolate cake, with chocolate chips - a special treat since afters usually consists of a yoghurt or a piece of fruit. Molly took a bite and then spotted the fruit Marek was cutting up. She put down the cake. 'Pear!' she declared, and held o

The memorable moments of my life, no, the testing times of my life, I have anchored with references that will always whisk me straight back to that moment. Ten days before my 21st birthday - the sudden death of my beloved Nangran. I can picture the box room of my university shared house. Sitting at the desk, bursting into tears, the draining and sudden shock of the knowledge I would never see her again. Eight weeks after the birth of my first baby - the calm voice of my mum telling me her leukaemia diagnosis. Sitting again, following instructions, in the flat we rented at the time, shaken and dizzy. The horrifying prospect of having to navigate my new role as mummy without the steadying presence of my own. When Dadd outlined his own medical challenge, prostate cancer, 95% chance, biopsy results soon, the most common form of male cancer, very early, treatment options, I was already marking the spot, holding on to the moment - one week before my second baby's second birthday.