beckity

A s the sun goes down on this year we will never forget, my heart is breaking a little bit. That the arrogance of British privilege and a misplaced sense of superiority should have won out over common sense and solidarity with friends and neighbours breaks my heart. That the people who have fought so tirelessly against the calculated lies and twisted promises of so-called leaders will now have to suffer the consequences of such a stupid decision breaks my heart. That the children of friends and strangers will no longer have the ease of movement among different lands that my children will continue to have breaks my heart. That people who have considered the UK their home and future and have contributed for years are now being treated as unwanted outsiders breaks my heart. That my parents will have to get a visa to visit their grandchildren little more than two hours away by train breaks my heart. Alone you go faster, but together we go further. Happy New Year indeed. May 2021 be filled

 I hurry the children along, but we should be ok. Every Tuesday we have barely a quarter of an hour to gather the three of them from their different classes, bundle them into the car and head to the music academy where Molly's music lessons are held.  I strap Louise in, close the boot after Elsie and Molly have put their bags in, and get into the driver's seat. As I check my mirrors I see a jogger coming towards us down the road. "Come on, come on" I mutter, and he continues along the road.  "Pourquoi pas drive?" Louise asks me in her typical fashion, the last word of the sentence making allowances for the fact that she knows I always speak to her in English.  "I just have to let this jogger past" I explain, glancing at my watch and breathing out. "Go, go go!" I direct at the jogger in question, as he runs around the car and continues, finally joining the pavement. "Mais il est  débile  ce mec !" Molly exclaims. "Molly! Don

 Elsie grabs Louise, pulls her in to smother her in kisses and Louise pulls back, squealing her indignation. "Leave your sister alone Elsie" I say gently. "She's not a doll, she's a person." "Maman!" Louise turns to face me, even more indignant now. "Suis pas un pinguin !"

This year has been tough. I mean it's been tough for everyone, but even before COVID-19, even before the murder of George Floyd, even before a no-deal Brexit loomed, I was finding things tough. Looking back, 2019 was the year that piled on the pressure, the year things went from just about manageable to overwhelming, but I thought I was ok. I thought that three active kids and full time work were possible to combine. Sure, I didn't do anything for myself, but which mum does? Marek and I didn't have much time as a couple, but which parents of young kids manage to prioritise partnership over organising logistics and keeping food on the table? The stress at work was an important factor, but even without a year of being professionally undermined, dreading walking into that office and having all control over my work taken away, I might have cracked. That morning in the middle of January when the tears wouldn't stop and I saw the panic in my colleague's face changed

Louise stops her balance bike and turns to me. 'Road!' she says, pulling her bike towards the curb. 'No, Louise. You're too little to ride your bike on the road.' She stops and considers this. 'Maman, velo, road!' She says. 'Yes, I cycle my big bike on the road' 'Papa, velo, road!' 'Yep, daddy cycles his big bike on the road too.' 'Elsie, velo, road. Polly, velo, road.' 'We all have big bikes Loulou.' I explain. 'You're still too little to go by yourself on the road with your bike.' 'Maman big velo. Loulou teet' 'Yes, you're petite. Louise is still a bit small.'

I go carefully, pushed by an inner pressure, but careful not to lose my footing. The tightrope stretches far out ahead of me and I shift the weight of the backpack as I make my steady way forward, on and on. Someone hands me an awkwardly shaped bowl, one I need to stretch my fingers out to balance on the palm on my left hand. I wobble, but regain my balance and keep going. A hat is placed on my head. It's itchy and ill-fitting but if I keep my head straight, it stays on. I keep moving, trying to ignore the stretch in my left fingers and noticing for the first time the weight tied around my right wrist. In some ways it balances out the left, but it seems to be getting heavier. My arms are held our wide, to help with the balance, and hold the bowl, but they are getting tired. My legs too, always so strong, are beginning to shake. I pause, breathe, and restart. My mind shifts from one discomfort to the next. Maybe if I just pull my fingers together a bit, the bowl won't feel so aw