About a boy – sort of the end

There’s this boy I know.  Every now and then I try to describe him, never quite doing him justice, never quite getting it right.

You would know of course, if you had met him – exactly what I mean.

He has a heart of gold this boy, and you can see it in his deep green eyes.  His freckles dance across his face and his smile stops you in your tracks.  His hair is curly and unruly and his little ears stick out ever so slightly.  More than anything he is kind.  He cares about things being right, he worries when people are hurting.

Not so long ago I made a promise to myself that I would do my very best to always be standing at the school gates waiting for him.  

Such a small and normal thing, but it meant alot to me.  You see, when you have had normal taken away from you, all of a sudden normal seems like perfection.  In reality though, I am not too good at the school routine.  Already we are less than three weeks into the new term and I have been late for pick up once resulting in tears and fears that I was never coming…

And that’s just it.  The daily things that I so badly want to be part of in his life are tougher than I ever imagined.

He is growing up, the boy.  Over the summertime his interests have changed, his opinions, his cheekiness and answering back.  We clash and yet I suspect it is because we are so similar.  He gets angry and frustrated when things do not go his way and he lashes out if he cannot contain it.  More often than not he directs these feelings towards me because I have to enforce the rules.  There was even a day more recently when he actually said he hated me.  Admittedly it was over me simply asking him to put his boxer shorts on, and even though he didn’t really mean it, it still hurt.  There will be many more instances where he hurls words at me – and I will love him regardless until my last days, no matter what mistakes he makes in life.

I am trying I really am, but it seems some of the lovely things I do are cancelled out in those moments of anger on both sides.  There has been a sleepover with three friends with pizza and neverending Fifa17 games.  There has been brand new football boots when he least expected it, much to the scorn of the girl.  I suppose that is what being a parent is about though surely?  Loving the happy moments and recovering from the tough moments, and keeping on going no matter what.  Life is not all about first days at school or Sunday morning football matches – it’s about a surprise hot chocolate on a Monday morning when you are feeling tired and teary and well, a bit low.  Or your mum putting your socks on for you when you are engrossed in your favourite television programme.

There has been an interesting conversation online recently about the exposure of children on the internet and whether or not they have a ‘choice’.  I have noticed in our little camp that we have indeed reached the age where they now ask where a photo is going and will not give one if they do not wish to.  I have thought about it a lot.  Especially because I have used this medium as a way of recording memories for me & mine over the past few years of illness.  I have decided that this is a good time to end our family memoirs.  Not because they are not important, but because I value our privacy and their memories are just that – their memories.

I have decided to write my book and create photo books that I know they will love – and holidays – many holidays, to Italy and Disneyland and anywhere else our hearts should desire.  I am looking forward to our times together no matter how turbulent they may be.  I cannot wait to see what happens when they see something amazing for the first time, meet their first love, find a new hobby or move up to secondary school.  I can’t wait to be a part of all of it – even if it means having a little cry or a glass of wine when milestones are particularly tough.

Most of all I won’t leave them if I can help it – I will stay as long as I can.

The boy was my first born.  He has seen some of the happiest days of my life and the saddest, and I intend him to see many more.  So if you ever hear someone shout ‘Noah!’ and then see a boy running in the opposite direction (probably laughing) with a cheeky grin on his face, you will know that it is my Noah.  The boy who loves numbers and football, and collecting conkers and most of all spending time with his friends.

The boy is coming of age.

It has been almost three years – and three years is the time it has taken me to live through an illness and come out the other side.  Autumn is upon us again, a new school year, another bonfire night, another football season, another set of school runs that I may or may not be late for.  I still get a kiss goodbye in a morning & a cheeky grin at pick up as he wears his coat like a cape to greet me.

This blog was a story about a boy, whose mummy was poorly when he started school and she wished so hard to be there each time the bell rang at the end of his day.

This blog was about a boy, and you will be very lucky if you ever get to meet him.  The boy who holds my heart.

To Noah, love ya kiddo xxx