Wednesday, 14 March 2012

Here comes the sun...please

Did you see what happened this morning, God?

It couldn't have been a greater contrast from yesterday. And that's a good thing.

Yesterday at 6.20am I was rudely awoken by the sound of conflict in one of the girls' rooms and it turns out that someone wouldn't surrender the fourth wheel for a Lego model they were making saying that it wasn't fair that one person should have all four wheels. This hadn't gone down well with the other, who didn't have it in mind to create a tricycle, but some sort of moon buggy or something that required a wheel at the end of each axle. You'll note that I'm not giving names to the combatants in this little drama, but the truth is that I'm not entirely sure who was in which corner. Only that it was 6.20am, the alarm wasn't due to go off for another hour, and I Like My Sleep.

I refereed as best I could, which means that I was probably a bit shouty and a bit narky and definitely squinty. Then I got back in bed and put the pillow over my head. By getting up time I had a headache and the children were cross and the morning had the odour of one that wasn't destined to go that well. The rest of the day wasn't brilliant either, and by the time I went to bed, having discovered the second of two suspicious lumps on Katy's neck, it had nosedived further. 

Today I heard the children up and about and it was a blessed 7.30am. If I'm allowed to wake up on my own I go into the day in a whole different frame of mind. By the time I was showered and dressed (and still miraculously unmolested by small people), I was feeling reasonably positive, but a bit heavy of heart after the previous evening's events. I went in search of the children to brush their teeth. 

Not my favourite job. Lizzie is much better these days but Katy hates having her teeth done and she makes it very difficult.  It's like brushing them through a letterbox. A wriggling, complaining letterbox. But that's by the way.

I called them from the landing and there was no response. This is not unusual; they often 'don't hear' me call them at teeth time. So, feeling gracious, I went in search. I got almost to their bedrooms when a little head popped out of Katy's room and Elizabeth informed me that they couldn't come just yet, they were busy. 

Busy dancing. 

Elizabeth and Katy have just discovered The Beatles. Elizabeth's favourite song is 'Yellow Submarine' and Katy's, until this morning, was 'Ob-la-di Ob-la-da'. The song they were dancing to was 'Here Comes the Sun'.

Here comes the sun...
I love that song. It's possibly my very favourite Beatles song, though I have a habit of changing my mind according to whichever track I'm listening to at the time. It must be a close thing as I adore 'Penny Lane' as well; Bryan was living in a flat in Penny Lane in Liverpool when we met. We stood at the window and watched a rainbow in that flat in Penny Lane. We watched films on a tiny black and white telly and drank cheap red wine in that flat. Nostalgia...

I'm getting off the point. 'Here Comes The Sun' was playing and the children were dancing around the room. Katy had her eyes shut and her hands in the air and she was wiggling and gyrating and skipping. Elizabeth (with the slightly better rhythm of a nearly-seven year old) was grooving away and they were both laughing and singing along.

'Here comes the sun 
Doo doo doo doo
Here comes the sun and I say
It's alright...'

It made me smile. And for someone who'd got up with the gritty residue of a poor night's sleep worrying about Katy and her new lumps on her mind, smiling was good. 

'It's alright...'

For Katy it was alright - she was smiling with joy and singing the 'Doo doo doo doo' bits at top volume. For Lizzie it was alright because she was falling about laughing when Kate lifted her hands above her head because her nightshirt rode up and she could see her bottom. 

It was alright for me too.  It was not a moment for insisting on oral hygiene as a matter of urgency.

'...and I say it's alright...'

I shimmied into the room and joined in with uncharacteristic abandon until the end of the song and then it was time for teeth brushing. (The next track was 'I Am The Walrus' and I'm not entirely sure that it lends itself to dancing anyway). 

I just wanted to tell you about it because it was one of those moments. One of those little special, precious moments where you wish that life had a pause button. Strange for me to experience many of those moments before breakfast, and that's another reason that I think it was from you. 


My daughters laughing with delight. A cheerful song with a message about coming Spring. 

'Little darling
It's been a long, cold, lonely winter...'

Spring is almost here. The sun is coming.

The Son is coming. Easter is only a few weeks away. 

'Little darling
The smiles returning to the faces...'

The three of us were smiling. Dancing. Worries notwithstanding. With morning teeth. 

Thankyou for a little message. 
Thankyou for a moment with my girls that I won't forget, even though it only lasted for a minute or two. 
Thankyou for the sun, which indeed has made a brief appearance today. 
Thankyou for music and inspiration and the capacity to find a spark of joy in our morning routine.

Thankyou for a little bit of relief from the anxiety of waiting to find out what the story is with Katy's neck. 

Thankyou for reaching down and giving me a hug when I needed one. It changed my day.

'Here comes the sun.'

Amen, Father. Yes please. 


  1. So grateful for those moments. I'm praying that all goes well with your daughter.

  2. Thanks Ginger. I think I'm held together by those moments.

  3. I had a chance today to go and read the back story; I'm so sorry you all are going through this again. You've been on my mind all day, and I'm continuing to pray for you, friend.


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