Beauty every day

After posting yesterday I did a bit of blog surfing and found Three Beautiful Things which is just lovely. It made me feel both shamefaced and inspired, I’d love to do one too but am concentrating on the commitment I’ve made to this seedling blog but it has hugely inspired me to try to put a Beautiful Thing down everyday as well as the bemoaning. Although that definitely won’t stop. Besides – reading about other people’s pitfalls and sharing my own is so incredibly comforting and reassuring.

so BT: watching Z put Ida’s coat on this morning in the daily scramble to get out of the house and get to school. I think I take for granted how helpful and tender he is with her. My heart beat harder watching her little face looking up at him so trustingly and adoring.

I hope so much that they stay this close and have the same loving and supportive relationship I have with my darling sister.He wanted a sister so much I was worried the reality of it would be a let down and he’d feel threatened after such  a long gap where we’d had such an enchanted trinity of Steve, me and precious him, but the crisis point I was dreading never seemed to arrive.

I love this picture. You can clearly see the mud all over him, if there’s mud Zeph will fall in to it. He usually arrives home from school with rips, glue in his hair, enormous bruises and a cheerful vagueness about how it happened. Things fall apart and break around him so regularly that we rarely raise an eyebrow at the sound of china smashing or the noise of a sturdy 8yr old body tumbling down the stairs. Saying all this I have never had a moments doubt or worry about his ability to care for his beloved little sister. Right from the start he held her and bathed her and changed her nappy (with us there of course) but I never felt nervous or doubted his ability to cradle her gently and securely. I’m sure this is one of the reasons they’re so close and happy – that he reveled in and was allowed to be responsible for her right from the start. And you have to understand that due to my craziness I felt uncomfortable with the GP and midwife holding her and fluttered around even Steve, my heart in my mouth with anxiety (that I knew was totally unfounded and all part of my baggage) that he’d drop her or didn’t understand how precious she was. I can honestly put my hand on my heart and say I never felt that with Z carrying her or holding on his chest while he watches the Simpsons (I bet it is that yellow-faced family nemesis… nemesisi?)

I couldn’t have got through the last miserable year of treatment and illness without his help. On good days I can see how this has contributed to his sense of worth, his easy compassion for others, how his gentle, empathic nature now balances his loud, rough and tumble, spirited side. On bad days I feel like I’ve burdened him dreadfully and that he’s old beyond his age. Can anyone tell me if the worry and guilt ever eases?

Another BT to finish, Ida sliding a ping-pong ball down a cardboard tube. I feel like she does this a million times a day since Christmas but she just looked up with a face full of triumph and joy as it emerged from the other end. Long may the wonder last my love.

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