Three Beautiful Things

Fiona and Kaspa are holding a Mindful Writing Day on 1 November -- do consider joining them by contributing a small stone to their collection. I think most of us would be happier if we were more mindful. I know for my part that if things appear to be falling apart, the best thing to do is to stop for a moment, and observe. 1. It's 2am. What does he want? "Park! Porgle* Alec!" When I say we'll walk there tomorrow when it's daylight, he gets really cross and says he's going to sleep in his cot (which he normally avoids as if it were a plague pit). Two minutes later he rolls back and suggests that I might like to offer him some bubby. 2. I put Alec into the seat on the front of the supermarket trolley. "Granny used to push Uncle Robert and me around like this," I tell him. I look to see if he is comfortable -- I have a clear memory of the cold metal against my bare legs. 3. To wake up and find Nick has come home and Alec has fallen asleep for the...

1. Nick gives me a treat today: at the end of swimming he takes the wriggling dripping Alec off to the changing rooms so I can have a swim by myself. It's not just the 20 minutes of length swimming, but the chance to shower and change without worrying about anyone but myself. 2. Through the glass roof I can see blue sky and a few wispy clouds. 3. As we leave the tea rooms, it starts to rain. A black cloud looms over the high street, but there's plenty of blue sky and the sun is brave and bright. Some people put up hoods and umbrellas (not us, we didn't even think to bring rain gear) but others pointedly ignore the shining rain -- like the owner of a louche-looking dirty white poodle who continued her conversation, standing on the bridge.

1. "Don't they look lovely in their winter coats?" she says. I have to agree -- her strawberry blonde  dachshunds, one in primary paintpot red, the other in blue, look jolly pleased with themselves and their cable knit jackets as they wiggle on up the path. 2. When the manlet is cross and tired, he asks for a list of random things (I've learnt to say no to everything except 'bubby lie-down'). Today it was more toot; no nappy; cuddle; no cuddle; more parsnips; water; nappy; no more parsnips; snack cracker (I said yes to the cuddle because I felt so sorry for him, and look what happened!). Bubby lie-down did the trick, though, and soon he was snoring softly while I admired the curve of his infant cheek and the length of his eyelashes. 3. Nick is surveying with some pride the pile of empty plastic foodsavers at the end of supper. "It's not leftovers," he says. "It's creative tapas. We need more of these little earthenware dishes to serv...

1. Alec takes Jon's finger and leads him to the front door. "I think you've got the wrong person," says Jon nervously. They walk down the hill, Jon taking tiny tripping steps for Alec's short stride and Alec trotting to keep up with Jon's long legs. 1b. When we turn the corner on to the High Street, Alec takes Godmother Charlie's finger in his other hand. I snuggle in close to Nick and enjoy not sharing him. 2. ...and somehow we all end up chasing Alec and each other round and round the little house. You can startle a shriek of laughter out of Alec by turning round and coming back the other way. 3. To take a blanket off the radiator and wrap it around myself. 4. I also really liked Jon's suggestion that we get a router and carve Brio-compatible train tracks straight into the floor.

1. I'm almost ready when I hear Alec chatting to himself upstairs. I want to be ready for lunch before I bring him down, so I don't call up. Then I hear a cheery "Hallo Mummy?" and noises on the stairs. My little man appears in the kitchen doorway, saying "Good boy!" as he always does when he is pleased with himself. I'm glad that he now has even more freedom to move about his home -- though I know that one day I will stop short and realise that I miss "Mummy carry?". 2. I'm old enough as a writer to understand that there is no judgement in writing the first draft. 3. Peeling a roasted pepper, the bright red flesh collapsing in a puddle of caramelised juice.

1. There is breakfast to clear away, but Alec wants to sit on "Mummy knee" and thread some pasta on to a shoelace. What I like is the moment I remember that one day he won't want to be lifted up on to my lap ever again. 2. We're in a hurry, but it doesn't take long to look at the bouquets outside my favourite flower shop. Alec and I pick out our favourites (he likes the pumpkins in the window display) and I like anything blue and orange. Style Workshop uses such brave and (to my taste, anyway) correct colour combinations that I am a bit spoiled for flowers from anywhere else. 3. It's only a nap -- an hour at most, but it's deep and heavy and satisfying. I swore I wouldn't fall asleep before bedtime, but I'm glad I did.

1. The sweetness of parsnips in a shepherd's pie topping. 2. I use up the last of my home-made compost; and then it's time to turn out the half-ready bag and give it a mixing. I always put this task off because it seems heavy and messy and I'm always afraid I'll find a foul anaerobic  mess at the bottom of the bag. I'm always glad when I do it -- the different smells are wonderful (there was very little stinking slime this time, apart from the sad remnants of my failed tomato crop), from rain-on-dry-earth to cool under-hedge rot to ancient dry straw. 3. Alec has a book called Ten Out of Bed which I bought because of the cover. It turned out that there was only one page about trains -- but we love it just the same. It consists of gorgeous, rich, jewel-like double page spreads about a little boy and his toys playing pretending games when they ought to be sleeping. It runs on a formula: "There were ten out of bed and the little one said 'Let's play...