Day 1 of the Easter holidays. I hoped that they would subconsciously understand this concept and have a lie in. At 6:15 I woke, Theo and Micah were fast asleep horizontally across my bed and pushing me out of it. Liam was gone. Megan and Maisie came wandering in with Maddie – you have to understand that at nearly 13 and 14, it is rare to see them before 10 unless physically removed from their beds. Apparently Maddie had been in their room since 5. What was going on?! This was not the morning I had in mind! But hey ho, I thought. At least we don’t have to do Joe Wicks-I’ll do my food shop instead.

Which I did, leaving Liam with the kids, who promptly complained bitterly that they weren’t exercising, despite the fact they’ve complained every day they HAVE exercised, and so he ended up doing it with them anyway. Which I felt smugly happy about.

The shopping experience took me a good ten minutes longer than it should have done, because I got completely lost trying to find the start of the queue somewhere in between the girls shoes and the boys pants. It’s still a strange experience, shopping, isn’t it? A real mixture of mask wearing folk and those who seem completely oblivious to social distancing advice. Combined with a reasonable amount of polite aisle dancing amongst those of us who are aware of the guidelines but still can’t work out how to manage it in real life when I want the pasta and you want the sauce. Either we both dive into the two meter zone or we both back off. It’s like some sort of bee waggle dance. Thankfully the stockpilers seem to be working their way through their supplies, and I can now get hold of not only the 6 pints of milk, but also 3kg bags of pasta which might feed my brood for a meal or two, and even the 16 pack of loo roll. Things are looking up! Sadly not a bag of icing sugar in sight however. It will be a buttercream free Easter.

By the time I’d shopped and unpacked and stopped the kids eating the shopping as I unpacked it, it was lunchtime. Toby was keen on making the recipe for Dinosaur Poo cakes he’d found in a book, so I gave the little ones bubble wands to entertain them in the garden.

This was short lived, sadly, because once Megan had retreated from being their entertainment figure, lured in by the appeal of smashing digestive biscuits, Theo promptly decided his bubbles ‘weren’t working’, and tipped the entire mixture on the floor. Then proceeded to have a meltdown because he wanted more bubble mixture.

At this point they all came back in, but Toby was at a crucial hob lighting stage of baking, so I provided them with junk from the recycling box and craft equipment, and suggested they created a masterpiece.

After much battling over tape and glue, Maddie proudly presented her masterpiece, leaving Theo still chanting, ‘I need help. I need help.’ On repeat. So do I, I thought. And persuaded (bribed) Megan to help him with the castle whilst I finished assisting with the dinosaur poo creations.

She’s a good girl, that Megan. One proud castle owner finally satisfied, she hastily ran away as fast as she could. At which point Micah started the chant. He also wanted a castle. (Of course he did!).

By now the dinosaur poo cakes were setting in the fridge, so I channelled my inner architect and constructed a castle. Except that by this time the hour was drawing near, that time when small blonde haired boys morph into little ogre like beings, and determine to wreak as much havoc as humanly possible. Beginning with the destruction of their younger brother’s castle, because that is bound to bring a satisfying reaction! So in my wisdom and experience, I made the executive decision that it was probably telly time. And wondered again, how on Earth with managed without a TV when Megan and Maisie were small. And why we would have put ourselves through such madness?

You’ll be pleased to know the Dinosaur Poo was delicious, and Toby was very proud of his efforts, and I was glad to have said yes to something that made him happy. Because in all honesty, I’d much rather be a lone baker than an assistant one. But he loves some quality time, this one, and it means a lot to him to have something to show and share for pudding.

Lately Liam and I have been watching a programme on Netflix which pushes the limits of ridiculous amounts of disasters in every episode. It’s cheesy entertainment, and I don’t mind it because it’s so ridiculous.

But I have to admit that the world we’re living in is starting to feel a bit like that, isn’t it? Seeing tonight that our Prime Minister is now in intensive care with Coronavirus feels like we’re teetering on the edge of chaos. Someone on the news pointed out that they hoped it would be a reminder to people who weren’t taking it seriously, ‘that anyone can catch this virus. Even the Prime Minister isn’t exempt.’

Maybe it will make people wake up and think. And maybe it will make a lot of us feel even more anxious. About what is going on, is there any sense to it, who else might catch this virus? This morning I was watching the sparrows again (sadly nothing more exotic is visiting our bird feeder these days. Our neighbours are enticing them which much fancier feeders. It feels like a neighbourly competition. But I digress…). Whilst I was watching the birds on the feeder I thought about these verses from Matthew:

25 “Therefore I tell you, do not be anxious about your life, what you will eat or what you will drink, nor about your body, what you will put on. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothing?
26 Look at the birds of the air: they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not of more value than they? – Matthew 6:25-26

For a long time, whenever I read those verses I felt guilty. Because I was anxious. Worried about money and health and homes. And I felt like I shouldn’t be, because these verses told me not to be. But there was one particular situation that nearly tipped me over the edge emotionally, and as I was reading these verses, it dawned on me. Jesus said this because He knows. He knows we’re anxious. He knows we worry. He’s not telling me off, he’s coming like a loving parent, putting His arm around us, and reminding us that we don’t have to be afraid, because He’s got this, and He’s got us. Just like I do, with my anxious little children. When trauma causes them to react to things that feel out of control, their flight/fright/freeze responses triggered, I hold them close, and whisper that ‘Mummy’s here, you’re safe, I’ve got you.’

The birds aren’t worrying about their food-it’s provided for them. And whatever I’m anxious about, I can take to the Father who cares, who hears, who’s got me.