Now it’s just me and the dog

When the rubbish truck goes past, its loud stop, start, stop, start, makes me think of the days – increasingly distant as they are – when youngest boy had not yet started school, and he ran to the door, or the window if the door was closed, and watched the rubbish truck moving down the road, and I wish I had more often stood in the hall and stared at the curls on the back of my growing boy’s head.

0 thoughts on “Now it’s just me and the dog”

  1. hardest year of my life, stomper, and that’s one of the reasons (mind you and on the other hand, there’s good things to be said for the freedoms)

  2. I sneaked some of my boy’s hair off the hairdresser floor the other day because she’d turned him into someone that I didn’t know for a moment. It’s in a little bag in my backpack. This morning I took it out and held it for a while.

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