Small Moments

Nine years ago, and I am meeting my son and daughter of a Saturday morning.

I have not dealt with my recent break-up with their mother very well and I'm late. I'm also visibly hung-over, disorientated and have travelled twenty miles from the awful shared-house that I have had to move in to.

We all meet at neutral territory not far from their new house.

My two year-old son looks me up-and-down.

Son: [Puzzled] Where’s your ship?

I stare at him bleary-eyed, my tongue and fingers feeling too large, my face burning.

Son: [Unsatisfied with my silence] Mummy said you’d finally got your ship together.

His face is the blank, puzzled innocent canvass of a child.

Me: [After hugging my son longer than necessary] Let’s go and have some fun.

It’s the small moments that stick.