Counting

I'm constantly counting. I suppose in a way I always have. Counting down the months, weeks, days of my pregnancies. Counting down the milestones and the date that they happened. First smile, first laugh, first tooth. The list is endless.
With Kieron, he cheated: he arrived 12 days early which threw my counting out of sync. By the time he was 12 days old, he was due to be born. So in a way I had an extra 12 days with him.
Kieron rolled over early, hardly crawled, was walking round furniture at 8 months and off to explore his world. Kieron climbed anything and everything. Over stair gates, onto wardrobes via clambering onto my bed first, kitchen cupboards and back gates. Still I counted. Only this time I was counting the hours until Kieron's bedtime so that I could relax at last. It didn't happen. Kieron was a voracious feeder, to the extent that he slept in my bed and went for self-service during the night, often not even waking me.
When Kieron was 4 months old, for financial reasons, I had to return to work. I counted the hours until I could collect him from either my dad or the child minder. I counted off the miles as I traversed Kent and London daily. I counted off M25 junctions, knowing that as the numbers grew larger, the nearer I was to home.
I counted his scrapes and bruises. I counted his stitches after running into a chair while playing with his older brother. I counted more stitches after he decided to headbutt his brother's scooter. I counted teeth for the tooth fairy and carrots for Rudolph. Eggs for the Easter Bunny and goodie bags for birthday parties.
Tomato seeds for transplanting with Kieron's help. Shells on the beach and flakes in a 99. Foot steps taken on the way to school. Banana cars and minis with associated 'mini pinch, mini punch'.
Christmas cards to write to school friends and presents at Christmas, so each of my children had an equal amount to open. Days until school holidays, days until school term starts. Days until birthdays, Christmas, new schools.
I always held the belief that I would count 18th birthday cards, 21st birthday cards, wedding invitations, birth of grand child cards. I didn't think that I would count children waiting outside the crematorium for their friend. I didn't think that I would count the dozens and dozens of cards and letters sent to me by Kieron's friends. I didn't think that I would count off the days, knowing that with each one that passes I am that much closer to being with Kieron again. But I did and I do. 443.

18 June

It's Kieron's birthday on Saturday, or should I say the anniversary of his birth, as Kieron is forever 10.
I've bought him some new trainers just like his big brother wears so I know they will be perfect.
I keep waiting for a list of desired presents to appear, chosen at length from the latest Argos catalogue or online with websites attached so that I can't possibly get it wrong. Kieron's so trusting in my ability to get the right things, little does he know that I double check with Callum to make sure. Although Callum often asks why Kieron wants a specific game and tries to cajole him into getting something else. Kieron remains steadfast in his choice, knowing that there will always be some birthday money to spend on Callum's suggestion anyway.
Birthday cake is chosen well in advance...football or Simpsons generally the favourite, unlike earlier years when it had to be a caterpillar cake. Party venue has changed over the years, from the usual indoor play areas to ten pin bowling the last two birthdays, followed by McDonalds or the local 'all you can eat' chinese restaurant, complete with chocolate fountain.

Kieron's 8th birthday was a gamble. He wanted a party at home. So I confronted my fears (after all lots of 8 year old boys running amok is scary) and took the kids to the park to play football before loading them up with sugar and all things sticky.
Balloons around the house and birthday banners on the door and we're good to go.
I'll still do banners and cake, but this year, like last year, we'll be releasing the balloons instead.

Snails

My garden seems overrun with snails, even more so than usual. This is where Kieron comes to the rescue. He trots around picking them up and lobbing them over the wall at the back of the garden. He refuses to crush them so settles for the option of re-homing them. However this involves checking no-one is in the garden that backs onto ours prior to throwing them.
I read somewhere that snails and slugs automatically go back to the garden they originated from so Kieron and I discussed the feasibility of painting a few on their shells to see if they ever returned. Luckily I managed to talk him out of it as I had visions of having to patrol the garden, searching for the return of the prodigal snails. At one point we set beer traps, much to Kieron's amusement at the thought of drunk slugs and snails. What neither of us liked was emptying them so we reverted to annoying the neighbours (who we weren't overly keen on anyway).
Sometimes Kieron tries to adopt one, giving it a name and feeding it choice leaves as it slimes its way along the garden path. "Come on darling, come to your Kieron" is his cajoling request. Unfortunately, something always sidetracks him and in his eagerness to eat/ climb on the shed/ go to the ice cream van, Kieron nearly always manages to stand on the snail by accident, thus relegating it to the status of a slug. Apologies are said and off he goes to adopt a different one.
So today, I sprinkled slug pellets and put down grit. I gingerly picked up snails and threw them over the wall and I missed my little boy.