Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 843.

Wuthering Dormice
(aka Bike)
Part 843
by Angharad
  
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We talked for about an hour–him, wanting to know what he did wrong–me, wanting the man I fell in love with back. They say women change when they have children, maybe I have, although I haven’t actually had any literally–but I do have to think differently now. I seem to be the matriarch of this household, having to worry about the kids, Tom, Simon and Stella and Puddin’. I’m not sure who’s supposed to look after me–my husband, but he can’t look after himself properly, so all that cost of a private education seems to have been wasted on the siblings Cameron.

Anyway to cut a long story short, we were talking amicably before we went to sleep and we did promise to be a little more tolerant of each other. Had we resolved it earlier we might even have made love, but it was too late and I was too tired.

Children don’t respect Sunday mornings and they were in bed with us before seven–before it was light, gee whizz. How can Simon remain asleep with three children sitting on him calling, Daddy? Perhaps his public school education taught him something–how to ignore all forms of females. Being a poor, grammar school girl, I was wide awake and sought refuge downstairs. The aliens followed me, so at least Simon got a second chance for an extra hour’s shut-eye.

I fed them while they fed Kiki on some tinned dog meat and some stale bread. Then Meems helped me do a mix for the bread machine and set it off. After breakfast, for which amazingly, Stella appeared, I took the girls up to shower and dress, afterwards putting on the washing machine.

“Have you ever been to church, Mummy?” asked Trish.

“What brought that up, flossie?”

“I’m not flossie, I’m Trishy.”

“Oh, yes so you are.” We laughed and she playfully slapped me on the leg, “Trishy-washy, I suppose helping me do this?”

“You are funny, Mummy.”

I shrugged and sorted the next load for the machine, it was going to need three loads to do all the laundry, Simon having brought home a case load.

“So, have you been?” pestered Trish.

“Been where?”

“Church, silly Mummy.”

“I got married in one, didn’t I?”

“Oh yes, but I meant when God was there.”

“He has times when He’s available?”

“Yes, they said in school He’s always there, but is more accessible during services.”

“What does that mean?” I asked wondering if she understood all she was saying.

“You have more chance of talking to Him when there’s a priest about.”

“Why is that, then?” I was trying to stay neutral and let her think things out for herself although I wasn’t really comfortable with all the God bothering stuff they would be taught in school.

“They’re trained, aren’t they?” she continued.

“Don’t they come by bus then?” I asked and she looked confused.

“You’re laughing at me, Mummy.”

“I’m not sweetheart, I made a joke but you didn’t see it. You said trained, which can mean on a train.”

“And you said, buses--that’s a silly joke Mummy.”

“I didn’t say it was a funny one.” I smirked and she frowned.

She picked up some dirty linen and placed it in the basket ready to put in the machine when the first load was done. “Will you take us one Sunday?”

“Where? To church?”

“Yes, me an’ Livvie wanna go sometime.”

“Why?” I knew why, but then I’d had the advantage of having been to one.

“We’ve never been and would like to go.”

“Do they ask you in school?”

“Ask us what, Mummy?”

“If you’ve been to church?”

“Oh yes, but we usually ignore them, one of the priests said you must be a heathen.”

“Did he now?”

“I told him you were a scientist.”

“Why?”

“Because he was saying nasty things about you, Mummy.”

“In his view, I am a heathen because I don’t believe.”

“He said, when it can be proved that Darwin created the world in six days, he’d believe in science as much as he does in the Bible.”

“I think he’d have to prove his God did it first in that time–according to the evidence, it’s an ongoing process and has been so for eight billion years.”

“Is that a long time, Mummy?”

“Eight thousand million years, I’d say so.”

“Is that older than Gramps?”

“Oh gosh, yes, Gramps is only seventy.

“That’s really old, Mummy.”

“You’ll probably feel differently when you’re seventy.”

“Is Gramps going to die soon?”

“Why on earth would you think that?”

“In the Bible, it says we live until we’re seventy–I hope Gramps isn’t going to die soon.”

“Trish, the Bible is an old book, most people in those days didn’t live to be thirty five or forty, let alone seventy. Gramps is going to live for a long time to come.”

“I hope so,” she furrowed her brow and looked very sad, “I don’t think I like the Bible.”

“Don’t pay too much attention to it, much of it is in the interpretation of who is reading it.”

“What does that mean, Mummy?”

“It means that we each read things and understand them differently. People read all sorts of things into Shakespeare that I’m sure he didn’t mean.”

“Is that what they do with the Bible, Mummy?”

“Yes, sweetheart, and the Q’ran and any other religious book–sometimes they only see what they want to and can deliberately miss out bits they disagree with.”

“That’s naughty, Mummy.”

“Trish, you coming to play?” called Livvie.

“Can I, Mummy?”

“Yes but don’t either of you get dirty, we’re going Christmas shopping later.”

“Oh yeah–whoopee!” She ran off to meet up with her partner in crime.

“What ya doin’?” I heard Livvie ask her.

“Helpin’ Mummy sort the washin’–an’ did you know, Shakespeare wrote the Bible?”

“Wow, that’s kewl, Trish.”

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