The kids are back at school and the husband is back at work. The house is tidy and I’m sat here eating all the left-over chocolates that no-one else likes . . . the orange creams and the coconut. I don’t really like those either but what can I do when all the best ones have gone? When in need, any chocolate will do.
I’m also sat here contemplating what to do about my terrified little boy who has developed a fear of the following: our bathroom, mirrors, clowns, the word ‘it’ and going to sleep on his own. The poor lamb is really petrified.
It seems that at our New Year’s Eve party, my middlie was telling scary stories to her friend, unaware (so she insists) that her brother was listening. He heard it all and now he can’t get the scary images out of his head. The stories have come from a Stephen King film called IT which involves a macabre, sewer-dwelling clown called Pennywise who terrorises children. I have no idea where my daughter learned about this film. She sure as hell hasn’t seen it. I haven’t seen it myself, nor do I have any desire to. But regardless of where she heard about it, I’m left with the problem of trying to reassure my spooked-up little boy every night that a manic, child-eating clown isn’t going to jump out of the plumbing and savage him to death.
Telling him to think nice thoughts is futile when the face of that stupid clown keeps butting in and wiping them out. And reading his favourite books only works while I’m curled up in bed with him.
Sigh. I suppose the images will fade eventually . . . when he’s eighteen and passing out every night on lager and late-nights.