I made the mistake the other day of trying to have a conversation with my husband during the witching hour. I had my calculator and paperwork in hand. yes I know you are already saying she is a mad woman and yes I reluctantly hold my hands up, what were we actually thinking! It wasn’t an exchange of simple easy-going topics like ,how was your day or a battle of who was more tired, this conversation needed two heads firmly screwed on, sitting side by side,actively concentrating and engaged and oh did I mention that we needed quietness.
Somehow sensing that the mood at the dinner table had changed and quite possibly sensing that Mammy’s brow had burrowed deep as she tried to switch back on her very tired brain, and said brow was digging into a level of concentration they had not witnessed before, the twins kicked into survival mode. Dare we forget that they existed during those few minutes where calm was needed. They decided to introduce a level of noise we had never heard before and I am pretty confident could be heard on the other side of our village. It involved pitches of sound I didn’t think humans could reach let alone human mini me’s could and was accompanied by the music box contents being played by two, one man bands.
When our offspring realised that Mammy and Daddy were not going to sit back and clap along to every song being demolished by all the instruments and abandon our work , plan two was hatched. Divide and conquer…. And yes, I mean we were divided and conquered. Hell hath no fury like a child and if you have ever wondered can a (nearly) four-year old physically push two sitting adults apart and get in the middle of them, well I am delighted to tell you, wonder no more, it has been done! To further ensure we did not even think of regrouping at the table, plan three was swiftly blown in my ear by the other child( plan three was a Peppa pig trumpet).
Defeated, we felt the gap widening between us as our designated twins divided us further. We held our gaze for a moment longer, remembering when we could speak interrupted, when we could speak to each other in one constant dialogue stream, days where there were no sub conversations splurted at us mid flow.
We have become masters of picking up where we left off mid conversation, after we have dealt with the fiftieth snack request or wipe my bum demand. Every conversation is like a conference call where everyone has their own thing to say, but we always proudly bring it back , until now.
Empty promises of plans to meet up at the table after bedtime never happened, maths are long forgotten ,it is too late in the day for anything other than enjoying the stillness. Far too late to do anything but ignore the mess left behind by the unexpected war zone and truth be told, we may not even remember what it was that was so important to do during the witching hour.