I’m returning to work. It’s my first day at work and I meet a neighbor as I leave the house. We talk about the weather in a very British way. He says, “Isn’t this sun great?” It’s like going on holiday. It would be great to have this experience all the time.
I think of the nursery thermometer that glows red and shows 26 degrees. The screen even shows a sad face to indicate how awfully hot the room is. My 6-month-old son is cranky and unable to regulate his temperature. I think about the lack of sleep he’s had trying to make him comfortable at night. My neighbour and my expectations of summer are so different. The same situation is interpreted in two different ways and viewed through two completely different lenses. I can’t wait to see the heatwave end.
“Yes,” I answer, “it’s amazing.” It’s too hard to explain why it’s different, and I don’t want it to be late on my first days.
It’s fine to work. It’s almost as if I never left. It is the same walk to the sandwich shop at lunchtime; it is the same commute home on the tube. However, I am incredibly tired.
As I get ready to go to bed, the voice in the kitchen says, “You might want clean pyjamas.” “I used yours to clean up sick this morning.”
We reuse things all the time. A risk log at work is transformed into an issues log. The charter for the previous project is used to edit the next one. My old schedule has been modified to fit the new plan of someone else. A pyjama shirt becomes a muslin fabric at home.
I realized how much washing is involved when I put my old pyjamas into the linen basket. There are adult clothes, baby clothing, cot sheets, and towels. Tomorrow, if I have the energy and the will to wash, I’ll do it.
Perhaps it is a good idea to let the sun shine for a while longer. At least until I can do a few loads of laundry.