Gardens and alligators

I don’t like alarm clocks. They scare me awake. And it’s just not right waking up with a gasp of fear each morning. Of course the BH sleeps right through it and only wakes when his tea arrives, which is kind of ironic on days like today when I didn’t have to get up. And then I have to face the kitchen and Kobi’s playpen, and I’m not even going to describe how un-funny that is each morning, before I’ve even had my cup of tea.

I don’t really mind these things – once I’m awake. But I could definitely do without them as the start to each day.

Having said that, I did have a couple of days without the alarm clock, and wonder of wonders, yesterday morning without beginning my day with a shock, I could remember my dream. And it was normal too! Well, as normal as one can suppose, not dreaming anyone else’s dreams. And whilst I’m wondering about normal, do the people in your life stay the same in your dreams? Because I don’t seem to dream about people I know, least not in their regular form. Take the one yesterday, I had weird parents, and I mean really weird, they dressed in Shakespearean garb and walked around golf courses with an entourage of thespians. I kept trying to talk to them, but they were always striding off to the next hole and could only manage a cheery wave, so I kept myself busy rescuing a baby frog and trying to stop Kobi annoying the alligator. Yep, Kobi managed a star performance as himself! But he’s not a person, and I’m not surprised he’s elbowed himself into my dreams and has me chasing about there too. It never stops in the waking hours. In fact just yesterday, when I was strimming the road side of the hedge, the stupid mutt decides to find me by pushing his way through the hedge and leaping onto to road. It may not be a busy road but the garden is a good four feet higher than the road, and so Kobi is again limping and on painkillers.

On the upside Kobi is behaving better. And I mean after Saturday when he ripped holes in everyone’s clothes except mine (well he’s not totally stupid!). We also watched Dog Borstal last night and we now posses a shock bottle, and it works just as well in real life as it does on the programme! Doesn’t he look pleased…

But back to the gardening. Having been working on the front garden for the past couple of weekends, it again looks near decent (almost good from a distance ;o)) and I kinda made a promise to one of you about posting some pictures – however – the BH will be less than amused with me, so they’ll only be up for a few days.

Here’s the side patch which meets the road:


We used to have a wonderful Willow down by the road and blocking any view of us (and which I really must replace!) but it came down in high winds the Christmas before last. Actually that was quite amusing, you see I heard it come down late one night, but when I looked about the dark garden I couldn’t see which tree had come down so figured it was one up in the Christmas tree field (we adjoin government property and they grow their own huge fir trees). The following day was a Sunday and we had a lazy start, but at about ten am the BH tells me to come look in the road and there we found our poor willow. Of course the road was totally blocked, but no one had thought to beep their horn or heaven forbid walk up the driveway and tell us, no, in fact a friend called later that day to say he’d hit his car on our wall when trying to turn around because of the blockage. Anyway back to the tree, I managed to get hold of some official and he came around and ummed and ahhed about closing the road (?!!), and just as I was telling him the road was little used and quiet, an old fifties car ambled around the bend. Then another. And another. In fact they didn’t stop as it was a car rally! I can laugh now, but I can only imagine how stupefied I looked at that moment.


But back to the garden. Here’s the lawn I’m always moaning about:
but this picture doesn’t capture it’s steepness!


And you have to remember on an itty-bitty island where space is scarce, our garden is classed as big. And it sure feels big when you’re the gardener. Which would leads me to post pictures of the back areas, but I’m ashamed to admit I can’t. Seriously, as the bloody garden is so over grown.

Having said that here’s some pictures of the paths leading up.


You can tell they’re paths because in the left picture you can see the rope handle (see? squint towards the left!), and in the second… well, you’ll have to trust me, but here are steps under there. Maybe later in the summer, when I've found some time, I'll post 'after' pictures too.

So you can see in truth, I do like my garden, it has so many pretty little hideaways,



I just wish it didn’t grow so fast so I could keep up and enjoy it properly!

--x--

Please note, we don't have alligators hiding in the garden here, or anywhere, and I have no idea why I was dreaming about them. If you can figure out something deep and meaningless, feel free ;o)

Should I be irritated, or amused with myself?

Yet again I wrote a post, which I’m not going to post.

It was long, and so I bet a few of you are relieved ;o)

But I have to say YIPEEEEEEEE!

Come September, R’s changing schools.

And would you believe

I (also) had a visitor today who found me by googling, bedroom stripping techniques. I’m third on a list of 216,000! Wow, after seeing some of the other choices on offer, I’m not sure what to say. Except. I’m sorry to disappoint, as I’ve certainly never divulged my bedroom stripping techniques. Not here anyway ;o) Oh hang-on. The page it took them to, was about wallpapering the bedroom! Maybe I’m judging too fast and they weren’t disappointed after all. Oops, that’s *my* mind, isn’t it?

A visitor came calling

You may remember in yesterdays post I mentioned coming across a grass snake while cutting the lawn. There was also another visitor about ten minutes before the snake, a cat.

Those who know me, know I’m not a fan of cats. It’s not that I hate them, I just don’t like their killing habits and they tend to make me nervous as I’m never sure what they’ll do next.

So when this huge orange cat appeared from the bushes I shushed it away with my usual hiss and claps.

But this cat came back.

Late last night, as the wind howled and the rain couldn’t figure out which direction to fall in, the BH told me there was a cat meowing loudly as it hid under my car. And being that this daft beast was daring enough to return, I figured it must be in some sort of trouble, so I went down and was nice for a change. The poor thing was wet and starving, and very friendly.

Well I might not like the pesky creatures very much, at the same time I’m not heartless; plus did I mention, this cat was very, very friendly? So I could hardly turn it away.

I watched it wolf down a packet of Ryker’s expensive dog food half expecting it to take off again when full, but it didn’t go, instead it was even more friendly. So I made it a bed in the garage and invited it to stay for the night.

When I got up this morning and headed down to see if our visitor was still enjoying the room service, I wasn’t too surprised to see it had gone. But I figured it was worth a ‘Here, Puss, Puss,’ to see if it was within earshot and fancied some breakfast. Sure enough a pair of eyes appeared from the darkness and it came bounding over to inspect the warmed chicken on offer.

I got a better look at it in the daylight (though I didn’t manage to figure out if it was a girl, or a lad, without his lads) I could see it’d been loved at some point, but at the same time it was obvious this fella had been without attention for quite a while. And it’d messed itself in the night, which of course set me off worrying it was my fault for giving the poor thing dog food, and when I think about it, way too much food too. It stank. And I mean it really stank. And I can tell you that even without much of a sense of smell!

Anyways I couldn’t do much as breakfast time was calling, and then the school runs, and then work. I didn’t get home until lunchtime. And this time I really was surprised when it appeared yet again, being just as friendly.

But I was starting to see a pattern here. This cat was way too friendly! And I can’t have that. What if I go getting attached to the thing?! I felt awful making the call. But it’s for the best. And anyway it may turn out it's got an appalling sense of direction, and someone's missing it.

So I fed it the remained of his breakfast chicken (BTW, how often are you supposed to feed cats?) and we had a final grand petting session.

But we were outside, and sooner than I expected, the Animal Shelter’s van showed up. And as soon as the cat heard the noise of the van, it took off!

And it wasn’t coming back. Least not whilst the man was there, so I accepted a cage and some proper cat food (tuna fish! I should have thought!!).

I gave it ten minutes after the man had left and then went out and called for Puss, Puss. It came bounding from the bushes!

I felt like such a traitor as I emptied the cat food into a bowl inside the cage. It trusted me. And I darn near had to squash that cage door closed, that bloody cat was so big (it was easily as large as Kobi! Though obviously skinnier.)

The man from the Shelter laughed when he was back within half-an-hour, said the cat must like me. But at least the cat was still friendly. Even from behind bars it purred like a mad thing whenever a finger poked through for a stroke. So friendly in fact, that the man from the shelter was kind enough to reassure me it wouldn’t have any trouble finding a new home, should it not be on the missing list.

And he said I could call next week to make sure things were on the up for the fella.




I don’t even like cats, I swear.

I got tagged

rdl tagged me for a meme.

An A-Z Meme

accent: Depends where *you’re* from! None, except maybe a bit proper ;o) if you’re from around here, and to everyone else probably very British.

booze: None. Teatotal, except when we throw a party and I get to make-up (and drink) some Bermuda Rum Punch.

chore I hate: Driving. May not be classed as a chore by some, but it’s the first thing I’d give up in my life, if I could.

dogs/cats: Everyone knows the answer to this! But for the record, insane ten week old yellow Labrador dog.

essential electronics: Computer with internet access.

favourite perfume/cologne: Delicious & Jadore.

gold/silver: Silver in colour, but I’ll take platinum please.

hometown: Since I no longer give exact detail, I’ll say it’s fourteen miles off of France.

insomnia: Bouts.

job title: Mum, administrator, taxi-driver*, child-psychologist*, dog walker. (*Alright, these come under the Mum title!)


kids: Too many! Not really, just had a hectic day. Four.

living arrangements: The house from Hell, otherwise described as butt-ugly bungalow with ridiculously overgrown garden.

most admired trait: Umm, I’ve sat looking at the screen for quite a while with this one. I was going to write something flip, like: Getting up each morning to face yet another day! but decided not to. I’m honestly not sure if I have an admirable trait, I like to think I might; I do try and please others, and I do attempt to be a better person each day. But then I have a bad day and I’m a selfish cow, and I reckon a real trait doesn’t vanish when things get tough. So let’s just say, I’m working on some!

number of sexual partners: Ever? Not telling. But for the past eighteen years, one.

overnight hospital stays: The babies. Got out after ten hours with the first, but the second ruined the record by requiring three nights in hospital, same with the third, but down to two nights for the fourth, thank goodness (I’m not a fan!)

phobia: Spiders, and daddylong-legs. Not a big fan of snakes either (and I found a grass-snake today! Instead of killing it (I don’t have it in me ;o)) I’ve boxed it up and plan to give it to J’s teacher tomorrow, as it’s Creepy-Crawly week).

quote: The worst is not
So long as we can say, "This is the worst." William Shakespeare

religion: Raised Church of England, mostly, with some Catholic tendencies. However, I’m not much of anything anymore.

siblings: One brother. But here’s another however: I know that I have at least three biological sisters and ‘one other’, out there somewhere (but that’s only if you take blood to mean anything.)

time I usually wake up: Depends on my stress level. When running on high, I can be up from 4:30; when on low 8-9ish if I'm allowed.

unusual talent: Geeze! It’s bloody depressing when some stupid meme throws TWO questions at you which are hard to answer! I’m racking my brains, and only two things come to mind, though neither too riveting: I can reverse (really well!). And you know that thing that dangles down the back of your throat? Well, I can wiggle mine up and down at will! It may not sound like much, but my Doctor was amused impressed.

vegetable I refuse to eat: Peas. Don’t like them, and they’re impossible to eat politely anyway. Oh, and I can’t eat mashed potato. I don’t have a problem with the taste, I just can’t swallow the stuff without retching (it’s all the fault of Smash from my school days)

worst habit: Smoking. In truth I rather like the habit, but I worry about the health side.

x-rays: Chest.

yummy foods I make: According to my eldest, potato gratin (though it takes too long to make!) and the kids seem to like my cakes and stuff.

zodiac sign: Sagittarius.


I had fun doing this, but rather than tagging anyone in particular (I know you're all busy ;o)), I'm going to ask you to pick the first letter of your name and answer it in the comments! Unless you want to do the whole thing, in which case feel free...

Hohoho!

What a day. Up at seven to discover Kobi had made such a mess, the kids decided they weren’t letting him out of his playpen, the poor mutt was not amused! And neither was I.

Out at nine-thirty for swimming with J, but had to leave my darling five-year-old to get herself dressed and wait quietly because I had to run S to a party. The BH could’ve done the dropping off, just, but there was the worry S would freak (as she’s done in the past) and not let the BH go (and he had to get R to tennis – and R’s the one competing in the tournament tomorrow ;o)).

S and I were the first to arrive (see?! I’m getting better!!) and I thought I was being smart when I said I’d stay until more little darlings arrived, plus it gave me a chance to speak with the party-girl’s mom, which was fun as they’re from California and have twangy accents and she cheered me greatly with her delight that all the schools here require a uniform. Turned out not so smart to stay though, as no-one appeared to be from the same nursery and S began to look more and more worried. But she was good as I explained I had to run back to J who was sitting all alone (her swim instructor was keeping an eye on her).

Returned to find J sitting sweetly and clutching her treat. When I asked why she hadn’t eaten it, she said she wanted to share it with me, awwwww, that girl really is a darling!

The BH picked up S and left me to deliver and pick up J from Ballet, which was nice as I got to sit and natter with my friend, Cally.

Quick lunch then out with three of the darlings to drop J at her disco. Wish someone had thought to put up some sign-posts!

Whizzed straight past the turn-off.

On the second pass I cursed my own stupidity.

Though not as loudly as when I turned the car around and reversed into a bank, which wasn’t so bad in itself, but my bumper broke something and is now hanging at a 45’ angle. Never mind, only a bumper and I’ll find some tape tomorrow, onward!

But whoever didn’t think to put sign-posts up, also didn’t think about ninety cars all trying to get up and down a road, only one-and-a-half cars wide! Bit more cursing here unfortunately. Thankfully everyone appeared to stay in good spirits about the inconvenience and I got to chatting to three different strangers going in the opposite direction with the delay! Though I was glad I had arranged J to catch a lift with a friend for the return journey, as I commented to R that Daddy wouldn’t be so amused, who in turn revealed he thought Daddy would have gone potty.

Next up: a quick exit for P at his friend’s football party, and then into town to sort out R who has an interview on Tuesday and needs to be smart.

And this is when the real fun started.

First to the barbers, but there was such a queue I figured we’d go back closer to five. So on to change his trousers for some that fit. Slight problem there, as the wind has been so bad the boats haven’t arrived and so they’ve run out of black school trousers. Not good as R is too skinny for his height and it means I’ll have to hunt down another shop which can cater.

Around the corner we’re lucky enough to find a shop with three different lines. One had to fit! Well, they sort of do. If you’re not overly worried about style, and guess what? Time was worrying me more! It was a done deal.

Shoes. We needed shoes. Into shop A. You’ve got to be kidding! Don’t designers and buyers realise some of us still polish our kids shoes with real polish?! Are they’re not supposed to look like trainers either.

Into shop B. Must have buyers related to those in shop A.

Onto shop C. This will not do.

Shop D? Blaaaa!

Okay back to shop A to enquire if they still have any of their winter brogues in the back. How can shoe shop staff not know what brogues are? Geeze-louise I even had to educate the supervisor, and this is what you get for entering a trendy shop which doesn’t employ anyone over twenty!

Out to shop E. There’s really no need to measure him. WHAT? If he’s that size we’ll nip back to the more reasonable shop A and buy their adult brogues!

Back at shop A my son pointed out with increasing boredness, ‘That measuring computer in shop E sucks!’ And having not heard the term from him before, I began laughing. ‘Why are you laughing?’ he asked, and I explained I hadn’t heard him use bad language before (not that I’m for it, it was just relatively tame and I was amused at that minute.) ‘That’s nothing,’ he told me, ‘Dad swears all the time when we’re in the car with him!’ Oh.

So back to shop E, where they at least have some reasonable looking shoes which may fit him. Wow, two pairs! But nooooooo, as awkward son number one decides they feel funny and he doesn’t like walking in them. DO I BLOODY CARE?! I’m tired and we’re running out of time!! If they fit in the slackest fashion and I can polish them, and even if they’re twice the bloody price I wanted to pay, you can live with them, surely?

But unfortunately I lost that battle of wills, so back to shop B we went. Except it’s a long walk and the little darling was mad at me. Wouldn’t walk with me. Just like Ryker used to be, five feet behind, but unlike Ryk’s scowling and informing me it’s *me* who wants him to have new shoes, and he couldn’t care less whether the interview goes well. Doesn’t believe me when I tell him some people pay a lot of attention to shoes. And by that point, even I was wondering whether anyone would notice. But then I thought of his current pair, and depressingly, they would.

Finally we made it back at shop B, and hurrah! They have shoes in the larger size and maybe they’ll be narrow enough to make him think they fit! Grrrrrr, I can’t stand this! Why does this lad have to have such skinny-in-between-child-and-adult-size feet? I no longer cared if he went to school in black trainers, just find me a pair that fits!!

What’s this? He found some on a shelf over there. ‘O_k_a_y, if you like them’ I said nicely and handed them to the assistant. ‘But…’ she started to say and earned herself a stern frown from me, so instead put them in a bag and took my money with a smile.

And I’m smiling too!

His father’s not. Says it’s not right letting a boy go to school in women’s shoes.


--o--



Just in case you’re wondering, we missed the barbers as they closed at a quarter-to-five. Guess I’ll have to face town with the four of them on Monday after school (*shudder*)

Post or delete?

I’ve just written a post, and concluded by saying ‘I’m not going to post this’.

I can’t. Not yet anyway. But this was the second post about something that’s fast becoming a life-changing saga, and in case you’re wondering, I doubt many of you saw the first post as I deleted within hours. But I will say it’s not so much about me, but about our eldest R. Though I’m doing more than my fair share at turning it into a bloody mess. Hopefully in a few weeks I’ll be able to explain.

Heavens I’m worn out. I want to scream. Preferably obscenities. Or cry. Anything, just escape a little.

I’m getting my hair done tomorrow. It’s supposed to be a treat, but in truth I can imagine nothing worse than being forced to sit still for a couple of hours. These things always seem like a good idea at the time, but rarely are.

But on a positive note, I’ve decided I really like my boss (Tom ;o)). I know, it’s taken some time for me to be sure. As a friend’s husband he was a great bloke, but as a boss he was a tad scary. To begin with anyhow. Hoping it stays like this, but I keep wondering about why he got through so many secretaries before me. Odd as it feels like a dream job to me, but because of that thought, I keep having this niggle that there’s another side I haven’t seen yet. But I’m sure there can’t be, he’s fun, he’s laid-back, he smokes and swears like a trooper*, and looks like Tom Selleck – what more could I ask for? And I can’t even pipe up ‘More money!’ as he pays me well too. Guess it’s time I lay the fretting aside and start enjoying it to the fullest.

Oh and who told Kobi about my blog?! I swear** that dog must be reading, as I’m sure I said he had until Wednesday to stop his car concerto, and after that he was getting left at home. Well, he stopped. Today. How weird is that? And though he did howl the night of my previous post, he didn’t last night. I think he’s catching on that we do show up again each morning (though I’m often cursing under my breath when I see the mess spreading from his playpen!) And it’s so sweet how much P loves him. Unless something good comes on TV. Or if P’s allowed the playstation. I think I’d better stop there, as I’m talking myself out of this warming thought.

Isn’t this supposed to be Hump Day (love that saying! Wonder if I can talk the BH into it tonight…)? Supposed to be downhill until the weekend now. Ha. The next two days will be easier than this weekend. We’ve got a weekend from hell. Friends with kids around (which I know is supposed to be fun, and I’m sure it will be when I’ve tidied up), Tennis match on Friday, tournament on Sunday, and another lesson on Saturday, along with parties for J, S & P (shudder!), plus a disco for J, ballet and swimming.

No rest for the wicked, and one of these days I must get around to working on my goodness, so I can catch up on the rest ;o)


* I realise some make think smoking and swearing like a trooper is not a good thing, and sometimes I agree, but on Tom it works.

** Obviously I'm joking.

So much to tell you!

But not enough time. Never is these days. You know I had to arrange an appointment today and darn near cried when I looked in my diary, as I have two hours free this week. Two hours, how bloody ridiculous is that?! When people ask, I’m still saying I’m a full time Mum, but in truth I’m living in fear of one of the kids getting sick as it’d take me weeks to catch up! And I can’t even think about the house. I have been thinking about Kobi though, and I’m feeling so guilty about all my commitments this week I’ve arranged a dog-sitter for my worst day, so he won’t have to sit in the car. Which he still hates.

So what’s new? We had kids around Friday afternoon, friends of P who wanted to come see the puppy. Except they and their parents forgot to mention both boys are afraid of dogs! To cut a long story short I did something I’ve never done with other peoples’ kids before, I lost my temper. Luckily I didn’t shout, but I did say I was going to call their mothers for collection, and warned them both they wouldn’t be invited again unless they bucked their ideas up.

That sounds really mean now, and I guess I should explain that the little sods kept slamming doors in Kobi’s face, screamed so long and so loud S is now afraid of Kobi, and gave me a rude ultimatum about locking Kobi up. But it was supposed to be my relaxing afternoon and after a couple of hours I thought ‘Sod it!’ and read the riot act. Worked out okay, and without tears, but I’m still gobsmacked they wanted to come at all or that their parents let them come knowing we’d just got a puppy. And I’m also hoping P finds some new friends before he hits the teenage years.

Anyway onward, though still about Kobi. Have I mentioned how cute he is? And I’d like* to think smart as he’s figured out I’m the hand that feeds him and ‘tis better not to bite me. Unfortunately he’s still having a LOT of accidents, but in fairness if he didn’t have his wires crossed about peeing indoors, I’d be considering him a genius!

And last night he didn’t howl when we put him to bed. Thank goodness. But then he didn’t have the best of days yesterday and was doped up, so we’ll have to see how he is tonight. Bet you’re wondering why he was doped up, but I’m wondering about telling this tale as it makes us sound incompetent.

So I’m going to start be telling you something about our deck. When we moved in there was a balcony off of our kitchen, made on the cheap without enough bars, so we covered the thing in green mesh. Then last September we finally had enough saved to get it done. And properly too, with specially ordered, extra high, safety rails (those who have read about my kids accidents will understand why we went to the trouble ;o)). It is now a wooden thing of beauty. But, and there’s always a but, this thing was put together by hand (as some things still are) and as such some bars have a few millimetres difference in space from the bar next to it. Now when we got Kobi we did bother to made sure he couldn’t get through the bars. But (another damn but!) we didn’t check each and every bar’s distance as it didn’t occur to us that such a tiny difference would mean anything.

Turns out it means everything when your lazy Labrador puppy wants a short-cut down to the garden to join the kids. He took a fourteen foot fall onto the tarmac below.

The vet reckons it’s thanks to his age and soft bones that he’s alright, and only nursing some bruising and swelling. Though the flip-side is, if it wasn’t for his age he wouldn’t have been able to wriggle and jiggle his way through in the first place.

From the bruises it appears he landed on his left side and the poor devil may have his limp for a day or two yet. But (don’t mind this but!) he’s alright and that’s the important thing. Damn shame about the bank balance though, as it wasn’t prepared for emergency vets bills and the pet insurance won’t cover anything for the first two weeks of cover! I’m hoping to get a small table and chairs for our new balcony when funds allow, and at this rate, I reckon October should about do it ;o)

But at least the time will fly. Always does when you’re having fun. Did I really just write fun? Ha! I think to have fun, you’d need the time to be able to stop and think whether you’re enjoying yourself! Don’t get me wrong, life is good, but fun is pushing things a tad. And I don’t think fun times happen with this level of exhaustion. I got nearly six hours sleep straight last night, and I can barely move today. And in case you’re wondering, I know other people sleep more, but to me six hours straight is phenomenal.

You know I can’t say that word in real life. Phenomenal. Or Phenomenon. And have you any idea how many times they say phenomenon on Star Trek (TNG)? Trust me when I say LOTS. You notice these things when you can’t say them.

But back to time (I’m drifting, what’s new?) I keep trying to figure out where my times goes, but it all just seems to get wasted when you analyse it. Take today, I left the house at 8:20 and didn’t get in until 1:20, but I only worked two hours. What was I doing for the other three? The weekly shop took around forty minutes, and the dog walk (on the beach! Yippee!!) probably added up to twenty, so I’m down to two missing hours. As far as I can tell it was driving between schools, work and the shop. Though when you consider I live on an itty-bitty island that’s ridiculous! Granted we have silly speed limits compared to most, but even so, it seems like such a waste. Each and every day, and that doesn’t include the afternoon runs. Bloody hell that’s depressing. Maybe not to you, but this is my life for the past decade, and the next.

And with that thought, I’d better get off. The kitchen floor needs washing, but I can only get that done after the kids have been put to bed, and I need to have a bath sometime tonight. Umm, less talk, more action. Bye.


* Obviously (assuming you've read to the end) as much as I'd like to think Kobi's smart, he's not.

Wooster’s still cute, but

This dog could whine and howl for Britain! It seems he hates the car, so lucky me gets to drive everywhere with a concerto. This isn’t doing a lot for my nerves or patience. Nor my boss’s (Tom ;o)), who commented upon what a noisy dog I’ve got (I’m just amazed he didn’t tell me either to strangle Wooster or resign!).

And we have another problem. It’s obvious this dog wasn’t raised inside a house, as he WILL NOT go to the toilet outside. This is also not doing a lot for my mood. Oh, and Wooster’s got some daft idea that the most convenient place to poop, is the car (which kind of fits in with him not liking it!), but I have discovered my sense of smell in an enclosed environment is not so bad after all (which I’m sure you can imagine is great news!)

And lastly, he didn’t seem to like the name Wooster (along with a few of you) and wouldn’t respond at all. So now he’s Kobi, and thankfully he does seem to be starting to realise when I’m trying to get his attention.

I’m exhausted, my head is ready to split, and it’s a damn good job this dog is so cute!

What big feet you have!

May I introduce…
Kobi.
No, Crusoe.
Oh hang on, the BH said I could choose, so I guess it’s Wooster. I think. Umm, too much choice and I’m stuck!

But whatever his name ends up being, he’s cute! And that’s even taking into account his awful toilet habits and his love of shoelaces ;o)

I did type up a post about the journey, but it vanished into the abyss before appearing, so I’ll sum up this time, by saying: I didn’t need the loo whilst flying (phew! and even got to smile as the pilots raced off to the toilets before me, when we landed!), the flights were almost enjoyable (with the exception of air pockets and missing the runway on the first descent) and we ended up at the wrong airport because of the weather, which in turn led to a delay as we had to wait for the breeder to drive the extra hour. And I ended up with three pilots – not sure why, but it seems they enjoy these jaunts in itty-bitty cardboard planes, (and I was paying for their lunches). One of them was particularly interesting with his very British accent, cartoon moustache and tales of his flying adventures.

In fact it all went so well, I didn’t scream once! (Though I did make the pilot sitting next to me laugh, when I squeaked and sank low in my seat with my eyes screwed shut.)

And I didn’t really notice the flight back as they let me cuddle Wooster and the time flew by.

And now…now I’m exhausted beyond belief. In fact I went to bed at ten last night (which I never do!), but even so, I’m still so tired I’ve hit myself in the face with a cupboard door and caught my head on the corner of the desk (yes, I know I shouldn’t have been bending down playing with the puppy!) I don’t think the exhaustion is really about yesterday, as sitting on a plane is hardly tiring, but I do think I’ve been running on nervous tension and at last I’m beginning to relax, and so the tiredness sets in.

I’m getting very sleepy right now. Which I mustn’t do. Must get going again as I haven’t thought about dinner yet, Wooster’s due at the vets, and then it’s the school pick-ups (with two extra today, ugh!)

So I’ll give you what you came for – puppy pictures!

Anticipation

Is the waiting for an event which isn’t longed for, called anticipation? I’m thinking (as I like the word so much) anticipation is reserved for good things, and I love the feeling of anticipation. The way it builds and fills you with warmth as an event gets closer. And tomorrow is getting awfully close! Though if anything, I’m getting a tad over-warm, but I don’t think that’s the anticipation, I think it’s the dread.

I’ve had a few people comment to me today, that I must be excited about the upcoming arrival of our puppy-with-no-name. And I am. Desperately so! In fact, at the weekend, the BH was so amused with my preparations that he announced that he thinks this dog will be spoilt. He will.

Every so often it stops me in my tracks to think that I didn’t spoil Ryker, I can’t even remember bringing him home. But then I can’t remember bringing two of the kids home, and there’s no guarantee I’ll remember this pups arrival either, so I’ll not worry about that. And as for the spoiling, Ryker wasn’t the type to be jealous and he got spoilt too, just more so in the later years. But I do feel like crying over him again. I’m not going to allow myself. It’s silly, and I’ve made my peace with the sudden changes that came.

The future’s bright, and it’s just about here!

Only the dread to get through. That’s what’s grounding me so completely. I want tomorrow to come, but I don’t. I’ve got to be at the airfield by 8.30 because the pilot doesn’t think the weather will be with us, and there’s a commercial pilot coming along too, so we can take off in fog. Great, just great.

Do little planes go above the cloud cover? Guess by this time tomorrow I’ll know. But I hope so. Better if I can’t see the ground*.

Anyway I should know the answer to that already, as a friend flew us to Paris on our honeymoon. But I can’t remember it! Why is my memory so crap? Maybe my mind has blotted it out because it was so horrid! Then again, if that was true, my mind would have blotted out a flight from Amsterdam, so maybe it’s just age.

Oh bugger. I’ve got to get on a plane tomorrow. And I can’t comfort myself with the thought I can bottle it**, as I’m the only one with a valid passport***, apart from R (and he’s too young to go instead ;o)). Not that I would – as I get to come home with a puppy!

Oh how I love the anticipation!!


* So don’t expect pictures, even if the weather is fabulous!

** This is not intended as a pun regarding my 'personal' concerns. The again, it kinda works ;o)

*** On a commercial flight I wouldn’t need my passport to travel to the UK (and I could request an aisle seat!) but for some reason I haven’t yet figured out, I've been told I need it tomorrow.


Yes I'm going a tad mad with the *s, but sometimes I like them, so there!

What's in a name?

I have a friend, who when she meets people*, decides upon which movie, television or pop star they look most like.

At first I thought it fun, and she’s good with her choices. But since I began working, I’ve decided it’s dangerous.

You see, I work for Tom Selleck. And as his real name is very similar to Tom, I have a lot of trouble remembering that it isn’t really Tom! So far I’ve managed not to stumble, but each time I go to say his name, I hesitate with the confusion.

And today I got another job, though thankfully not with one of the dad’s from school and therefore not assigned a movie star look-a-like name. But I've known this chap for the better part of twenty years and he already comes with his own nick-name.

But not one I’d want to repeat to his face. It’s Andy, as in Handy Andy, which probably doesn’t sound so bad, unless you know the context. Though, as I’m writing I’m thinking there are lots of men who’d love to be called Handy Andy in the context of how** this Andy got his nick-name! But still, I’ll have to be careful if and when I meet his wife.

So I got another job.

(Four kids, three jobs, a husband and a dog***. I think it sounds a fun list, almost a nursery rhyme. But I do think it would sound cuter if there could be a two in it, and seeing as two husbands isn’t something to shout about, I’ll give it a couple of years and make it two dogs (and then, as the husband will have shifted to the last mentioned, I’ll turn it around and begin the list with him ;o)))

But back to the newest new job. Another nice number, and this boss should be easier to work for than the other. And it’s from home and shouldn’t take more than a couple of hours a week once things are set up. Though setting up may take a while****, as it’s everything since 2004!

And I’m also thinking that once we accumulate some money (if we ever do!) my two boss’s***** will be useful to know, as one’s a property developer with his own team of builders and the other’s a mechanic who runs a garage.

Yep, I’m feeling very clever as these are both necessary evils in life, where it’s usually impossible to know if you’re paying over the odds! Umm, I wonder if I can find a gardener******, a doctor and a dentist in need of a book-keeper…

* mostly men!

** through no personal experience I hasten to add. What can I say? Girls talk!

*** he's nearly here!!

**** Still, I’m not complaining as children and dogs cost money and it’ll be nice to have some. Darn shame about the time though, I don’t have enough of that as it is.

***** My third employer is a block of flats, so doesn't count.

****** Yes, I know gardeners aren't necessary, but I can dream ;o)

Stressed, or just turning into my mother?

I really should get around to finishing our bedroom curtains. And gagging the geese who live down the road might help too. Or maybe I should just take a sleep aid, like I did Sunday night; but then, on Monday morning, it took me hours to feel awake. Though I mustn’t complain as since Sunday night, when I’ve been asleep, I do seem to have been properly asleep. I’m just not sleeping as long as most consider necessary. But there’s also an upside to that, my house is clean for the first time in weeks!

I’m also rather enjoying the tidiness that lasts longer than normal (with the kids asleep!), and the quiet. I do like the quiet.

Plus I kind of figure the puppy-with-no-name will be pleased with my early starts, when he arrives next week. And it’ll be nice to wake up to a happy face and wagging tail! And the rest. Mustn’t lull myself into thinking it’s all going to be roses, after all, a night is a long time for a pup and chances are I’ll have a tad more cleaning to catch up on. But I am SO excited, and it’s SO good to have something to look forward to!

Not looking forward to today. It’s Thursday, and Thursday’s are long and tedious. I’ve had to cancel my shopping trip into town (where I should be buying my mother’s birthday pressie, as it’s also her birthday next Tuesday (as well as puppy day)) as my boss heaped a pile of work upon me on Tuesday. He said it wasn’t urgent, that I had a week to complete, but when you can only work three hours a day, and there’s two bank holidays in two weeks, and as I’ve decided I’m not working Wednesdays, a week isn’t such a long time. So off to work I go.

And I may have another job. Going to see the chap on Saturday. Not too bothered whether it happens or not, except I would like the money, but I’ve already told him I have no hours left in my days, and I’d have to work from home after 9pm. So this time next week I may have three jobs, and a puppy!

Did you know one in twenty adults has a compulsive disorder? I mention it as I heard it on the radio yesterday and I’ve been thinking about it. In fact, I don’t think people were very honest when asked, as I reckon you’re more likely to find it’s one in twenty adults who don’t have a compulsive disorder.

On the face of it, I’d say I don’t have any strange hang-ups (read disorders!), certainly none as odd as tin turning or colour coding my husband's shirts (I’m using these examples as they’re favourites with my friends!), but as I finished sweeping the kitchen floor this morning, it struck me as odd that I won’t allow myself to sit down until things are tidy. Least not unless, I’m really tired. Do you suppose that’s a disorder? Or that I’m becoming my mother, who used to swear the only time to get anything done was before the household woke up.

Don’t suppose it matters either way, just so long as it all gets done.

I also might get to see the head of year at my eldest’s school today. He called me back yesterday to ask why I wanted a meeting, said maybe we could just talk on the phone. Poor man didn’t say a lot when I listed my grievances. I almost felt bad, until I asked him not to inform my son I’d called. Then he admitted my son already knew, as before calling me back he’d gone and found R to ask why his mother was calling! Don’t you just the professionalism?! It’s not about the maths by the way. I wrote a letter about that, taking responsibility, and haven’t heard anything so am assuming that teacher didn’t have a problem. It’s about everything apart from the studies. I’m dreading it. I hate confrontation, and though I’m not expecting a row with this man, I already know he’s likely to be defensive.

What a horrid Thursday. It IS Thursday isn’t it? Hope so! Wish me luck, and I hope yours is more relaxing!

Zoom, Zonk, Replace

Does it make any sense to you? (I’m talking about the Zoom, Zonk, Replace title. Do try to keep up!)

Unless you’re a teenager, I figure it’s doubtful.

And if you’re thinking I’m going to explain it to you, think again.

You’ll have to trust me when I say, you don’t want to know what Zoom, Zonk, Replace means. Not that I really know, not for sure anyways. What I can tell you (after many minutes of deep frowns and squinting at a text book) is: - it’s totally bloody gibberish.

(Though of course, I wouldn’t offer my opinion if I hadn’t of been asked; but I was, by my son R, when he couldn’t complete his maths homework.)

So I took a look at his written sheet, thinking I could use the previous examples (after all, maths is my strong point! (And as I don’t have a lot of strong points, I get to mention it!!)) Umm, Lots of little lines, then more little lines grouped together and circled, then some numbers. Unfortunately none that seem to make any relevant sense.

But I’m going to fast. First you need to know the maths question, so to put you out of your misery (as I’m sure you’re just dying to know!) the first question was:

What is 2/3 of 6?

I spluttered with the thought that he couldn’t work this out (well wouldn’t you?! He’s in year 7!)

And here comes the irony, he could. No problem at all. The problem is setting it out correctly using the Zoom, Zonk, and Replace method!

WHY?

I don’t mean, why couldn’t he work it out using this ridiculously named method? I mean, why teach them this ridiculously named method, when they can work it out just fine without it? How does this help him? And why the heck didn’t the teacher make sure he had actually taught the boys how to use this method, instead of tormenting me with it? This is just the sort of ending to a day like mine, deserves.

I told R to do it any which way that makes sense to him, so long as he’s getting it right. But the poor boy is panicking, saying he’ll get into trouble if he doesn’t do it the teacher’s way.

Really?

Nooooooo, I don’t think so, not unless my enquiries result in me discovering this is some sure fire way to becoming a maths genius! And even then, it'd be my fault, not his. But until I get to be amazed at my ignorance in this matter, I’ll pen the maths teacher a short note explaining why my little darling isn’t following his Zoom, Zonk, and Replace method.