And suddenly…

Yesterday I felt better. I know I’ve been feeling a bit better for a while, but that wasn’t better better, it was better in the sense that things were dulled. But yesterday I woke up and felt….heaven forbid…chirpy!

The reminder of what it’s like to approach the day with such a light feeling, was wonderful, and though the kids did their best to dissipate my mood, I wasn’t giving up! You see, once my mother arrived at 9, I was having the day off!!

From the kids, that is. As it was Friday and people need paying I still had to go to work for the morning, but that wasn’t a dampener as I love my job and my dim, quiet little office (home from home ;o)).

But something did happen at work that left me shaken and stammering. Earlier this week the boss’s wife invited me and mine to a barbeque, today, at their place. But not just us, it’s a party. And I think you lot know me well enough to realise I’m not someone who looks forward to large gatherings, compounded ten-fold when I don’t know anyone there. But it had been okay as the boss’s wife is a good friend and knows I’m skittish about such things, and quickly let me off the hook when my smile didn’t reach my eyes. Phew, she was great about it, and I soon forgot about it. Until yesterday, when the boss showed up. I was busy, head down, doing paperwork when he suddenly said his wife had mentioned I wasn’t ‘up to’ attending their barbeque, and he wanted to know why.

It’s safe to say I froze with complete horror! On the spot with someone I don’t know too well, with someone who’s about as outgoing as a person can be. I looked up like a rabbit caught in head-lights, as he calmly sat there watching me, completely oblivious to my rising panic at having to explain myself. I managed to stutter, ‘I’m actually very shy, can’t really cope with groups of people I don’t know.’

But that only made him laugh! I was dying of embarrassment at being put on the spot, and he was laughing!! ‘Is that what it is? What do you think will happen? Think my friends are going to point and laugh at you?’ he asked.

Which was really too much to ask, and I didn’t have an answer, well, except for my crimson face.

Thank goodness the man knows when to stop, because he stopped laughing and just shook his head with a grin.

Funny thing is, I think I like him more for asking. Like a hurdle of understanding if that makes any sense.

Anyway back to my day. My mood was still high, even a little amused at myself after my embarrassment, so I left the office at lunchtime and headed home with bounce in my step with the anticipation of an afternoon of nothingness.

But when I got home things were not as quiet as they should have been. The house still had three kids and a godmother in it! Putting on my best fake smile I approached with caution and was relieved to discover they were just waiting for Nana to arrive, which she did, an hour later.

Ho-hum, chin up and all that, I was still getting a couple of hours without the kids and my smile was genuine as I waved them off.

My mistake was lunch, a hurried bowl of cereal, and then I realised I hadn’t taken my tablet.

I’m not completely sure whether I can blame a stomach full of milk, but I’m reasonably sure it was, but within half an hour, I was less feeling chipper by the minute. I had heartburn like you wouldn’t believe and I didn’t dare lie down for fear everything would come up. Which, when I felt worse than I could imagine, I began to yearn for.

But I’m afraid of being sick. Much too close to the smell and sound, plus I have a lot of trouble stopping once I’ve started. I stood in front of the fan in the kitchen offering silent payers and curing my stupid medication. When I couldn’t stand it any longer I called the BH and asked him to bring home some Gaviscon in a vain hope it would work on the heartburn like it did when I was pregnant.

But it didn’t. I just felt worse and worse. It hurt to swallow, it hurt to move, everything burned. So I went to bed, and in a virtual sitting position, fell asleep.

I missed the kids return along with dinner, which there was no way I could have eaten anyway. And around nine last night, I got up and sipped on water, relieved that I did feel slightly better.

I feel almost okay again this morning, but I’m not looking forward to the medication at lunchtime, as I’m kind of afraid of it now (silly, I know).

And ultimately, I feel cheated! It’s not often I get an afternoon of nothingness and quiet and it was stolen from me.

Never mind, today’s another day and at least I get to go to work again on Monday, and hey, I still feel…not unhappy!

Lazy Days

Wish this dumb dog would move! He’s lying asleep under my chair, and between not wanting to run over his ear, or wake him (life is easier when he sleeps!), I’m sat all wrong to type.

We’re one week down on the summer holidays and it’s safe to say I’m enjoying them. I don’t mean having the kids about (though I’ve only wanted to kill them half a dozen or so times) but the loss of caring what day it is, is delightful. Now if I could just persuade the kids to stop fighting, stop being hungry and thirsty all the time, stop yelling, stop going through three outfits a day (each), and tidy their rooms, my life would be a dream!

But back to reality. R finally received his school report yesterday, and there was a note with it which has made me smile – due to the number of boys loosing the equipment from their pencil cases, the school will now be providing all equipment required and parents are asked not to supplement with extras – Ha!! Loosing?!! Yeah, right. Still ‘tis good to know other parents won’t be pulling their hair out as I did. Bloody typical that they do it when he’s leaving though!

And something else interesting about his report, it wasn’t as good as usual. His grades look alright, but two of the teachers (English and Maths) say he doesn’t try as hard enough, and another complained he didn’t hand homework in on time (though she did add it was due to absences – strange as it’s only four days in the last two terms). R swears blind she’s lying, and I do find it odd as the school make a big point of saying they hand out demerits if homework isn’t in on time, and R has never had a demerit. His year teacher even comments that R has collected more merits than most. I don’t much care after all the fuss we’ve had with the school this year, but it bugs me a bit as this report will go to his new school and it doesn’t seem fair after so many years of glowing reports.

Having said that, everything has always come so easy to R and I’ve often wondered how he would cope when things got tougher. After all, you have to learn to study and R hasn’t got a clue what’s involved with that! Lucky sod really, but all things considered I think it’s a good thing he’s off to an academic school next term.


Other news includes, S turning 4! Four. Four years since I had a baby, where does the time go? And have I mentioned I’ve finally accepted S is my last? Of course on a sensible level I’ve known this for a while, but my heart ached at the reality. But no more, now it’s okay, sad but okay.

And let’s face it, I couldn’t cope with any more kids! Sure they all start off cute (nature’s big con ;o)), but then they go and grow up, and whine, and stamp their feet, and never stop eating, or wanting to do things. I’m tired, and as much as I love them all to bits, I’d really like them all to go away for a while. I know that sounds incredibly mean, but I just would like it all to stop for a day or two. But I mustn’t complain as life is definitely easier without all the school runs!


And I was talking about S’s birthday. It was a good day, she seemed happy enough with her gifts and being taken out for dinner. And I had to laugh, as my Friday friend (who’s also S’s Godmother) gave S a card for turning 3. You should have heard her exclaim in utter disgust, ‘I’M NOT 3!’ What amuses me so much is that this same woman gave P a card for turning 6 on his 4th birthday, and it’s all becoming a bit of a joke now. Though I should add, P wasn’t near as indignant about her error as S was!

Oh my day just got ruined! A tiny chaffinch just killed itself by flying into the office window. At least I think it’s dead, I can’t feel a heartbeat and after holding it for ten minutes, it’s still not moving. Poor thing, I’ve put it out of the sun and away from any cats reach just in case I’m wrong. I hope I am.

Did I ever mention how I had to take a day of work once because I couldn’t stop crying over a dead mouse? I don’t normally go quite so nuts, but I was very pregnant with R, and it was my fault it was dead. Thought I was being clever by using those humane mouse traps which don’t kill the mice, just trap them. But this little thing died of sheer fright, and there it was dead in my hands, I just felt so awful about it. Guess it was better than being poisoned and dying in writhing agony, but at the time I was beside myself.

What a daft mare I am!

And a messy one, which brings us to my final bit for today (bet you thought I’d have to shut up soon, eh?!), Daisy tagged me into showing what I had in my fridge, closet, car and handbag.


Well the fridge is full of goodies left over from S’s birthday:That’s chocolate cake (two of them ;o)), lemonade, custard, cream, profiteroles, and then the usual stuff like Tommy sauce, marg, watermelon, grapes, coke, eggs, veg, cheeses, milk, beer, lucozade and bacon.
















The closet isn’t so bad. Piles of jeans, with jumpers on the top shelf that will hopefully not get used for several more weeks, and lots of shirts.
















My handbag is stuffed full as you can see! Kids sunglasses, phone/pda, tissues, cheque book, purse with cards and money, lipstick, memory pen, receipts galore, lighters, and of course cigarettes. They say the state of a woman’s handbag is a reflection of her state of mind, and I’m mighty surprised it isn’t worse.








The car is an absolute tip! Spades, buckets, dog treats, more tissues, telephone directory, booster seats, stickers, umbrella, dog lead, wipes, CDs for a CD player which hasn’t worked for two years. Have you heard enough yet? I’ll trust you have!








And now I have to tag people, but Ummmm, I think I'll just tag everyone who reads this! (And I'll know, I check the IPs!!)

Oh joy…

R’s just made me a cup of tea.

I’m sure I should be grateful, and I did smile and make all the right noises, but blimey it’s like drinking dishwater! Am thinking I’ll be able to nip into the cloakroom when he sits to eat his breakfast, and then I can dispose of it.

So I bet you’re wondering what I’ve been up to, not that I’d actually place money on that, but the answer is: nothing. I get up, clean, walk the dog, do whatever has to be done, and stare at the computer a while, then go back to bed. You may also notice that really isn’t enough to fill a person’s day, and you’d be right, except I’ve cut my day in half. Seriously, I now sleep twice a day, for three or four hours at a time. At least this has been my pattern for three days this week. The best days.

It can’t go on though, as it’s not fair on the kids or the BH, and anyway the boys are attending cricket camp this coming week which will cramp my new found slovenly style. Plus it doesn’t lead to any inspiring posts.

So seeing as I have nothing to say, I thought I’d tell you about someone who was a good friend. It came to me that I’ve never mentioned Molly here, and after reading Tim-tambolini’s post I’m inspired to do so.

Molly

A decade ago the BH and I were working flat out on renovating out first house. I can’t even begin to described what a nightmare it was (least not today, as it in itself deserves a week of posts!) but if I explain we used a chemical toilet, and had a hose coming in a window to provide us with water, for eight months, you’re sure to get an idea of how idyllic life was back then.

You may also be able to work out we only had one child, R, and it’s almost amusing to remember the boy had terrible trouble adapting to being stuck in front of a TV for days on end, as previously to our home-owning days, he’d never experienced it.

But back to Molly. It was all R’s fault, and Tweety-pie’s. We had two birds back then, Dingbat the cockatiel, and Tweety the budgie, but after several years Tweety developed an attitude and though a great deal smaller, would continually attack poor Dingbat. So instead of one cage crammed into our one room of habitable living space, we had two. And R kept sneezing. Turned out he didn’t have the lungs for sleeping two foot from a bird cage. It was either the birds or R that had to go, and though he was more trouble, we opted to keep R.

So I called the old peoples home up the road and asked if they’d like two birds with two cages, and they figured they could easily loose the cages in one of their many napping rooms lounges.

But a couple of months later I received a call from a woman, Molly, to say that Dingbat was hated. Apparently he screeched too much for the old dears’ hearing aids and had been banished to a little used corridor. Molly wasn’t happy about her friends’ attitude so thought to call me after finding my number stuck to the bottom of his cage.

Thankfully by then we had two habitable rooms in our house and after speaking with Mother Superior it was agreed we’d take him back.

Molly met me at the door and slowly (she had a walking frame) led me through the mass of corridors, all the time muttering about how rotten Phyllis was, and how it was her fault no one liked Dingbat (90 year old Phyllis was apparently top-dog). When Molly offered me tea it seemed rude to say no, especially after it had obviously taken her twenty minutes to get down to the front door to wait for me.

So for the next hour I sat and listened as Molly gossiped about who were the nuns favourites, and all the things she hated about the home. She wasn’t a happy woman.

Seemed she felt duped into being there. Apparently she’d put her name down for a place, not expecting anything to happen for a couple of years. But it had, very quickly, and her family pointed out it wasn’t fair of her to expect them to worry about her living alone, when the home would be able to make sure she was safe and fed. And her friends had promised to visit, but hadn’t. In fact Molly hadn’t had a single visitor after the first week, and she’d been there over a year.

I couldn’t walk away after that. She had no one, and so after putting Dingbat in my car I returned to Molly’s room and asked if it would be alright if I came to see her the following Saturday.

And so began one of the dearest friendships of my life.

The first few months were very difficult as Molly cried a lot. She was desperate to leave and I probably didn’t help as I humoured her whims and made endless calls to get her transferred. But there was no where else for someone with no money and so little mobility.

Once she’d accepted she was stuck, I was able to cheer her somewhat by tracking down her cat that she’d been forced to give up when she’d moved there. I took pictures and came back with stories from the new owner. Then I bought her a Furby. It makes me giggle now, but Molly loved that daft toy!

And jam, fresh custard, and grapes always cheered her up, so I took them up to her each Saturday at 11 and listened to her stories.

She told me all about walking three miles to school and back each day, her school lessons, the scandals, the boys she had crushes on and how her brother would see them off. But her brother had married a cow of a woman who hated the relationship Molly had with her brother, and so it was only after his wife died that she got close to her brother again. When Molly was sixteen the Germans arrived and occupied the island for the next five years. I heard first hand what happened to the girls (Gerry-bags as Molly once whispered they were then called) who fraternised the soldiers, and discovered romantic ending were few and far between. Not that Molly had a great deal of sympathy back then, as her brother and beau were off fighting in Europe.

The stuff I used to find most interesting was how day to day life was. Hiding the radios, pinning the eggs before giving them to the Germans, drying the laundry strung over bushes, and collecting the sea water to boil down for salt.

But then the Germans were gone and her beau, Bob, came home to marry her. They married in winter and unfortunately there was ice on the ground. On Molly’s wedding day she slipped and hurt her neck, she never recovered. For many years she saw doctors, but the pain never ceased, so her and her husband decided it wouldn’t be wise to have children. Molly never regretted that decision, but Bob did, and did something about it. When he announced he wanted a divorce so he could marry his pregnant girlfriend Molly wrote to the Pope begging him not to allow it. Of course Bob got his divorce and left Molly to pine her life away.

Over thirty years she spent waiting for Bob to come to his senses and realise she was the woman for him. Molly had more patience than me, and it paid off when he was widowed. After lots of letters and phone-calls Bob came back to the island and asked Molly to forgive him. In a heart-beat she did, and Bob went back to England to pack up his things and explain to his daughter what he was doing. His daughter took it all with good grace and helped her father pack.

But the day before he was due to return he had a heart attack and died. Molly was devastated. By then she was in her seventies and all she had left was her brother, but age had caught up with him too and he developed Alzheimer’s. Molly was eighty when he died, and I would have been with her at his funeral except I was off giving birth to P.

For the next couple of years I visited with children in tow, and I think she grew to like them, though she rolled her eyes and asked me if I’d ever stop when I confided I was pregnant with my fourth, S.

Then something wonderful happened. Molly liked to play on the organ in the Chapel and it turned out there was a certain gentleman, Alfonso, who liked to listen to her play. Unfortunately Alfonso’s English wasn’t so good, but his Italian accent fascinated Molly and I would sit and listen to her gush like a teenager about how she was teaching him words and learning Italian too.

I decided to spice things up a bit, so I went and found Alfonso and with some difficulty managed to ask if he would accompany me in taking Molly out to lunch on her eighty-third birthday. He was only too happy to agree and so I got to play goose-berry and taxi-driver to the love-birds.

After that things really started happening fast, but then I guess they didn’t have much time to waste. Alfonso offered to take Molly to Assisi as St Francis was Molly’s favourite Saint, and to the horror of Mother Superior, Molly agreed.

But those nuns didn’t play fair and they told the Priest what Molly and Alfonso were planning, and being that Molly was such a devote Catholic she hesitated when Father Michael frowned.

Looking back we shouldn’t have doubted Alfonso could see a way past the fuss, and I darn near cried with glee when Molly called one evening to say Alfonso had proposed. Molly was getting married! She was so happy. And nervous too. And though the nuns didn’t approve of Alfonso, even they could see he made Molly happy.

Everything was planned, the church booked, the lunch organised, and a holiday in Italy reserved. Molly was busy the week before her wedding, but she and Alfonso made time to go out to lunch together and enjoy some quiet time.

Alfonso thought she was tired when he walked her back to her room and suggested she have a lie-down, he’d see her at dinner.

He didn’t.

Mother-Superior herself called me to tell me Molly had died. It was a gentle painless thing, and for that I’m glad, as Molly surely deserved it. At the time it broke my heart that she hadn’t made it to the alter with Alfonso, but I’ve since realised she was happy that day, and I couldn’t have hoped for more for her.

Her funeral was difficult for me, as what little family she had eyed me with suspicion and didn’t talk to me. Never really understood that, but it doesn’t matter, Molly knew how much I loved her.

There ain’t no pleasing me!

Is that a double negative? Ugh, who* cares?

Anyway, ‘tis too hot. The BH says I complain when it’s cold, and now I’m bitching that it’s too warm. Darn right I am, as I don’t get an air conditioned office to sit in, in fact the only place which has air conditioning around here is the car. But I daren’t use as it drinks the diesel when I do. So I’m too hot!!

As you can tell my mood isn’t the best. Strange, as I now think the medication is working, and I was expecting things to bother me less. Which is probably how it appears to the outside world, as though everything still irritates me the same, I just don’t have the energy to moan about it. Or maybe ‘energy’ isn’t the right* word as it’s not that I’m tired, it’s more like feeling detached and too weary to articulate it.

Not sure I like this affect either, as it’s stuffing up my thinking. So much has been happening, but it’s all so tiresome I can’t be bothered to post about it. Where’s the fun gone? And I wouldn’t even mind if I was teary, but even my tears have deserted me. I should have been sobbing this morning at S’s Nursery leaving show. I cried when R left, and he was only my first, and you’d think having attended for years and this being my final event with them, I’d be moved. And I am, deep inside. Somewhere.

And now the show is out of the way, it’s pretty much all over for this school year, and they’ll all finish at midday tomorrow (yeah, I’m thrilled to have to be in three places at once, thank heavens for the BH!). Though S is supposed to be having her final swim lesson this afternoon, but I’ve decided we’re not going. Of course my mother will kill me, but I’m too hot and short of time to drive all that way when all they’ll do is mess about in the pool (as they always do on the final lessons).

Flippin’eck I’ve turned into a right misery. It’s alright for you, you can click the next blog button and move on, but me? I’m stuck with myself!

Even the dog walks aren’t cheering me up, and I haven’t been to the woods for the last three days. Or the beach, but I always avoid the beach in the summer as it’s when all the fair-weather beach bums show up, as they send me off the Richter scale with their filthy looks and murmurs of disapproval as my dog turns to look at their children.

Something’s got to give. I want something to give. Only trouble is I don’t have the spark to make it happen myself.

I guess the holidays might turn up a joy or two. At least once we get the first three weeks of chaotic activities out of the way. All the moms at the schools are bleating about how long they are this year (7 weeks) and what shall they do with the kids. After the first three weeks, I plan to do nothing! As far as I’m concerned the kids can learn to amuse themselves.

Actually there is something I feel like doing. Writing. But not here, I mean writing stories again. But that’s hardly fair on the kids and the BH as I do get a tad obsessed, though it may be why I can’t think of anything to type here, as my mind keeps turning back towards the plot and character creation. Useless mare can’t do two things at once you know! Least not when it comes to writing.

So instead, I do nothing. Becoming a bit of a habit.





* Amanda and Dave may feel free to knock themselves out with corrections.



Edit added: I did this whilst over at Poopie's, and thought it quite apt.

What Your Soul Really Looks Like

You are very passionate and quite temperamental. While you can be moody, you always crave comfort. You are a very grounded, responsible, and realistic person. People may not want to hear the truth from you, but they're going to get it. You believe that people see you for how you are, not how you look. But deep down, you know that's not exactly true. Your near future is still unknown, and a little scary. You'll get through wild times - and you'll textually enjoy it. For you, love is all about caring and comfort. You couldn't fall in love with someone you didn't trust.

Inside the Room of Your Soul

You stinker!

This dog is driving me to distraction (I was going to write nuts, but I don’t need the dog for that) though in a lot of ways he has gotten better over the past couple of weeks, no, I have just two major problems left, and though I’m almost embarrassed to mention them here, I’m going to, as I’ll take any advice I can!

The first is: his willy (I wonder how many google hits that will earn me ;o)) This dog won’t put it away. Whenever he sits down, out it pops, which of course amuses the children no end, but doesn’t tickle me so much.

The other is: He’s greedy. And I mean beyond reason. Bad enough he’ll jump to take food off the table or out of the children’s hands, but that isn’t what bothers me most. The most bothersome habit is (actually I’ve discovered I AM embarrassed to write this), checking his poop to see if there’s anything worth eating over again.

There, I said it. Even thinking about it makes me feel ill, and I’ll bet you’re sitting there thinking ‘Gee, thanks Jona, now I feel ill too!’ Sorry, but I need help, or rather, my dog does.

And with this information confided, you can guess his tummy still isn’t settled. Which in turn, leads to some very unhappy mornings (he had become clean overnight, until this latest habit). My kitchen now has just two smells, yuck and bleach, and neither is how I want my kitchen to smell!

Other news includes, more sports days. J enjoyed hers, though we all got wet due to a sudden cloud burst.

And R had his, but I didn’t realise I could have gone to watch R’s (there was no letter to say so!), not that I could have gone, as it was at the same time as J’s. And R came home disappointed as he came fourth in the 400m, which I know that doesn’t sound so bad, but there was only four runners.

I of course did the mom thing of explaining that we all have different gifts and strengths, his father on the other hand started laughing.

S also had her ballet recital yesterday, and that was another activity I couldn’t make, as I was busy on the school run. But the BH made her day by watching his littlest darling prance around in borrowed ballet shoes two sizes too big for her (but she didn’t fall over!)

My stress level went through the roof on Wednesday night, due to a dear friend being rushed into hospital with suspected meningitis. Thankfully it wasn’t, and she’s recovering quickly, but between that and my doctor’s appointment scheduled for Thursday morning, I didn’t sleep so well.

The doctor’s appointment went okay I suppose, and I was glad I didn’t end up a blubbering mess again. I’m now on double dose to see if that improves me.

Oh and I also had the courage to cancel my Friday friend. Well actually, I texted her, which doesn’t show much courage, but I’m a crap liar, so what’s a gal to do? She was fine about it (though I was kind of honest, and said I didn’t feel up to it), but mentioned her youngest finishes at 2:30 next Friday and she and her pain-in-the-arse-son could be here early. I'm really not sure I'll feel up to that either.

Blonde? I should be platinum!

I’m going to admit something really, really stupid that happened yesterday. And I mean toe-curling stupid!

I don’t think I shall be sharing this with people in real life, unless they notice. But as I have experience with alopecia and am rather handy with my make-up, it boded well that no-one commented yesterday. That, or they thought it too delicate to mention to my face.

As you know, it was P’s eighth birthday yesterday, however that has nothing to do with this tale of woe stupidity, and so I’ll get back to that later.

Ugh, where to start? This is embarrassing! So first I’ll tell more than ever wanted to know about my make-up habits.

I curl my eyelashes. Nothing too amazing in that, plenty of women do. And nowadays you can buy those fancy heated type. Unfortunately I’m too tight to buy them. Instead I have a metal pair (you know the type – look like an instrument of torture) and I use my hairdryer to warm them.

You know where this is going, don’t you? Yeah.

Yesterday, I followed my regular routine, I heated my curlers in the usual fashion, but instead of placing my dryer on the bed next to me, I left them on my lap whilst I curled my eyelashes – again nothing too outrageously abnormal in that.

But here’s my words of warning: when a dryer slips, it’s instinct to grab for it.

And this is an awful idea when your right hand is busy holding eyelash curlers in place.

The BH was lying in bed watching me in stunned silence, only daring to speak to point out I’d said ‘Oh my god!’ six times, and it wasn’t going to put my eyelashes back.

In my defence, there’s something very un-nerving about suddenly seeing ALL your right eye eyelashes suddenly at arms length. Poor little things. Poor me.

What’s weird is, it didn’t even hurt. You’d think it would, right? I certainly sat there waiting for the pain, but thankfully it didn’t come. And better still I caught my dryer!

So what are the chances of me posting a picture now? NIL. At least not of my face. Can’t have you lot enlarging the photo and seeing my bald eye! This is just too embarrassing, and I’m going to have to live with is for more than a couple of weeks. I’m guessing, but if you know how long eyelashes take to grow back, and it isn’t that long, please feel free to make me feel better (and explain how you know).

So now my tale of embarrassment is out, and I suppose I should mention P’s birthday. It went well, all things considered.

Those things include a mother with no eyelashes and a fragile disposition, a sports day with too many people milling around for my comfort, grandparents and godparents who stress me to the point of breaking, and a general hecticness that should only be repeated once a year. Which, if I only had one child, would work out perfectly. But as I don't we're now on the two week countdown to S's fourth birthday.

But in all seriousness, he seemed to love the day and gave me a wonderful hug and said so before going to bed. Of course none of us were thrilled with his sister S who broke his main pressie and hid it, before the day was out.

Here’s some moments from our day:

I’m finding today hard

It’s S’s sports day tomorrow, but I still haven’t invited The Godmother (which is really mean, as she knows about it). I just can’t face the call, knowing she’ll drive me bonkers when we’re all there.

And my friend just left (the one with the pain in the arse son, whom I’m sure I’ve mentioned before, he certainly winds me up often enough, but I can’t find any links). Thank goodness, as I was truly struggling to smile and make conversation.

Why is it some people are good for me (in the sense they cheer me up) and other’s just finish me off? They’re all nice people, and care about me. Which I guess makes the problem wholly mine

I’ve been on these tablets for over two weeks now, aren’t they supposed to be working by now? I know they’re not some magic miracle, but still…

Oh and I told my friend I was on them, figuring she deserved an explanation as to why I haven’t been chirpy for months. She assumed I’d had a nervous breakdown and pointed out I am highly strung. I didn’t say anything, but inside I was screaming ‘OH F*CK OFF! I’m highly strung when you’re here because of your bloody child!’

And Kobi ripped her top. It’s always her clothes. Why the heck is that? He never rips anyone else’s! So whilst the pain in the arse son is busy demolishing my house, I get to sit there apologising for my damn dog and offering to buy her clothes (though she never accepts).

Friday used to be my favourite day of the week, it isn’t anymore.

I also wish I could face telling my parents I’m feeling overwhelmed at the moment. Wish I could ask for a bit of help. But my brother is being a thoughtless, incompetent git, and I don’t want to add to their inconveniences. And that’s apart from not having the courage.

Did I mention it’s P’s 8th birthday tomorrow? And have you noticed my mind is jumping? But back to the birthday. I feel bad as the kids are too young to realise I’m not up to the usual chaos at the moment. Instead they just think I’m mean. P wanted a sleep-over (his first) and asked weeks ago. At the time I said no because his room isn’t big enough – or rather, that was the excuse I gave him. Trouble is he got R to agree to swap rooms for the night, and so figured he could have him friend around. But his friend is one of the little sods darling’s who’s afraid of dogs, and the real reason I couldn’t face it was the noise this lad makes as he runs through my house screaming and slamming doors. Anyway, P went and invited him and then thought to mention it to me, and I promptly said no and told him he should have okayed it with me first. So I’m a bad guy. And worse still, the new Pirates of the Caribbean is out tomorrow, and only got designated as a 12A a couple of weeks ago. P thought he was going to see it, but I took a look at the trailer and he can’t.

And the dog ate S’s ballet shoes. This I didn’t need, as she only has one lesson to go before the summer break. Under normal circumstances I would simply tell her ballet had finished, but next week is the class where they invite parents to watch and she’s so excited. Not that I can make it, as I’ve got other kids to pick up (not all my own either), but the BH has come to the rescue and will go watch his baby girl perform. Just have to remember to ask every mother I meet if they have a pair of shoes they can lend us, as I really don’ want to spend the money when she’s sure to grow over the summer.

Well there you go, another cheery read of all that’s on my mind! Actually it’s not all, but I figure I’ve bored you enough, and anyway I’ve run out of time.

Have a good weekend, and I'm hoping mine might be, as this time last year was lovely.

Becoming blonder

I got a new toy today. A phone! I’ve never had a new phone before (always others’ cast-offs), but then I’m not very au fait with phones and within a minute I managed to lock my sim card. Ho-hum the BH got a laugh, and demonstrated he’s the clever-cloggs of our union.

But at least I’m not as electronically challenged as some, as the boss’s wife proved last night. The boss is away today. Left yesterday and apparently thought I was going into the office this morning, but I wasn’t, I was busy getting my hair done. Turned into a bit of a problem as he was expecting an urgent fax and wanted it faxed on. Instead of calling me and telling me I was needed, my dear friend (the boss’s wife) tried to help. But she can’t use a fax/printer and managed to put the urgent document into the wrong paper-feed, and then got the page printed over. I can giggle now, but when she called me, we were both panic-struck. I left my dinner on the table and dashed around there as she made phone calls to get another copy sent. But all’s well that ends well, and I don’t suppose either of us are in a hurry to tell the boss what a pair we are.

As the BH is fond of saying, Woman, know your limits! Good job he smiles when he says it.

And today was nice, because as I mentioned, I went to the hairdresser. It was wonderful to sit there and have someone run their fingers through my hair. A bit too wonderful as I could feel myself getting sleepy, and that could be down-right embarrassing! Plus I went a few shades lighter. Blonde again, though the BH has yet to be convinced I’m as blonde as I should be.

Umm, I think he means he thinks I look better blonde.

Just being lazy…

Or maybe not lazy, as there just doesn’t seem to be any time between Thursdays and Tuesdays. Not that there is between, Tuesdays and Thursdays either. But it’s definitely time that’s at fault.

Anyhoo, I’m sitting here still waiting for these tablets to kick in so I can become a calm and collected person, though I suppose I am calmer as I haven’t cried since I started taking them. Amazing really, as it’s been nearly two weeks and that’s a loooong time for me to go without tears! But I’m still agitated inside. I still have to remind myself to breathe and recite daft little ditties to myself, when I think I’m going to either scream at someone, or keel over.

Kind of worried the drugs have kicked in, and this is as good as it gets, but if so I may then have to ask to up the dosage ;o)

One thing that hasn’t improved is my sleeping. In fact I think it’s getting worse, though I do get to say I’m now a night person and a morning person! This time last year I couldn’t imagine getting up to see the dawn, now I stand in the woods and wonder at what moment it is actually ‘dawn’.

And it’s so pretty early in the morning! The clouds all have pink streaks, the birds are all going crazy, the sun turns orange, it’s not too hot, and best of all there’s hardly anyone about.

In fact I think I may be developing a small problem with that. You see I have this ‘thing’ – I like it when I don’t see anyone before six. And I mean anyone! I get really fed up when a cyclist or car whizzes past (no one follows the speed limit early in the morning!). I keep telling myself, my morning isn’t ruined just because I’ve seen another soul, but I do feel a heap more relaxed when I return from the dog walk and haven’t seen anyone.

I was walking back today when two cars past and ruined my tranquillity, and I got to thinking how nice the world would be with hardly anyone in it. Who knows, maybe I’m ready to live in a big place with lots of space at last?

But there is something else I don’t like about my early morning walks. The roads are okay, but when I hit the woods, then I know I’m the first to walk through them each day, because of all the spider’s webs. If you could watch me, you’d laugh! Most of the time I walk with my arm held in front of my head, as I just can’t bear getting the damn things on my face. I can feel them accumulating down my arms and some mornings that creeps me out so much, I start looking for the spiders. And when you look, you can always see them, hanging from trees and hiding under leafs that stretch across the path. Beginning to wish we lived next to the sea, which I suppose we do, but not within walking distance to be home before the house awakes.

So anyway, how long do you suppose a person can go with less than five hours sleep a night? Maybe I’ll go doodle-ally and find out, then let you know. Oh wait, I’m there already ;o)

Oh and the headmaster called me yesterday. What a lovely man! I so wish I had insisted on talking with him in the first place, as I bet R wouldn’t be leaving that school. Of course he totally bullshitted me about the movie being edited and suitable for the younger boys, but he was so charming I didn’t rise to challenging him about the age R saw on the box, or question whether he seriously believed a Hollywood film is historically accurate. No, I let it go. But for me, not him or the school.

I’m trying hard not to let things get to me at the moment, and it isn’t wise to create situations where I get wound up (even if I know I’m right!). And anyway, evil cow that I am, I made of point of telling a couple of mothers who didn’t know about the movie and didn’t sound impressed about it, and as their sons aren’t leaving they can take the baton if they so wish. Actually one of the mother’s was really upset, not so much about the movie, but about R leaving. She admitted she started crying when she heard (tempted to suggest she should be on the same tablets as me ;o)), and called her ex-husband to say she thought their son should leave too. Little drastic in my opinion, but she did go on to say she doesn’t believe the school values anything other than sporting excellence. But now that R’s ‘friends’ know he’s leaving, he’s taking a lot of stick for it, and I can’t see this woman’s son wanting to put himself in the firing line.

And talking about new schools, later today S has her induction afternoon at J’s school! She’s so excited! So am I. Just think, another couple of months, and I’ll have all that extra time to myself! Yippee!! You know, I actually cried when R started school, but I think I’ll throw a mother’s luncheon party when S starts.

Right well, the kitchen's clean and tidy, the dog’s been walked, and it’s nearly time to wake the house. Have a good day!