Something to write about!

That’s what the BH said to me when I stopped cursing. He cursed for slightly longer, but then he was still wearing his suit, so I guess that’s a good excuse and surely anyone getting suddenly sprayed with several cans of ice cold coke, would swear. Bloody kids thought it was hilarious, and if they were brighter I might think they set the situation up. And maybe I should write to Coca-Cola, and tell them how dangerous their new ‘fridge pack’ packaging is, when kids don’t open the box correctly?! When the box is laid on its side, those darn cans hurt your toes after rolling out, one after another, like flippin’ machine gun fire! At least the way the cans broke was interesting, some splitting apart in a spiral fashion, others creasing and bursting forth with pinhole cracks. The BH recons it’s the closest I’ve come to dancing in many years. But I wasn’t much amused with the amount of wiping up required.

And daft things don’t end there. Take today, the holidays have begun, the Christmas shopping is complete, and bar tonight’s meat, the food shopping too. Nothing to do but slob about (actually, that’s not true. But it’s nearly Christmas, and I’m on holiday!), so I figured I’d hit several birds with one stone (why did I write that? That’s an awful thing to say – but I’ll explain in a mo). The dog needed walking, the kids needed some air, and we needed some chicken for Tonight’s dinner – so I decided we’d walk to the shops.

Of course the BH didn’t consider joining us, and R managed to wheedle out of it by offering to help dad wash the deck, so four of us, and the dog, headed off for a brisk walk.

Apart from the stupid mutt managing to prove the dog research experts wrong by refusing to walk calmly in his new halti, the trip there went very well. And things started well on the way home too, I was almost imagining how I could tell the BH how he missed a joyous outing. Almost.

Unfortunately what I instead got to do, was call the BH and beg that he pick us all up. After all, a four year old can’t walk home, through grass, mud, and leafs , in just a sock, which is all she had left after my foot caught her heal and clean ripped the sole of her boot off.

And S’s reaction? ‘At least I still have the other boot!”

Never mind, it’s what memories are made of!

Back to my poor taste comment about birds. Dingbat died this week. Silly old bird had to be taken to the vet in the end. Wasn’t my idea, but when R sat me down and explained it wasn’t fair on Dingbat to keep him alive, I felt so guilty I knew I had to. And things had gotten a lot worse, but I won’t describe them here as it wouldn’t make for entertaining reading.

P came with me when it was done. He said he understood why we were doing it when we went, but by the evening I was again explaining. He took it harder than I expected, and I keep wondering if maybe I shouldn’t have allowed him to come with me, but he wanted to, and he’d become very close to Dingbat of late. But he cried most of the day, and I don’t think the school were very impressed with me.

We buried Dingbat by the pagoda, and have placed a large plant pot above him. After Christmas the kids and I will plant it with something bright and cheerful, just like Dingbat.

What’s a little bit scary is, I didn’t cry. I haven’t cried since the day I began taking my happy tablets, how weird is that? Very little moves me, and there isn’t much that touches me deep inside anymore. If I had more energy I’m sure I’d be seriously concerned. Instead I sit here knowing it isn’t right, but at the same time, if I try and change it, then everything might come back and I’d be a wreak again.

And people have been commenting on my calmness again. That used to make me laugh, as nothing was further from the truth (this was way back before I needed the happy pills!) Now, I believe them, as compared to most of them, I am calm. Just not for the reasons they probably think.

But I’ve made that all sound rather low, and I’m not! I’m good. Detached and tired, but good.

And to solve my tiredness I’d like a new bed, ideally one with a crappy soft mattress. I know this because I slept in S’s bed the other night, and it was the first time in years I didn’t wake full of aches. The BH nearly choked at the irony when I told him how much I enjoyed her bed, and sadly he’s not as keen to swap our expensive bed that works so well for his back.

And talking about aches and pains, I haven’t mentioned J getting sick in the car and my lackwit brother. Not that the two are related, just that aches and pains reminded me of them.

I picked J up from school on Tuesday and was told she was in the midst of a raging temperature. Quite why they didn’t call me immediately I don’t know, but it was obvious from just looking at her, she was ill. Not that I’m having a go, after all it was my own fault as she’d complained she didn’t feel good that morning. But it was my last day at work and I needed it, plus I thought she was just trying to find a way to go with P and I to the vets. So mean old mommy that I am, I made her go to school.

Once in the car, my poor pale girl immediately said she felt sick.
(Huh? As nice as I often try to be, can’t these kids remember that I don’t DO sick! And woe betide anyone who’s sick in my new car!!) But we were in a line of traffic. On a busy road. And my car doesn’t have enough crap in it yet to improvise. I did the only thing I could, I told her to be sick in her hat. Except then I remembered her hat’s only three weeks old, so I told her to grab S’s.

I have no idea if S argued about this, as I had turned the music up as loud as I could (to drown out any sound) and opened all the windows.

I dread to think how my children will remember their childhood.

And then there’s my brother. And what a useless little sod he is, which he’s always been, but now he’s useless AND getting old and grumpy. I don’t think I can even be bothered to explain, and anyway I’m sure all of you have people like this in your family. What’s truly frightening is, P gets more like him every day!