Get the 'no fags' flags out. Two whole days and I am officially a non-smoker. Surely?
Marched to school this pm in the drizzling rain accompanied by Van Morrison's Bright Side of the Road. Considered 'Why does it always rain on me?' but needed to get in good mom mood. Laughed at a teenager who bounced on a stray balloon, bursting it. When he turned round looking embarrassed I scowled. Really I was jealous. My best mummy buddy asked if it was the end of my working week that caused me to bounce into the playground. Embarrassed to admit it was down to Kylie and the ipod.
Supersis rang. Laughingly informed me of the expansion of the Class 1 post-office support programme to her entire office (nearly). The stationery cupboard was raided, parcelled up and posted to the little one. Hope postie arrives before afternoon pick up tomorrow or Class 1 will miss out: as she'll have a whole weekend to stash the stationery treasure. With that kind of supportive Auntie it's no surprise that the family tree on the Class 1 wall includes the little one herself, her brother, her sister, her cousin and her Aunt. No mention of mom nor Daddy. That's bleeding gratitude.
Though not usually prone to navel gazing (much) think the tummy rash may be an allergic reaction to belt buckle. With hindsight the flare-up coincided with the increase in overhang of my yummy-mummy muffin-top-tummy. In an attractive manner. Obviously.
Plucked up the courage to tell a few close ones that I now blog. Thought it only fair as I'm sharing the details of my day with the whole wide world. Responses have been varied: He-who-must-be-adored: suppose I'm slated. Captain Chaos: Why? Tweenager: will it show me up? The designer half of the 'accessorize or die duo' read it and rang, berating me for making her mascara run. Is my life that funny? No, it was seeing that I had '1 friends' consisting of some random bloke from the other side of the world that made her cry with laughter.
Despite a number of short telecons with the forensic half of the duo re champagne flutes, schedules and dips from my deli, I haven't 'fessed up yet. Fretting that she'll furrow her brow in her special way and inform me of the dangers I'm letting myself and loved ones in for. That, as they say, is what friends are for.