Hoorah. Glad term is over as was starting to lose humour with the junior school. I wrote a note giving permission for Gorgeous Boy to play out with his broken arm. But still they excluded him from having fun: Health and Safety. He’s miserable from spending the last week in other classes whilst his peers traipse off for fun. Do they understand anything of children at all? At least they re-issued his end of term report with an improved grade. So it comes as no real surprise that Ofsted said the school could do better.
So summer hols. And it rains. And it rains. And now the real work begins. Word got out about the pet holiday scheme. Day 1 of the hols and we have agreed to rabbit cover. Hope it’ll take the pressure off getting our own little bunnies for a while. Phew.
Operation clean up this damn house finally got underway. Sadly, not in preparation for a move: just catering for visiting out-laws. My attitude to housework is a tad more relaxed that the family of He-who-must-be-adored. I asked ‘when our offspring look back what will seem more important, that their childhood was happy or the kitchen floor was clean?’ ‘Obviously’ He said ‘the floor’. He jokes. Me hopes.
To give me more cleaning time I e-ordered the shopping from Tesco. The packing was lacking. What was I most in need of? A bottle of wine. What arrived in smithereens? A bottle of red wine. I hadn’t got round to washing the hallway floor so I wasn’t bothered that the dripping box made it look like a bloodbath. The worst thing to have below a smashed bottle of red wine? Breaded products? They were not in a good state. And I sent back the children’s juices with wine engrained round the rim. What I didn’t notice till the driver left was the soggy box of Tampons. Of the super-absorbency kind. They certainly do what it says on the can!
Despite my efforts, the house looked tidier, but wasn’t much cleaner. I knew I was being a nag when the Little One told me ‘I know there are no house-work fairies, as they are all busy collecting teeth.’ I was relieved when He-who-must-be-adored came home and did some of his man magic on the windows. Have decided if we ever get round to moving I’ll look for something really small, with self-clean or wipeable surfaces.
To save even more time Supersis did a mercy dash collecting extra bedding from here there and everywhere. There are now temp beds in every available spare space. I’d like to think it all looks rather cosy and friendly. Shabby is another word.
Yesterday was the last day of freedom ‘til September so thought it’d be good to get a new bikini, unencumbered by the dustbin lids. Should have followed my instincts and gone back to bed with a book. Not only have I left it too bleeding late for any kind of choice, the non-smoking non-stop eating has had a big impact on the size of my chest. It was hard getting a bikini when I was at comic proportions. It’s now gone from epic to freaky. The sales assistant that tried to get me into a gigantic effort was clearly mistaken. A freaky fit it is. The bikini is not 'of the moment'. But it is secure. No fear of falling out of that structure. Just as well seeing as we are holidaying with Mr Smut himself, (who has already called to congratulate me on the porn-star proportions). What I must remember is it doesn't matter how much you spend on bikinis an odd bod is an oddbod.
My Forensic friend is a true friend. She used my depression as an excuse for retail therapy and turned up a while later with a number of new bikinis for me to try. Even with her not insubstantial chest she was shocked at my growth. So now I am the lucky owner of two bikinis. One of which is for sitting very still in. Which is just perfect for my holiday intentions.