Sitting down to blog for the third time today. Unusually neither tweens nor teens at the pc. Hope I get beyond switching the damn thing on before being called away. This past week has just flashed by in a busy old blur….
Ipswich last weekend with the outlaws. Obviously He-who-must-be-adored was busy saving London. Similarly, He’s brother was working and He’s other sister was galavanting off around the world. Again. Was a tad worried about leaving He-who-must-be-adored on Bunny duty but he made a solemn bunny promise. I didn’t mind Rabbit care, and the lids positively loved it. I just found it weird that someone designed rabbit food that looks exactly like rabbit poo.
I know we’re not regular visitors but after a heavily-trafficked journey to Suffolk, it was disheartening to arrive at the care-home of He’s grandma to be asked ‘Do I know You?’ At least the dustbin lids got to spend time with their Nana and Nana-Nana (as their great grandma has been re-named). My Little One smartly observes that: ‘Nana-Nana is really really really old’. Shame she’s not so keen on wearing the hearing aid as the resulting conversation hardly flowed. Luckily Nana translated all that was said. At full volume. Despite the warm weather, Nana-Nana didn’t want to venture into the gardens, for fear of catching a cold. Bless her heart; it’s enough to put you off aging.
It’s a funny old business trying to find somewhere to eat outside London. Even when they clearly have enough separate chairs and tables for a party of 10 Ipswich restaurants just don’t seem to be able to want to cope. Or is this just a Suffolk thing?
Back in the big smoke, Monday morning was spent in a cleaning and shopping frenzy before entertaining the Designer and her baby for the afternoon. She daftly left me in charge in the garden for a full two minutes during which time the Designer Baby managed to get a bleeding lip. Oooops.
Thought the house felt rather quiet so the Tween invited another cousin and the Designer’s daughter for a sleepover. Two more nieces arrived later that evening, along with the Forensic one and Mr Smutty with yet more swimwear options for my hols. Hurray for good friends and personal shoppers. There was no need for Mr Smutty to come, but think he was ever hopeful of catching a glance of someone, anyone, in swimwear. Rather put off new swimsuit by the moulded cups that neatly fit the heads of not-so-small children. One of the Forensic Manager’s twins has nearly finished with chickenpox. The other no spots. You can’t fly with new spots. We are all ignoring our options should new spots appear. Ended the evening depressed at the size of me in swimwear and the size of my swimwear alongwith the fact that both the Forensic Manager and the Designer are already packed for the hols.
Tuesday was a bit stressy. Had the best babysitter in (she bakes cakes) whilst I worked. A call came from the West End where the Tween shopped with her Teen cousins. And was vomiting. Could I come and get her? Er…am at work…alone… manning the phones of two companies, whilst trying to cram a whole month’s work into one day. Located He-who-must-be-adored who can usually be found somewhere in central London. He’d come home early to relieve the babysitter and was in the middle of cooking supper. When Captain Chaos finally relieved me in the office I arrived home to discover two further nieces and Supersis had come for tea. Ooops that one slipped my mind. Luckily He-who-must-be-adored’s brother was in Central London and escorted the girls back to Finsbury Park before heading home to Cambridge. So then I discover it was over-indulgence in an eat-all-you-can frenzy that caused the vomit. Despite all my worries, the Tween was fine and was requesting choccy cake by 9pm. Bloody Madam. I spent the rest of the evening in a daze, collapsed on the sofa, panicking about all that packing I was yet to do.
Yesterday the Little One awoke with two spots. Back to Chase Farm Hospital tooing and frooing between the blood unit (for me) and the fracture clinic for Gorgeous Boy. The consultant not happy about removing the cast as the healing time isn’t up. But off it came. He gave us the choice: take the risk with a splint if you want to swim on holiday, but any further pain, and return straight to the hospital. Luckily think the spots were mozzy bites.
Holiday haircuts for all last night and I notice Gorgeous Boy is not himself. By lunchtime today he’s admitted his arm hurts. A lot. The fracture clinic want to see us again tomorrow at 10am, for a new cast. Onto the Internet we go for a watertight sleeve. Hmm slight rush on the things…this being the holiday season n’ all, but one company promise delivery by 5.30pm tomorrow. You can’t take a 9-year-old boy on holiday and expect him to sit out of the pool. Last year had to keep checking whether he’d turned into a merman he was in the water so much.
The good news is am nearly up to date with washing and ironing and there are lots of neat piles waiting to be packed. Now the airlines have reduced the baggage weight shall spend tomorrow evening on and off the weighing scales with the luggage.
Tonight is the American outlaws last night in England. The loud one has been here all week, but the others return tonight. Will be sad to see them go in the morning. Although doubt I'll actually see them go as they leave in the wee small hours. Remain ever hopeful of some day soon persuading He-who-must-be-adored to spend more than two hours on a plane to go and see them.
Only two more days to go and we’re off to Spain…17 of us…and the dustbin-lids outnumber the adults…Worried? Yes. But at least the sun will be shining and we’ll have our own pool and I won’t be mass catering…ooops oh yes I will. And only the seven pre-menstrual females in the group.
No more worries for a week or two…