It’s not usually a slog to blog. But the slog of life takes over and when at night I do get to sit and think I can’t find that space in my brain: that little bit that gives you the ability to think. All I am capable of is sitting, staring, glass of wine in hand, and boom I’m asleep on the sofa. Well that was last week anyway. The first week back was a killer. Doubly so as He-who-must-be-adored was busy saving London on ‘lates’, leaving me with the quick food prep and endless after-school taxi-ing of dustbin-lids. Shocking after the summer-break to face scheduled constant clock-watching. Now we’ve turned into one of those families that ferries their children from one organised activity to another. Not that they all have full-schedules, just juggling activities for three of them with working and having a husband hardy at home (should add running a home to the list but due to the dull nature of domestic drudgery I’ve given up).
This week I have no such excuse. He-who-must-be-adored is on Jury Service so He’s home for supper, helping ferry the lids about. It has been bliss. For me. Not so for He: all He’s managed is to beat the lids scores on some Nintendo game, and improve his personal Suduko time. I worry for his sanity: his behaviour resembles that of a caged animal. If he could only actually do some Jury Service he’d be happy. When he was ‘selected’ the crown offered no evidence. Case closed. Instead of this being a good citizen trip He’s in his own personal hell: trapped in a room with lots of bored people, doing ‘small talk’. It doesn’t suit Him. He can’t cope. At home we remind Him of the importance of communication. His attitude is, when there’s something important to communicate I will. I am from a completely different school of thought and He-who-must-be-adored says I do enough talking for the both of us. That’s why I keep refusing to move to the middle of nowhere: He doesn’t talk enough for me.
On the second day he commandeered my ipod. Plugs in ears clearly communicates ‘small talkers stay away with your trivial tittle-tattle’. But I am left bereft. A life without music is like a pencil without a sharpener – pointless and disappointing. The kitchen radio is a poor substitute as you have to keep perfectly still three paces to the left or you get reception interference signified by a constant crackly noise. I would hunt out CDs but since the ipod it’s too big an effort. Today I found the Teenager’s ipod but her selection is over-populated with tunes not of my taste (a sure sign of my age me thinks).
She’s settled down well this term and is keeping on top of homework so she doesn’t have to miss Rugby. Obviously we’ve had the new-term stress of sticky back plastic: I think we got cocky when the first book went so well with neither a crease nor air bubble in sight. Downhill after that. At least I didn’t have to peel the sorry stuff off my face and out of my hair – an improvement on last year when somehow my head got stuck to the table. To my mind, the new cover on her history book looks appropriately old.
Now Gorgeous Boy is in Year 5 he gets school swimming lessons. Outraged yesterday he learnt the council believes you cannot learn to swim properly in Bermuda-style trunks, even though he’s been having private lessons for the past 5 years in them, and is now a pretty strong swimmer. Boys should wear those tight little Speedo type yokes. Exactly the type I banned He-who-must-be-adored from wearing more than a decade ago. This morning we compromised and found a baggy pair that came above the knee. I’ll find out tonight if they let him in the pool.
Not so sure how the Little One is settling. She got off to a bad start when her new teacher made them make hats with their names on. Being of an independent spirit The Little One didn’t see why she should have to wear a hot hat just because the teacher didn’t know her name. She had a point.
Supersis has had a hard couple of weeks. Her daughter’s college have changed the timetable and days only a month after promising there was no change: messing up her working and cover arrangements for the third year in a row. And work is so busy the entire office feels like a hamster emporium: they run round on their little wheels getting nowhere fast. Still at least we’ve got our little trip to the big apple to look forward to in November. She tried to persuade me to go last year, and I was there in principle, just the small matter of not having the money. But with her super organised and helpful way she worked out a plan for me last year that made it appear to cost me nothing. Ha ha ha. The flights are booked. Our ‘suite’ is booked. Shopping lists are work-in-progress. Just need to pack and go.