Hello Blog,

Just a quick one in between the kids coming home from school and me having to go and pick up the Prodigal (an hour plus trip) because he has spent his bus fare…..

It’s hot. 33 degrees. No more to be said about that.

I’ve recreated my childhood. Absolutely, totally recreated my childhood except that now I’m one of the parents.

What would a psychiatrist tell me this means?

Perhaps it means I actually like living in houses that are in the process of being done up?

perhaps it means that I like having a lot of work to do?

I’ve made this happen somewhere along the line – lots of kids, house in constant state (of repair), a husband with no sense of embarrassment and who definitely thinks the cost of living should be as it was in the 1940’s (just like my charming father), LONG road trips in a car full of kids (albeit with seat belts these days), toys which are broken, a garden littered with tools and sharp, pointy, dangerous things……

The Doctor

Tomorrow I go back to the Dr who stood me up last week.

Knowing her, she is going to tell me off. She probably expected me to come at some other time – some other time than the one she gave me over the phone (in French) and which I repeated back to her and wrote down.

The fact that I wrote the wrong day on my note which said (in French) ‘im here, where are you?’ will make her think I’m the guilty party.

I might take the time I wrote on the post it note and wave it around in front of her nose.

Except I won’t do it. I won’t say anything other than ‘desolee’ as my language part of my brain needs a lot of oil (wine) to get working and to turn up to see her drunk might lead to further issues……..like the kids being taken off me…..hang on…..could it work?

 

Ok Blog – the charming buggers 3,4 & 5 are back and 4 just told me that number 3 got a bad mark in school. And so the afternoon begins.

 

Remember: in a marriage, three is company and two is not  (oscar wilde).

Until next time and a big hello to my two new followers (siblings – does that count?).

 

 

It is in fact 45 steps.

45 steps!!!!!!!!!!!!

I counted them the 6 times I ran between the kitchen and the oven.

over and out.

Dear Blog,

I know. I can’t give you any decent excuses for why I’ve neglected you for 5 days. All I can say is, I’ve let things get on top of me  but I promise to try harder next time (this is, by the way, also the same thing I say to my French teacher every single Monday morning).

Gains and Loses

 

 I’ve lost more ground (literal) in my battle with the Husband and his chaos this week than I have in a long time. 

He played a clever card in our warfare. He told me ‘ok, from now on I will finish one room at a time.’  I believed him. The room was going to be the kitchen – fabulous? Great? Let’s have it finished.

Since that statement he has:

-knocked through an ancient window opening onto the stairs, painted four outside windows, drilled what started as 1 small hole between the playroom and kitchen and ended up in being a rather big, big hole on both sides of the wall so he could run an internet cable (and needed trips to three different neighbours for drill bits and then a trip to the town to buy the longest drill bit in France and which cost about as much as an engagement ring), cleaned the pool, bought cases and cases of wine to take advantage of the supermarket offers, tidied (not in my understanding of the word) the office (totally chaotic) and 4th bedroom (neither room we’ve ever been able to use other than to dump tools and shite), knocked out part of a wall of the fireplace, knocked through part of the actual fireplace floor in my bedroom, researched………whatever he researches……..but work in the kitchen? well…. He has moaned a lot too. An awful lot.

So total gains to him: 5 rooms (and I’m being lenient) in a chaotic state

Total gains to me: 1 wardrobe with the door hanging off for a year was finally moved (out of my sight) and the door put back on. Oh and the Australian canvas of photos was finally hung up after 3 1/2 years.

I don’t mean to sound like a spoilt brat but after 3 1/2 years of waging a Mess/Renovation battle with the love of my life, I think a little break would do me good. A little break to say? our other house…………. oh, no, hang on a minute. That one is worse than this. 

The husband is stubborn. He wants to do it all himself. He also wants to do every room at the same time. I’m wondering now if he regrets the conversation of February 2010 :

‘hey love, check out this house. Isn’t it perfect? we could move straight in and enjoy ourselves.’

‘I don’t want to pay for a house in which the work has already been done.’

OOOOH, I bet he REGRETS THOSE WORDS now!!!!

This evening

I picked up the Prodigal, brought him home and he was SHOUTED at by the Husband (my husband, to avoid confusion) because he, the Prodigal, had cooked chips last night and spilt chip fat all over the new made to measure slab of wood/kitchen stand that IVE ONLY BEEN WAITING THREE YEARS FOR!!!!!!!

The Prodigal went out (and I don’t blame him), shortly after arriving home, and got drunk with some Petanque players (or so he said) and fell in through the door, on top of the dog around 9.30 p.m.

The Husband went to bed at 8.30 p.m. probably under the weight of his House Woes.

The Fatty was being difficult until 10.15 p.m.

I am now enjoying the first half an hour of being on my own today…….except that it’s almost tomorrow.

And so the day ends with some words by Dickens:

Reflect on your present blessings, of which every man has many; not on your past misfortunes, of which all men have some.

Until next time.

 

 

 

 

Blog! How are you?

Not so good? Well, everyone has days like that. Tomorrow it will be different……….maybe not better…..maybe worse in fact….but different.

Parenting tip no. 1: I’ve shared these wise words (above) with the kids countless times. I can tell that they take real comfort in them  (although I have noticed that they look horrified, possibly dumbstruck and definitely tearful when they hear them. I guess they are just filled with love for me and my sound parenting skills).

Blardey hell! The flatulent guest has just released the F-bomb (the fart to top all farts).  The old girl has one more night with us before her human parents return tomorrow. I’ve been checking that she is breathing when she falls asleep. I’m hovering around her like some neurotic parent of a new born baby.  Just stay alive for a few (12?……24?) more hours PLEASE?

Good things today:

erm…

I’ll come back to this.

Bad or annoying things today:

-sick kids

-whineging 2 year old

-arriving at the dr’s surgery and being stood up……by the dr.

-missing out on a banana bread morning (actually that should go to top of the list).

-picking up enough soggy dog shite to fill four nappy bags (scented but lacking the power to overcome that particular odour).

-whingeing two year old.

-sick Prodigal who ‘NEEDS to leave the house.’ as he has split up with his ex current ex current ex ex current current girlfriend

-not sleeping last night (yes, I know I DO go on about this – my husband tells me the exact same thing – but I’m going to moan about it anyway) because a)the farking dogs doing things in my room they shouldn’t b) I overate at dinner….. yep, second time this week that a stomach ache from a stuff up has kept me awake. Will I learn?…….. well, actually I have. I had a fried egg on toast for dinner tonight.

the problem here is this:

I’ve also drunk half a bottle of wine.

in another hour, I’ll THINK I’m hungry again………and will also need more wine……

Never mind. Tomorrow is Saturday so I can sleep in until  what?………oh goodie – 7.30 a.m………

The party that wasn’t intended, is tomorrow afternoon.

The Lips turns 6 on Monday.

6 years since I fractured my ankle in an Australia playground and I just happened to be 9 plus months pregnant. Ah….happy memories.  The Husband coming back with coffees (he had taken a half day from work) to find me on the floor. Him not panicking AT ALL and running around a bit…….very together…..  Him running off again to get me a taxi to take me to the hospital.  Me, finally in the taxi (how?) and a drunk guy opening the door and nearly sitting on top of me. Me, in the waiting room after the X ray, hearing two medical people say ‘ohhhh!! She is what? 9 months pregnant? Who is going to have to break this news to her?’. Me, sitting in the X ray room (still) and nurses coming in to have a gawp at the pregnant idiot.  The Husband, calling my mother (visiting) to get to the hospital to pick me up. My mother, borrowing someone’s car and driving all of the way with the handbreak on (they sold that car not long after). So I gave birth with my ankle to knee in a cast, wrapped in black bin liners……but not until a few weeks later.  I had crutches to get around on before then and for 6 weeks after. No car. Lived on the top of a very steep hill and had a 14 month old (plus The Prodigal and The Face and a husband who worked until 10.30 p.m. most nights) . Still……..HAPPY MEMORIES!

Anyway, it is his party tomorrow.

Entre nous, I DREAD these events. DREAD them. Last year, the B’stard kid (and there is always one) threw something at The Lip’s head so hard that he had this Harry Potter like scar for…..actually, I think it is still there. And guess who is coming tomorrow? Plus 9 other buggers………..actually, make that 7, as Mrs. East Coast is bringing two (plus one) of hers and naturally, they do not come under the ‘other bugger’ category (phew…do you think she’ll notice I did that turnaround?).

Blog – I’m going to have to call it a night.

This is probably a good thing.

Just to leave you with something Fatty said yesterday:

‘Where do you come from, Fatty?’, I ask, affectionately from something cute he has just done.

‘I come from a retard.’ he  replied.

Out of the mouths of babes………………..

Sweet dreams, Blog (and my HUGE followers group).

Dear Blog,

GOOD MORNING!!! Did you sleep well?

Having just gone over Day 5 of blog – I can safely say that yesterday’s blog was a bit rubbish. I should have made a transitional (blog) entry.

I apologise.

Will try harder for blog 6.

And remember – Only dull people are brilliant at breakfast (Oscar Wilde).

 

 

Good evening, Blog,

How are you doing?

Nice to hear that.

Right – now back to ME.

Topics to be pondered on this evening:

-can you get food poisoning from a dirty chip pan?

-does the full moon make people (and other species) crazy?

-How difficult is it to have a good night’s sleep?

-The 35 steps

So, we’ll begin with the last one.

There are 35 steps from my kitchen (stocked with the usual kitchen apparel plus school bags, a 5 foot canvas stuck over with photos from Australia, bags full of wood chips, wood, gas heater, enough coloured pencils to redecorate the house, paper, more paper, even more paper, grubby children, grumpy husband, toys, dogs beds (x2), dog hair (copious), ingredients for things to burn, plates, not very clean looking saucepans, dead mice under the floorboards? definitely…..or I hope so, as how else would I explain THAT smell etc) to the OUTSIDE OVEN. 35 steps.  35 steps from that oven to the sink with say, a large, heavy, full of boiling liquid saucepan.  35 steps back to the kitchen in case I forget something……i mean, WHEN I forget something. 35 steps backwards and forwards every bloody day until that day of days, when the Husband, permits me (yes, I have to ask permission as he has hidden the fuse) to switch on the oven which resides in the kitchen. The mother of all ovens, indeed.  

but

We are still two months away from that moment (the inside oven acts as an (expensive) radiator. Not until the inside temperature is about 12 degrees, I am allowed to switch this on). Two months of me still not working out how not to burn everything within an outside gas oven (hotter at the bottom than the top? Well, that isn’t always the case either). Two months away from me standing there in all weathers (ok, so there is a roof but no walls), relighting the stove that gets blown out.

did I mention that there are 35 steps between the kitchen and this oven?….

-I think we have satisfactorily covered the 35 Steps topic. Now let us address the ‘how difficult is it to have a good night’s sleep?’ question:

It would appear for me……VERY difficult.

In fact, we can combine, at this time of the month (no, not mine…the lunar calendar), the full moon question too.

So……I go to bed early as (ref to blog 4 re never get caught drinking wine alone by French parents? Well, I got that WRONG. The French parents turned up with two bottles of red which we drank together……and then opened two more) as I was tired. 

‘Good night, Prodigal. Whatever you do, make sure you close the two dogs (especially the farting one) in the kitchen tonight!’

‘ok, lovely, beautiful, youthful, fabulous, Mother.’

Well, I’ll be damned if those two dogs didn’t contrive a way to open the door, sneak upstairs and then:

Farting dog: Did countless impressions of an emphysemic (? someone with buggered lungs) patient who is about to die but still managing to let off some stinkers at the same time as coughing up its lungs.

Other dog: licking my elbow, running around the upstairs (floorboards with unclipped nails), licking my elbow, whining, nudging my face….. not farting……to be fair.

I get up and let them outside but they don’t want to go (as it is freezing standing there at an open door) and it is at 3 a.m.

The village bell chimes that it is 3 a.m. at 3.30 a.m.

The bell chimes that it is 3 a.m. again at 3.35 a.m.

4.00 a.m. – I hear noises from the kitchen. ‘Hear we go,’ I think (wrongly) ‘the Prodigal can’t sleep and has found the vodka.’

It’s not him (thank christ) but the FAce. he is sick and is making himself some hot drink. So we have a chat and I think it may have followed along the lines of ‘don’t let those fecking dogs out of the kitchen else I will drag you out of your bed and make you sleep down here with them. Hope you are feeling better. Are we clear?’

4.30 a.m. – guess for whom the bell is tolling?

-The mixed up travel arrangements:

I’m introducing a new topic here – just to keep my 2 FOLLOWERS on their toes.

‘Prodigal, have you fully charged your mobile? We don’t want any cock ups when it comes to the time I need to pick you up from (the nearest town) after your first day, do we?’

‘Yes beautiful etc, Mother. No problem.’

So at 18.45, I leave to go and collect him. I have done my research. I have gone through the route of the bus from start to finish and pinpointed every single bloody bus stop along the way as i just KNOW in my womb, that this very simple of things (collecting an 18 year old from a bus stop – a 20 minute journey) can and will go wrong.

And it did.

A SIMPLE AND STRAIGHTFORWARD 20 min round trip collection, ending up taken over an hour (and involved me driving between two potential drop off stops which were FALSE even though they were on the bus company website; an odd conversation between me and an old dog walker who said ‘je vous comprends, pas du tout.’ but I laboured my point anyway until he told me the wrong thing JUST to be rid of me; a stop at my lovely Mrs. East Coast friend’s house, to collect the Prodigal who had the sense to walk there and call me).

A yes, my mobile is fully charged mother was actually a No, my mobile battery is flat.

Now, this makes me worried because:

-he is 18

-on Sunday I have to take him and pick him up from a place 45 mins away (national beauty pagent thing – I’m presuming he is doing the hair and not appearing as one of the contestants). We know the start time and the finish time is ‘erm…..yeah, they mentioned that it might finish around 10.00 or 11 p.m. and they haven’t told me where it is.’ and on Friday 4th Oct, I have to pick him up from a town 30 mins away at ‘around 3 a.m.’………I’m sure these trips will all run smoothly……smooth as broken, smashed, unoiled (can you say that?) clockwork.

– I know that you are now desperate for me to cover the chip pan question but I’m going to have to disappoint you, dear Readers, the Husband’s sighings at having to come in, pick up a sleeping two year old from the filthy rug (I am a dedicated blogger and when the Prof and the Face said ‘but mum, he is asleep on the floor, I ignored them. And when the Husband came in and said ‘ did you know that he was asleep on the floor?’ ……..I said yes……a little shame? a very little) have increased in a way that only a french person could do………small, little sighs…..huffs or puffs, you might say……v quiet……..but their essence FILL THE ROOM.

so, I’m sighing? singing? signing…..signing out.

Until next time? When we can discuss the ‘it could be worse?’ topic. For this I will reveal little snippets of the lives of two of my friends (F’Aussie and Miss East Coast for starters). It’s a favourite game of mine (the could be worse) and when I was (practically) a single mother, living away from family (and help)……….about 10,000 million miles away….. with a 11 yr old, 7 year old and insomniac under 18 months old (two)  with 14 months difference in age – well, at that time, I used to play it ALL OF THE TIME!).

p.s. Im about to post this without reading it over……… have I just lost my 2 followers? forgive me.

 

 

 

 

Hello blog,

how are you?

Today is Monday. Tell me why I don’t like Mondays? Ok, I will:

1. The Face’s alarm didn’t go off (even though someone NAGGED him about making sure his itouch was charged and not on 18th December 2027 at 17.45 as its date and time).  So…..my alarm went off (as I’m boring and make sure these things work……mainly) and I have to say, I did enjoy shouting ‘The FACE! Quick! It’s 7 a.m.  You’ve got 10 minutes (to save the world, Flash?) to get ready before the bus LEAVES!!!!!’ – I almost felt sorry for him……

2. I had a French lesson booked for 9 a.m.  Reason enough to hate Mondays, I know. Normally, so that I can move all the SHITE the family leaves everywhere each and every friggin’ morning, BEFORE my french teacher arrives, the Husband takes the kids to school…………i said NOR-mally, as in, today, at 8.30 a.m., when I wasn’t dressed, was trying to find invitation templates for the party that The Lips-I-definitely-don’t-want-a-birthday-party-this-saturday….oh-hang-on, I-now-think-I-will-have-one, needed to take to school in 10 minutes……anyway, the husband announced that he needed to go right then and there to get cash to pay someone  he wasn’t seeing for three hours. Of course he did……and what he didn’t need was to buy more nicorette gum….no, of course not.

So

2. continued

I take the kids to school and pass my French teacher (who happens to be a school mum and extremely well organised), shove the kids through the school gate (I think they fell but I couldn’t hear their cries once I’d turned the corner), run back past my French teacher (who arrives in under 2 mins) back to the house, kick some shite under furniture, go into the back kitchen where I am shocked to find my washing machine, hanging off the 2 foot ledge/plinth (argue amongst yourselves) by one corner, whilst the water and evacuation pipes are so taut as to be near to snapping free, with a floor as slippery as ice (softener – the blame lies with you) and the cycle still going.  

Do you know how heavy a (n overloaded……..GUILTY) washing machine is? especially when you have no grip on the floor. It is however funny how I found some super human strength to push the thing back into it’s jail cell ….I mean, plinth/step just as the door was knocked…..

My french lesson was a success as usual. REally, I don’t know why I continue when I’m so fluent……

3. Mondays follow the weekend. The weekend involves more bodies in and out of the house than in the week. More bodies (other than mine) means more mess and more pee pee near or thereabouts the direction of the toilet but never into it..etc. 

4. Today I thought I would make jam.

For the first time.

For those of you who know me, this was and will be, certain to FAIL (I don’t do this every Monday and actually has nothing to do with Mondays but I think I can hear the laughter of the Bogster (friend) and the Jusmaster (another friend) from here).

5. Drinking wine at 5 p.m.

well, following on from an email exchange with the F’Aussie (an Aussie who lives in France and therefore not to be confused with Aussies who quite rightly, live in Australia), today, and Mondays in particular, at WINE TIME, I cannot drink wine.

This is a self imposed ban.

Normally I do not exert such control and those last seconds ticking away before 5.00 p.m. feel that bit longer than say……..the last few seconds before your French teacher arrives to CHAOS…..anyway, to get back on track –

this evening, I have a French child in the house. 

I had two french children in the house but one has gone to do a sporting activity with the Lips and the husband (and bless my soul, FAtty too).

To be found, by French parents, drinking wine, on my own at 5 p.m.?  Mon DIEU!!!!!!!!!

So, I found a mug and poured the wine into that and no one will be any the wiser (bottoms up, F’aussie).

 

Ok – now to go back to blog 3 and the flatulent guest:

The gas this guest emits could be used in a chemical warfare situation.

It clears rooms.

It lingers and comes back and hits you in waves and waves and waves.

It smells like freshly laid dog poo………. and here is the clue 

The guest is a labrador. Old as the hills (mind you, I think I actually have more grey hair than her…..and thinking about it, maybe my gas isn’t as fragrant as I’d like to think but I HOPE that is where the similarities stop?).

Time to put down my pen and pap…..keyboard and burn some things for dinner.

A bientot

Tomorrow we shall discuss if ‘mum, is bloody hell a swear word?’ and other such dilemmas.

 

 

 

Dear blog,

I’ve missed you. It has been three days since my last confession…….

The (last part of the) week that was:

The husband returns with a bottle of champagne, roses, a mini boom box, a smile on his face, a twinkle in his eye and a gift from THAT shop in Paris.  We open a bottle each and have a civilised catch up.

Camera 1 – same scene, five hours on – this shot would capture dancing in the kitchen, an ultra eye twinkle and a few more empty bottles

Camera 2 – bedroom scene – two hours on – this shot would capture……………wouldn’t you like to know?! Actually, in reality, this shot would capture the beginning of the drunken misunderstanding. The beginning of much to-ing and fro-ing from the bedroom ‘and another thing (or sching in this case)’ . I was two bottles behind him and was now very tired and VERY sober. I stayed in bed. He stomped around the house in protest of? I have no idea. I think he didn’t either. But he felt very strongly about ‘it’ all the same.

7.00 a.m. ALARM. WAKEY WAKEY. Except that I am already awake as I didn’t go to sleep.

and so the day begins

but wait,

it’s my turn for the toddler group. SHIT! I have visions of peepee/ca-ca toilets that need to be cleaned and the remains or rather damning evidence of our Party of Two.

And once I get that sorted out, the toddler group stand me up!!!!!!!!   Entre nous, I’m relieved. The still drunk husband is snoring on the sofa…..

I continue to chase my tail for a while and don’t get very far with the house and jobs. In the meantime, the Prodigal needs to get ready for his first day of Coiffure School in a big(ish) town, 30/40 mins drive from here. I nag, he ignores me and 5 mins before we leave, he still isn’t ready.

The Drunk one is starting to sober up.

The Fatty is grumpy and now I realise I will have to kill three hours with him in a soft play cafe whilst we wait for the Prodigal to finish as it’s not worth my while (and petrol) getting home and going back.

SOFT PLAY – there aren’t many words put together, that make my heart and spirit sink as much as those two.  Good job I’m not tired or hungover…..

Back home (via the supermarket – AGAIN – another bad queue, I lose my credit card, the queue does a collective sigh, the cashier begins to dismantle the check out till to look for it, the Prodigal looks like he wants to curl up and die when I say loudly ‘i HAVE to find that card and no, Prodigal, I am not just going to leave and cancel it once I’m home, thanks for the (shite) advice.’) the house is chaotic as I left the Husband and four unsupervised kids, make that the unsupervised Husband and four kids and a dog to leave things where they fall.

WE HAVE TO INTERRUPT THIS SERVICE DUE TO UNFORESEEN CIRCUMSTANCES (the kids and husband are back).

and I didn’t even get onto the flatulent guest.

Until next time.

As I burn the dinner:

Child number 3 (the Professor) is skateboarding.

The Face (child number 2) is supervising and tutoring the Professor.

Fatty (child number 5) is the audience in it’s entirety. So that I can type this piece, I am allowing him free access to some dried apricots. What a nappy filled day I’m going to enjoy tomorrow.

Meanwhile, our very jolly and very reasonable neighbour, has the volume set to MAX for the French news.  She enjoys the boys skateboarding so much that perhaps she wants them to enjoy listening to the radio at the same time?

The Prodigal, who has calmed down since this afternoon’s mania, is upstairs doing? I just don’t want to know. The Lips (child number 4) ISN’T winding up anyone so I’ll find him once the smoke alarm goes off which will mean dinner is ready.

The Husband remains in Paris. I can’t blame him. I’d remain in Paris if I could…. (he says a new sex shop has opened in the street his flat is in. I’m wondering why he felt the need to tell me this. He then told me he had bought me a present. Are these two statements related?).

(I can hear the neighbour’s French news even over P.M., radio 4, played through speakers in the kitchen. She REALLLY enjoys skateboarding. In fact, and as another aside, the Prodigal revealed that Hers were the first, real live breasts he ever saw. He also revealed to having seen his girlfriend’s mother naked…….and one of my friends)

The dinner now having been eaten (a lasagne so wobbly that perhaps, in my knackered and worn down state, I had confused lasagne sheets with gelatine?), it is time to sum up the day’s events:

– dream that husband dies which gives me that SUDDEN WAKEY WAKEY horror  just before the bell tolled 6 a.m. (yes, in our village, the bell tolls on the hour…..and if not on the hour, then sometime around the hour that was…..half an hour since or will be – it is on a need to know basis, clearly).

-perhaps, as I awoke, I screamed as the Prof and the Lips are soon in my bed and fighting over who is next to mummy.

-The Face gets up at 6.30 for school.

-The Prof, in doing some mighty calculation in his head, wriggles and I kick him out of the bed

-I doze off and have a continuation of the husband dying dream

– MUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! gently whispers Fatty.

The day begins.

It is a Wednesday which means no school for the Prof and the Face. And, as usual, Mother Hubbard’s cupboards are bare. Off to the supermarche we go.  Need I say anymore on that? You all know the scene – untethered goats is the best description I ever read describing taking children (not French children….they behave) around a supermarket.

I pick the Rubbish Queue. I have a talent for this. I wait…..we wait, rather. I shout. They misbehave. It feels like a lifetime has past (mine), I see but pretend not to see the woman behind me who only has two items to my piles of toilet paper, dog food and doughnuts, watermelon…… I can feel her eyes boring into my head ‘see me. see me and let me go in front’ – I look away….. treat others as you want to be treated yourself? Not today, my friend.

Load the car. Wonder at the shoppers who, rather than walk an extra what? few metres to the opposite trolley park,  have added trolleys to the long, long lines (x 3) of parked trolleys which just about allow one car to pass by.

Next errand: Tennis inscription, as they say here. Booking the kids in for some tennis lessons.

FAIL (the tennis club has a very full internet site. So full that they couldn’t squeeze in the opening times)

Next errand: unloading the car by juggling the multi coke pack, baguette, a cantaloupe and large dog food bag

FAIL (who would have thought that the cantaloupe would make so much mess as it slipped onto the tarmac?)

The Prodigal does me a good turn. He follows Fatty around whilst I do some vacuuming upstairs.

Meanwhile, the FAce returns from school beaming with delight as he got 3/3 for maths…………..

The Prodigal, later, does me a bad turn when I agree to allow him out to meet his friends in the forest (no, not a name of a bar…..an actual forest) on the condition that he doesn’t drink. He seems to feel that the condition is unfair. We exchange some not very nice words. I go looking for my keys to lock the exits………AGAIN.

Good things today:

my dream didn’t come true.

I managed 10 mins on the rowing machine without ONE child standing so close next to me that I knock them over with my stride (or whatever you call a pull of the rower).

I took the five kids and the dog to my friend’s house and let them run around wildly.

I have one follower of my blog!!!!! Pride – self pride but still…..

And now:

Off to sanitise the Prof, the Lips and Fatty. Clean up after dinner. Do the washing. Clear up the MESS until it all starts over again tomorrow.

Bonne soirée

 

 

–