She's being delivered back to her house tomorrow. That's tomorrow.
I won't sign for her.
Wednesday, 9 May 2012
Why???
She juggled a couple of magazines, shook one and began the journey. She licked her finger and flapped the page, licked her finger and flapped the page, licked her finger and flapped the page.... several times. Many several times. Then she tried another magazine. Licked her finger and flapped the page, licked her finger and flapped the page, licked her finger and ah!! There it is. The Holy Grail. 'Dartmoor. Sleeps 6. Available May-August. Ring blah blah...'
'Uh-huh?????'
'You've been to Devon haven't you?'
'Yes mum. Lived there for 3 years.'
'I know Sir Gawain likes holidays in big houses with everyone. I'll give it to him.'
'Yes. (WTF??) More of a Cornwall girl myself.' (But like Thelma, or was it Louise?, I ain't goin' through Devon...)
'Ah Cornwall. I was thinking that would be nice. I've gone off the idea of Norfolk you'll be pleased to know. I'd like to move to Cornwall now.'
Blink blink....
There would be a punchline but I'd be arrested.
'Uh-huh?????'
'You've been to Devon haven't you?'
'Yes mum. Lived there for 3 years.'
'I know Sir Gawain likes holidays in big houses with everyone. I'll give it to him.'
'Yes. (WTF??) More of a Cornwall girl myself.' (But like Thelma, or was it Louise?, I ain't goin' through Devon...)
'Ah Cornwall. I was thinking that would be nice. I've gone off the idea of Norfolk you'll be pleased to know. I'd like to move to Cornwall now.'
Blink blink....
There would be a punchline but I'd be arrested.
Tuesday, 8 May 2012
Mammoths Can't Fly
I was still kinda hanging on to my new-found peace after the monster tree burning ceremony. We skipped around the beast that took over a year to make, lost it's shelter when we switched halls, mouldered under black sacks for a further 8 months and now was to make it's final Elephant-Man stand in the middle of the woods to have wishes and demons tied to it and be danced around by idiots in the sputtering rain and set fire to.... I hung lots of demons on it's sad saggy branches - and I must say I felt buckets better afterwards. Madame All-Back-To-Mine suggested a minute's silence, which was followed by Madame It'll-Be-Fine's initiation of the Okey-Cokey. Then we sent all the loony-minors off to find the hidden eggs (only 2 weeks late) before we revelled in the sugar-fest, stamping out the now demonic-looking ashes.... A perfect Friday.
Then we bathed in a fabulous Monday. It did however mean missing the local paper coming up to the gang in the park for an article on how Home Ed numbers have gone up - but hey.... I was a passenger in a car that didn't smell of football boots and bananas listening to a CD I don't despise without the backbeat of medieval battle-cries. Pure joy. Roving Blade and I skipped off to the London Palladium and had child-free grown-up fun. We sat in lush darkness and lapped up Ryan Adams singing his slow heart-breaking mournful songs - one after another after another of desolate longing. Interjecting each with 'Here's another basket of fucking sunshine.' Or 'I thought I'd up the tempo by singing about someone wanting to go out to try and touch someone's boobs.... of course the rest of the set is about the torment of that rejection....' We love 'im. I especially loved his 10 minute whispered laudation of his cat as he tinkled the piano, his back towards us.... 'I love you Mr Cat..' The boys a twisted genius. I wore my beaten up old PVC trousers that now stick together but I felt funky and free-from.
But the price of fun is high. 2 flat tyres when I get back ain't cheap. Relentless reminding of the real world with kids in it is very costly.... to my soul. The rest of the week was torture as the harmony of demon-busting and soulful earfuls began to ebb. Roving Blade can't find our Will. Corn Snake Boy wants a .... corn snake. Minx says she'll leave home if he gets one. Little Rock Godling is Ninjago (ninja-lego) obsessed - zealously creating lots of snake warriors to introduce me to, and Thuglet is still fitting his name perfectly. My head hurts..... but another week dawns..... If I can just get past that big woolly mammoth on the dirty linen basket we'll surely crack it.....
SAT - All invited to a gig at The Forum in Tunbridge Wells. Only half an hour away. That's good - for us. Special concessions from Madame RocknRoll with the 'big' kids welcome. I didn't want to bring Corn Snake Boy (despite pleas). Got all mumsy and decided he was too young for skidding in and out of men's toilets in a music venue and couldn't afford his Coke habit anyway. Pretended it was 12-and-up. Was also post-Friday eve meltdown after my joy had turned to pain. Anyway - what would be the cost of 2 gigs in one week? I didn't think the parent gods would allow it. Roving Blade did all but take my car keys away and forbad me to even sniff the outside air. So the plan was hatched for RB to simply drive Minx there for about 8.00, meet Monsieur Bongoes and Lulu-Cheeese at the entrance, and then pick up the two wee raverlettes after and drag 'em back here by the eye-lashes.
'I'll forward M Bongoes' number to your phone so you can interact and stuff.'
'Make sure you give me M Bongoes' number.'
'Yes dear....' sigh.. 'Oh I'll just check with Madame It'll-Be-Fine I've got his up-to-date one'......
'AOK. I've sent the number to you. At the entrance about 8.15. Bob's yer unc.'
'Have you got M Bongoes' number? Miiiiiiinx!!!! It's gone 8!!! I'm not coming up there again!!! What ARE you doing!!! Bark bark..........'
'It's alright' I interject 'M Bongoes is still doing his hair I hear.'
'It's NOT alright!! We'll be late!! I'm not taking her!! Miiiinnxxx!!!!! Bark bark......'
'Welcome to my woooorrllllddd.....'
'God calm down dad... I'm ready right.'
'Where's The Forum?'
'For fuck's sake..... Entrance!! About 8.30!! They'll wait!! You've got his number. GO!!!!!'
'Hey hun - everything alright then?'
'Yeah. Kettle on?'
'Ooh I'll just slurp this and get the boys up. So were M Bongoes and Lulu-Cheeese waiting long?'
'Oh I couldn't park so I let her out on the main road.'
'What?'
'Oh we saw Mme I've-Lost-My-Phone and Pull-Yer-Trousers-Up so she caught up with them and went in.'
'So you texted M Bongoes?'
'No. I haven't got his number.'
The mammoth is at the bottom of our stairs. Looks like its parachute failed.
SUN - The re-run of the ice show cometh. Mme Cosmic drops Smoulderita at ours and we talk trumpets, Vikings and dodgy hips. (Smoulderita had a roaring time last night. Lulu-Cheeese and Minx enrol her into the 12-and-up lie. Smoulderita heard that everyone had a roaring time....)
'Thanks for dropping her round.'
'Oh it kept the dog happy. She thinks she's having a walk.'
'Well I hope she enjoyed her drive.'
'Well I must get back to this film I started and find out if the boy gets out the wardrobe. Good luck with the show.'
'Mum I'm definitely doing the axel in the show.'
'OK let's go.'
'I didn't do the axel.'
'Never mind babe. Meet you in the bar in a minute.'
'There's no sandwichy things. Can I have a drink?'
'We COULD just get home! Remember home?'
'Can I have a Coke. I want to play pool.'
(This is why I didn't take YOU along last night damned boy thing....) No come on let's just go'
Bbrrrrringgg..... 'Ooh Mme SG are you still at the rink? I've left my make-up box in the changing room tunnel - can you see it?'
'Thanks Mme Tin-Hat I am now surrounded by huge burly dead-eyed hockey players and I ain't goin' in there.'
'Is it by the mats?'
'No'
'Is it in reception already?'
(25 mins later) 'No. I've left them your number - I'm off.'
(Rrrrroom Rrrooom zooooom...... rattle... splutter... )
Beep beep 'Mum it's Mme Tin-Hat. She's found the box.'
'Joy.'
'Aah Mme Cosmic sorry we're late - but here's that Ronnie Laine DVD I promised you 6 months ago. It's a spare. I gave this to my brother for his birthday 3 years in a row..... He sent it back. I found it the other day when we were looking for our Will.
'Did you find it?'
'No. I found Ronnie Laine.'
'We'd better update ours.... Smoulderita isn't even on it.'
(Forgot to ask about the boy in the wardrobe...)
Why won't that mammoth ever stay on the stair I throw it at? Wump wump wump back down it comes every bloody time.
MON - All up for football - including Lulu-Cheeese in gathered-together shin-pads, footie boots, trackies.... Just waiting for Minx.........
'Have you got your Arts Award stuff, your shoes and your other clobber?'
'Yes'
'Fab... Miiiiinnxx!!!!!'
'Ooh Mme all-Back-To-Mine - are you getting excited about that BBC interview?'
'They've cancelled. Apparently Home Ed numbers have gone down!'
(Mass guffaws!!!)
'Can we have chips?'
'Wait til I've got the blinkin' tables out damned child...'
'Can I have chips too?'
'I don't want chips. Can I have a jacket potatoe and beans? No.. chips and beans.'
'Mme SG I've forgotten my shoes!'
'You don't say Lulu-Cheeese? Hey Eyebrow-To-Your-Will - how was footie this morning with those shin-pads we gave you last week?'
'Oh I left them behind at the Trin.'
'Of course you did.'
'Mme SG - Thuglet's just broken the clock'
'Such joy.'
Fucking mammoth. Just dropped all the bloody washing now.
TUES - 'I can pick up Little Rock Godling for you if you like after golf.'
'Ooh thanks RB - that would be brilliant. And I'll get Corn Snake Boy on the way back from the hosp.'
'Hey Mme Sweet-Demand-Avoidance - RB will pick up the mad professor between 3-4. Thanks for having him again.'
'OK Thuglet we just need to get a couple of bits of Nanny's jewellery from under the bed and we'll set off.'
'Mum.... is it 'upposed to be all over the floor?'
'Fuck fuck fuck I'd put it away upside down... help me pair up all these earrings!! Where the fuck is her bloody wedding bloody ring??!!'
'We'll just stop here and get some Jelly Babies and The Courier so I can show her the picture of Minx with the gang. WHERE are the local papers? I DON'T bloody believe it!! I only CAME in this SHOP for the BLOODY oh - a whole stand of them... sshhh.... Ooh I'll get 2. One for me and one for Minx. Yes I've got a clubcard somewhere.... fuck I forgot the Jelly Babies. 'Scuse me I just need to.... sorry.... no bloody Jelly Babies.... Jelly Berries? Sorry thanks thanks sorry thank you sorry..... '
'Here we are Ma.... sorry we're late.. um... can't find the Jelly Bellies.... Our gang's in the paper - look there's Minx..'
'Ooh I'll keep this as a memento'
'Oh. What about these books I picked up from your house?'
'Yes you might like them.'
'I meant for you to... Can only find 3 of your squeezey sponge balls.'
'Yes the other one's outside.'
'Of course it is. Got to pick up Corn Snake Boy now. Sorry about the Beri-Beris...'
'Sorry we're late... lost your house. Oh they've rescued a slow worm? How darling.... Tail's hanging off? Well we really must be going.... What's that in my bloody pocket? Oh - mum's jewellery.'
'Hang on Mum I've forgotten my magazine...'
'Where did you leave it?'
'2 weeks ago.'
'Get in the car....'
'Hey Roving Blade!'
'Daddeeeee!!' (thump)
'Hello - oomph .... How was yer mother? Where's Little Rock Godling?'
'What? It's 7 O'clock.'
'Hi Mme Sweet-Demand-Avoidance...... Monsieur Fuckwit is on his way.'
'Oh Minx Daddy's dunnit again. It's supposed to be Nanny that lost part of her brain.... And I've just found a dirty car scraper in the kitchen utensil drawer.'
'Did you remember to get the shower hose this time mum?'
'Err....'
'If it helps I did just squirt nail varnish remover into my eye.'
'Thanks hun but that didn't really help no..'
'Mu-um... where's my glass of WATER!!??'
'Oh Corn Snake Boy I just GAVE it to - oh ... you mean this one?'
'It says "Pampered Chef" on it.'
'It's my bloody best ice-scraper I lent to you and it's covered in filth.'
'Says pampered chef......'
'You know what they've gone and DONE?!!!!!'
'Oh gods what?'
'They've only stabbed a fucking dart into a 4-grand album I've got to give to a client in 10 days!!! It's a bloody good job they're asleep or I'd stab a fucking dart in their fucking heads!!!! Yeaaaaaghhhhh!!!' (Hurls plastic bottle into the sink.) 'EEuuuuuuhhhh... ughhh.....YEAAAAAAAHHHHHH!!!!!' (Smashes coffee cup across the floor..... )
The bathroom is the furthestmost point in the house. The toothpaste tube shares my pain. Even the mammoth has run for cover.
WED - 'I can't do it.'
'You've been doing the axel for about 2 years. Why have you gone all daft now?'
(Mme VodkaOnIce, Minx's coach, offers her support) 'Listen 'ere. I don't mind you losing End of Seasons if you try and fall but not if you lose 'cos you wimped out.'
'Right' (adding my full sympathy)
'Hhiieghh.....' (the sound of a large child deflating... )
'I'll drop you in Tunbridge Wells for Study Group and we'll go home for a lovely change.'
'Can't we stay and play with everyone at Trin?'
'No damned boy thing NOONE will be there unless they're inside DOING the Arts Award stuff so NO! We're going HOME!'
(After I just pop into about 7 shops, get stuffed behind a transporter, trick it by signalling late so it doesn't go the same way as me after 20 mins of torture, get stuck in roadworks, double back and fail in the shower hose shop.... get home and die. At least Minx is going back to Lulu-Cheeese's house after Arts Award tonight. A Wednesday night off!!)
Beep Beep 'Hey mum I've forgotten a very important page for my Arts Award and it HAS to be all in tonight.'
'I'll get Mme It'll-Be-Fine to beat you up later.'
'Oops I appeared to have sent you the text I meant to send Minx.... but thanks for agreeing to beat her up anyway!'
'Hey slag I'm at the shops what do we need?'
'This has happened and now that happened and I'm knackered and everyone's stoopid and I'm not moving until it stops bloody raining.'
'Vanish spray' oh - 'You're home!'
'I'll drop her page to her for you.'
'I'm coming too dad!'
'Your friends will NOT be at the damned Trin tonight!'
'Bye mum!'
Beep beep 'Hello it's Lulu-Cheese on mum's phone. Can you bring my shoes please?'
'Hold it Roving Blade!'
'Have searched but can't find them anywhere hun'
'Hello Lulu-C is on the bus now I'll ring her.'
'Hello Lulu-C we can't see them. Where were they?'
'I can't see 'em I'm going now.'
'I think they were by the door.'
'Are you sure they're not squashed at the bottom of your bag?'
'Hello she says they were by the door.'
'Maybe they're squashed at the bottom of her bag?'
'Minx dad's left but couldn't find Lulu-C's shoes can you tell her when she gets there.'
'I've got them.'
'You remembered someone else's shoes but you didn't remember your missing page?'
'It's OK Minx had them all along'
'Hello Minx has them'
'You dopey daughter has them already. Slap her for me would you?'
'Corn Snake Boy!!! Dinner!!!'
'He went with Dad Mum - don't you remember?'
'Are you dead in a ditch? You've been 2 hours?' oh - 'You're home!'
'He was playing with his mates.'
'Hissssssssssssssss'....
'Hoooohhhh!!! That lemon squash is.....! We got any more fizzy water? Try some of that?'
'I'm not that stoopid!' (Spplatttttphhhhzzzzzzplashhhh!!!!!!! .... fizzy water.... all over me.... )
I'm right ready for that mammoth now. Where's he bloody gone?
THURS - 'Mu-um... what's that stuff all down the walls that looks like coffee?'
'Coffee probably. You should see the cup-shaped slice out of the lino. It's a bit bigger than a dart hole..... isn't it Mr RB?'
'Still not funny.'
'Let's go kids.'
'Where?'
'A nice midge-rich swamp by a pond in the rain of course.'
'Sorry we're late. Couldn't be arsed to move quicker. Now where's dem midges? I fancy getting munched until I look like a pizza.'
Brrriiiinggg 'Hey bruv... how d'it go? U-huh.... u-huh... oh fuck.'
'What's up?'
'Hmmmn..... Mum had her Home Assessment thing today and apparently bombed straight up the stairs with no thought to how to come down, she didn't put the kettle on even tho' she thought she had and clasped her hands around it to check, left a head-height cupboard door open, took no notice of the phone or the post and forgot the bread in the toaster.'
'Oh I do that.'
'Me too.'
'Yeah she sounds fine.'
'That's the problem. They'll probably release her back into the wild next week.'
'Ah...'
'We'll come back in June when these tadpoles will be jewel-like little frogs. I wonder how many will survive to adulthood this year.... the sound of a grass snake munching on a frog is really rather disturbing. Their screams are surprisingly human-like when they're being eaten alive backwards....'
I think I can hear it now.... or is that just my inner voice...? There's a large furry snake on the stairs now. Joy joy joy.....
FRI - 'Hey Ma. Enjoy yesterday?'
'I was very pleased with how it went. They're letting me out next Tuesday or Wednesday. I've got to have PEOPLE coming round apparently. I'm not having some char-woman in my house. I can't wait to get back in the car.'
'Like fuck you will! Did I say that out loud? Here's your Jiggy Boobbies.... found 'em under me clutch. No thanks I think they taste like frogs.'
Yes we've all taken turns on the Fuckwit Step this week. Except the mammoth. He just falls off. I might ask him if he knows where our Will is. Got a feeling I may need to know sooner rather than later. Meanwhile Roving Blade and I are plotting another night off. Can we possibly afford another basket of fucking sunshine?
Hey newsflash - today we hear that The Forum has won the NME award for Best Small Venue in the country so Yay Madame RocknRoll!! Proper joy!
Then we bathed in a fabulous Monday. It did however mean missing the local paper coming up to the gang in the park for an article on how Home Ed numbers have gone up - but hey.... I was a passenger in a car that didn't smell of football boots and bananas listening to a CD I don't despise without the backbeat of medieval battle-cries. Pure joy. Roving Blade and I skipped off to the London Palladium and had child-free grown-up fun. We sat in lush darkness and lapped up Ryan Adams singing his slow heart-breaking mournful songs - one after another after another of desolate longing. Interjecting each with 'Here's another basket of fucking sunshine.' Or 'I thought I'd up the tempo by singing about someone wanting to go out to try and touch someone's boobs.... of course the rest of the set is about the torment of that rejection....' We love 'im. I especially loved his 10 minute whispered laudation of his cat as he tinkled the piano, his back towards us.... 'I love you Mr Cat..' The boys a twisted genius. I wore my beaten up old PVC trousers that now stick together but I felt funky and free-from.
But the price of fun is high. 2 flat tyres when I get back ain't cheap. Relentless reminding of the real world with kids in it is very costly.... to my soul. The rest of the week was torture as the harmony of demon-busting and soulful earfuls began to ebb. Roving Blade can't find our Will. Corn Snake Boy wants a .... corn snake. Minx says she'll leave home if he gets one. Little Rock Godling is Ninjago (ninja-lego) obsessed - zealously creating lots of snake warriors to introduce me to, and Thuglet is still fitting his name perfectly. My head hurts..... but another week dawns..... If I can just get past that big woolly mammoth on the dirty linen basket we'll surely crack it.....
SAT - All invited to a gig at The Forum in Tunbridge Wells. Only half an hour away. That's good - for us. Special concessions from Madame RocknRoll with the 'big' kids welcome. I didn't want to bring Corn Snake Boy (despite pleas). Got all mumsy and decided he was too young for skidding in and out of men's toilets in a music venue and couldn't afford his Coke habit anyway. Pretended it was 12-and-up. Was also post-Friday eve meltdown after my joy had turned to pain. Anyway - what would be the cost of 2 gigs in one week? I didn't think the parent gods would allow it. Roving Blade did all but take my car keys away and forbad me to even sniff the outside air. So the plan was hatched for RB to simply drive Minx there for about 8.00, meet Monsieur Bongoes and Lulu-Cheeese at the entrance, and then pick up the two wee raverlettes after and drag 'em back here by the eye-lashes.
'I'll forward M Bongoes' number to your phone so you can interact and stuff.'
'Make sure you give me M Bongoes' number.'
'Yes dear....' sigh.. 'Oh I'll just check with Madame It'll-Be-Fine I've got his up-to-date one'......
'AOK. I've sent the number to you. At the entrance about 8.15. Bob's yer unc.'
'Have you got M Bongoes' number? Miiiiiiinx!!!! It's gone 8!!! I'm not coming up there again!!! What ARE you doing!!! Bark bark..........'
'It's alright' I interject 'M Bongoes is still doing his hair I hear.'
'It's NOT alright!! We'll be late!! I'm not taking her!! Miiiinnxxx!!!!! Bark bark......'
'Welcome to my woooorrllllddd.....'
'God calm down dad... I'm ready right.'
'Where's The Forum?'
'For fuck's sake..... Entrance!! About 8.30!! They'll wait!! You've got his number. GO!!!!!'
'Hey hun - everything alright then?'
'Yeah. Kettle on?'
'Ooh I'll just slurp this and get the boys up. So were M Bongoes and Lulu-Cheeese waiting long?'
'Oh I couldn't park so I let her out on the main road.'
'What?'
'Oh we saw Mme I've-Lost-My-Phone and Pull-Yer-Trousers-Up so she caught up with them and went in.'
'So you texted M Bongoes?'
'No. I haven't got his number.'
The mammoth is at the bottom of our stairs. Looks like its parachute failed.
SUN - The re-run of the ice show cometh. Mme Cosmic drops Smoulderita at ours and we talk trumpets, Vikings and dodgy hips. (Smoulderita had a roaring time last night. Lulu-Cheeese and Minx enrol her into the 12-and-up lie. Smoulderita heard that everyone had a roaring time....)
'Thanks for dropping her round.'
'Oh it kept the dog happy. She thinks she's having a walk.'
'Well I hope she enjoyed her drive.'
'Well I must get back to this film I started and find out if the boy gets out the wardrobe. Good luck with the show.'
'Mum I'm definitely doing the axel in the show.'
'OK let's go.'
'I didn't do the axel.'
'Never mind babe. Meet you in the bar in a minute.'
'There's no sandwichy things. Can I have a drink?'
'We COULD just get home! Remember home?'
'Can I have a Coke. I want to play pool.'
(This is why I didn't take YOU along last night damned boy thing....) No come on let's just go'
Bbrrrrringgg..... 'Ooh Mme SG are you still at the rink? I've left my make-up box in the changing room tunnel - can you see it?'
'Thanks Mme Tin-Hat I am now surrounded by huge burly dead-eyed hockey players and I ain't goin' in there.'
'Is it by the mats?'
'No'
'Is it in reception already?'
(25 mins later) 'No. I've left them your number - I'm off.'
(Rrrrroom Rrrooom zooooom...... rattle... splutter... )
Beep beep 'Mum it's Mme Tin-Hat. She's found the box.'
'Joy.'
'Aah Mme Cosmic sorry we're late - but here's that Ronnie Laine DVD I promised you 6 months ago. It's a spare. I gave this to my brother for his birthday 3 years in a row..... He sent it back. I found it the other day when we were looking for our Will.
'Did you find it?'
'No. I found Ronnie Laine.'
'We'd better update ours.... Smoulderita isn't even on it.'
(Forgot to ask about the boy in the wardrobe...)
Why won't that mammoth ever stay on the stair I throw it at? Wump wump wump back down it comes every bloody time.
MON - All up for football - including Lulu-Cheeese in gathered-together shin-pads, footie boots, trackies.... Just waiting for Minx.........
'Have you got your Arts Award stuff, your shoes and your other clobber?'
'Yes'
'Fab... Miiiiinnxx!!!!!'
'Ooh Mme all-Back-To-Mine - are you getting excited about that BBC interview?'
'They've cancelled. Apparently Home Ed numbers have gone down!'
(Mass guffaws!!!)
'Can we have chips?'
'Wait til I've got the blinkin' tables out damned child...'
'Can I have chips too?'
'I don't want chips. Can I have a jacket potatoe and beans? No.. chips and beans.'
'Mme SG I've forgotten my shoes!'
'You don't say Lulu-Cheeese? Hey Eyebrow-To-Your-Will - how was footie this morning with those shin-pads we gave you last week?'
'Oh I left them behind at the Trin.'
'Of course you did.'
'Mme SG - Thuglet's just broken the clock'
'Such joy.'
Fucking mammoth. Just dropped all the bloody washing now.
TUES - 'I can pick up Little Rock Godling for you if you like after golf.'
'Ooh thanks RB - that would be brilliant. And I'll get Corn Snake Boy on the way back from the hosp.'
'Hey Mme Sweet-Demand-Avoidance - RB will pick up the mad professor between 3-4. Thanks for having him again.'
'OK Thuglet we just need to get a couple of bits of Nanny's jewellery from under the bed and we'll set off.'
'Mum.... is it 'upposed to be all over the floor?'
'Fuck fuck fuck I'd put it away upside down... help me pair up all these earrings!! Where the fuck is her bloody wedding bloody ring??!!'
'We'll just stop here and get some Jelly Babies and The Courier so I can show her the picture of Minx with the gang. WHERE are the local papers? I DON'T bloody believe it!! I only CAME in this SHOP for the BLOODY oh - a whole stand of them... sshhh.... Ooh I'll get 2. One for me and one for Minx. Yes I've got a clubcard somewhere.... fuck I forgot the Jelly Babies. 'Scuse me I just need to.... sorry.... no bloody Jelly Babies.... Jelly Berries? Sorry thanks thanks sorry thank you sorry..... '
'Here we are Ma.... sorry we're late.. um... can't find the Jelly Bellies.... Our gang's in the paper - look there's Minx..'
'Ooh I'll keep this as a memento'
'Oh. What about these books I picked up from your house?'
'Yes you might like them.'
'I meant for you to... Can only find 3 of your squeezey sponge balls.'
'Yes the other one's outside.'
'Of course it is. Got to pick up Corn Snake Boy now. Sorry about the Beri-Beris...'
'Sorry we're late... lost your house. Oh they've rescued a slow worm? How darling.... Tail's hanging off? Well we really must be going.... What's that in my bloody pocket? Oh - mum's jewellery.'
'Hang on Mum I've forgotten my magazine...'
'Where did you leave it?'
'2 weeks ago.'
'Get in the car....'
'Hey Roving Blade!'
'Daddeeeee!!' (thump)
'Hello - oomph .... How was yer mother? Where's Little Rock Godling?'
'What? It's 7 O'clock.'
'Hi Mme Sweet-Demand-Avoidance...... Monsieur Fuckwit is on his way.'
'Oh Minx Daddy's dunnit again. It's supposed to be Nanny that lost part of her brain.... And I've just found a dirty car scraper in the kitchen utensil drawer.'
'Did you remember to get the shower hose this time mum?'
'Err....'
'If it helps I did just squirt nail varnish remover into my eye.'
'Thanks hun but that didn't really help no..'
'Mu-um... where's my glass of WATER!!??'
'Oh Corn Snake Boy I just GAVE it to - oh ... you mean this one?'
'It says "Pampered Chef" on it.'
'It's my bloody best ice-scraper I lent to you and it's covered in filth.'
'Says pampered chef......'
'You know what they've gone and DONE?!!!!!'
'Oh gods what?'
'They've only stabbed a fucking dart into a 4-grand album I've got to give to a client in 10 days!!! It's a bloody good job they're asleep or I'd stab a fucking dart in their fucking heads!!!! Yeaaaaaghhhhh!!!' (Hurls plastic bottle into the sink.) 'EEuuuuuuhhhh... ughhh.....YEAAAAAAAHHHHHH!!!!!' (Smashes coffee cup across the floor..... )
The bathroom is the furthestmost point in the house. The toothpaste tube shares my pain. Even the mammoth has run for cover.
WED - 'I can't do it.'
'You've been doing the axel for about 2 years. Why have you gone all daft now?'
(Mme VodkaOnIce, Minx's coach, offers her support) 'Listen 'ere. I don't mind you losing End of Seasons if you try and fall but not if you lose 'cos you wimped out.'
'Right' (adding my full sympathy)
'Hhiieghh.....' (the sound of a large child deflating... )
'I'll drop you in Tunbridge Wells for Study Group and we'll go home for a lovely change.'
'Can't we stay and play with everyone at Trin?'
'No damned boy thing NOONE will be there unless they're inside DOING the Arts Award stuff so NO! We're going HOME!'
(After I just pop into about 7 shops, get stuffed behind a transporter, trick it by signalling late so it doesn't go the same way as me after 20 mins of torture, get stuck in roadworks, double back and fail in the shower hose shop.... get home and die. At least Minx is going back to Lulu-Cheeese's house after Arts Award tonight. A Wednesday night off!!)
Beep Beep 'Hey mum I've forgotten a very important page for my Arts Award and it HAS to be all in tonight.'
'I'll get Mme It'll-Be-Fine to beat you up later.'
'Oops I appeared to have sent you the text I meant to send Minx.... but thanks for agreeing to beat her up anyway!'
'Hey slag I'm at the shops what do we need?'
'This has happened and now that happened and I'm knackered and everyone's stoopid and I'm not moving until it stops bloody raining.'
'Vanish spray' oh - 'You're home!'
'I'll drop her page to her for you.'
'I'm coming too dad!'
'Your friends will NOT be at the damned Trin tonight!'
'Bye mum!'
Beep beep 'Hello it's Lulu-Cheese on mum's phone. Can you bring my shoes please?'
'Hold it Roving Blade!'
'Have searched but can't find them anywhere hun'
'Hello Lulu-C is on the bus now I'll ring her.'
'Hello Lulu-C we can't see them. Where were they?'
'I can't see 'em I'm going now.'
'I think they were by the door.'
'Are you sure they're not squashed at the bottom of your bag?'
'Hello she says they were by the door.'
'Maybe they're squashed at the bottom of her bag?'
'Minx dad's left but couldn't find Lulu-C's shoes can you tell her when she gets there.'
'I've got them.'
'You remembered someone else's shoes but you didn't remember your missing page?'
'It's OK Minx had them all along'
'Hello Minx has them'
'You dopey daughter has them already. Slap her for me would you?'
'Corn Snake Boy!!! Dinner!!!'
'He went with Dad Mum - don't you remember?'
'Are you dead in a ditch? You've been 2 hours?' oh - 'You're home!'
'He was playing with his mates.'
'Hissssssssssssssss'....
'Hoooohhhh!!! That lemon squash is.....! We got any more fizzy water? Try some of that?'
'I'm not that stoopid!' (Spplatttttphhhhzzzzzzplashhhh!!!!!!! .... fizzy water.... all over me.... )
I'm right ready for that mammoth now. Where's he bloody gone?
THURS - 'Mu-um... what's that stuff all down the walls that looks like coffee?'
'Coffee probably. You should see the cup-shaped slice out of the lino. It's a bit bigger than a dart hole..... isn't it Mr RB?'
'Still not funny.'
'Let's go kids.'
'Where?'
'A nice midge-rich swamp by a pond in the rain of course.'
'Sorry we're late. Couldn't be arsed to move quicker. Now where's dem midges? I fancy getting munched until I look like a pizza.'
Brrriiiinggg 'Hey bruv... how d'it go? U-huh.... u-huh... oh fuck.'
'What's up?'
'Hmmmn..... Mum had her Home Assessment thing today and apparently bombed straight up the stairs with no thought to how to come down, she didn't put the kettle on even tho' she thought she had and clasped her hands around it to check, left a head-height cupboard door open, took no notice of the phone or the post and forgot the bread in the toaster.'
'Oh I do that.'
'Me too.'
'Yeah she sounds fine.'
'That's the problem. They'll probably release her back into the wild next week.'
'Ah...'
'We'll come back in June when these tadpoles will be jewel-like little frogs. I wonder how many will survive to adulthood this year.... the sound of a grass snake munching on a frog is really rather disturbing. Their screams are surprisingly human-like when they're being eaten alive backwards....'
I think I can hear it now.... or is that just my inner voice...? There's a large furry snake on the stairs now. Joy joy joy.....
FRI - 'Hey Ma. Enjoy yesterday?'
'I was very pleased with how it went. They're letting me out next Tuesday or Wednesday. I've got to have PEOPLE coming round apparently. I'm not having some char-woman in my house. I can't wait to get back in the car.'
'Like fuck you will! Did I say that out loud? Here's your Jiggy Boobbies.... found 'em under me clutch. No thanks I think they taste like frogs.'
Yes we've all taken turns on the Fuckwit Step this week. Except the mammoth. He just falls off. I might ask him if he knows where our Will is. Got a feeling I may need to know sooner rather than later. Meanwhile Roving Blade and I are plotting another night off. Can we possibly afford another basket of fucking sunshine?
Hey newsflash - today we hear that The Forum has won the NME award for Best Small Venue in the country so Yay Madame RocknRoll!! Proper joy!
Tuesday, 17 April 2012
God Gives You Your Family....
Much like my godmother getting up from her perch on a footstool, exclaiming 'give me a minute... I've got 'knees'...' it seems that everybody these days has got 'mothers'. It's the nation's new hot pass-time, having a bit of a 'mother'.
These tales of other's mother's bothers are a salve for my sore mind. Just like noone likes a perfect baby, everyone loves a difficult mother. The deepest friendships are set upon the rock of them having a worse family than you. But better than that, the hint that your friend is crueller about their mother than you is fanfuckingtastic.
Bedtime natterings with Roving Blade expose my true nature. He was wondering if he should visit mum in the hosp.
'Are you feeling OK?'
'Are you saying I lack compassion?'
'No I think I do.'
.............................
'I think you do too.'
Hmmmmnn..... Where indeed is my compassion eh? I've got no major childhood angst. Not 'til about 10. Then comes the frowning. Nutshell - Big brothers were BIG. And out. Allowed. I wasn't. Moved house - old house has all the good stuff. Chose the same school as big bruvs. Stoopid. They left before I started - thought we'd have a common bond...... Nah - just an inherited reputation. Time ticks slowly for those teen years..... Brothers = have lives. Parents = embarrassment. Friends = MINE. Family and school = prison so decide to get out of both. Only applied to colleges in another part of the country. 'Bye! NOW I'm out!!!
A very non-co-dependent family member me. I did move back for a year after college - a base to get a job, get a flat and get a life. Are you seriously trying to tell me when to go to bed? 'Bye! Again.
More nutshells.... my Nan dies - big shock, big upset, leaving my Grandad lost. My Dad says 'Shoot me before I get like that'. Dad dies - big shock, big upset. Mum moves to this house. Grandad leaves my uncle's place and goes into a old folks' home. None of his 5 children can deal with him. Seems very sad but I get it. Wonder if the Sidcup saints are muttering about such a terrible family. Grandad dies. Seems a relief. Is that bad?
Back to Roving Blade's startling musings...... 'Nah you're doing a good job of hanging onto small boys instead for me'. (Both a compliment and a sneaky plea for it to continue.) Truth be told - it's all a bit embarrassing and I'd rather he kept out of it.
I'd been banging about in her house earlier - doing the plants, swearing at the prehistoric videos to keep the savages from trashing the joint, tutting at the amount of STUFF.... I peered out the kitchen window to stare at the curvy flower-beddy decorative-rocksy child-unfriendly garden. Why have I got no cosy feelings for this place? I'd even moved there with her for a bit when I tipped all my eggs out of the basket at about 28 years old and she put up with my STUFF and moods for about ... gods... way longer than the original plan of a month. Was probably about 18 months. Where is gods' names is my gratitude? Think I'm getting colder.... I've never actually LIKED this house. It was supposed to be a handy stop-gap. It became another prison. This chap we knew who had lost his job and was going thro' a divorce had decorated it for her. Pale blues and institution greens. Insipid floral border papers. His depression filtered into mine. Corner-fitting furniture. Shelves of Christal D'Arques.... Tablecloths. Coffin nails. To me. We weren't speaking to each other for much of this time. Brothers say things like 'Oh come on you know what she's like...' This is when the penny dropped that we were from separate planets and had had entirely different upbringings. Mothers and daughters eh? I escape - again. Pop out a Minx. Ever so slightly panic about history repeating itself. Mum and me are on speaking terms again. She seems all sentimental about the daughter thing. Yuck.
The window.... I tried to think up something to kick-start some sentiment of my own. I came up with a day in this garden - nearly nine months pregnant with Cheetah Boy, too hot to be sociable, I'd driven over to mum's to plop two year old Minx in her paddling pool under the gazebo and sit there with my feet in it with mum keeping a steady flow of drinks and cake. OK. That's good. The dining room table.... many a big ol' family nosh-up? Rude noises with the first spoon in the jelly? Interminable snakes and ladders tournaments with my boys? Getting warmer? Not really. The piano? Covered in family photos.... Lots of smiles there.... My hair looks crap in every one. Xmas? No. Way. Too much fuss and fluster. Come on.... is that it? Gods I hate pale green.
Where oh where is my humanity? Well.... at least Grandad's example is in my favour.... If they put him in a home then surely that's the template now? I've done with family co-habiting experiments. It don't work. We all get along alot better at a distance. Think I'd better choose my bungalow now before Minx shoves me off a cliff. Let's be practical here.... what's her template?
I am toying with going to see a hypnotherapist. Wondering if he could make me nicer. In the meantime, tell me about your mad mother..... Oh wow.... how COULD you? You're my new best friend....
These tales of other's mother's bothers are a salve for my sore mind. Just like noone likes a perfect baby, everyone loves a difficult mother. The deepest friendships are set upon the rock of them having a worse family than you. But better than that, the hint that your friend is crueller about their mother than you is fanfuckingtastic.
Bedtime natterings with Roving Blade expose my true nature. He was wondering if he should visit mum in the hosp.
'Are you feeling OK?'
'Are you saying I lack compassion?'
'No I think I do.'
.............................
'I think you do too.'
Hmmmmnn..... Where indeed is my compassion eh? I've got no major childhood angst. Not 'til about 10. Then comes the frowning. Nutshell - Big brothers were BIG. And out. Allowed. I wasn't. Moved house - old house has all the good stuff. Chose the same school as big bruvs. Stoopid. They left before I started - thought we'd have a common bond...... Nah - just an inherited reputation. Time ticks slowly for those teen years..... Brothers = have lives. Parents = embarrassment. Friends = MINE. Family and school = prison so decide to get out of both. Only applied to colleges in another part of the country. 'Bye! NOW I'm out!!!
A very non-co-dependent family member me. I did move back for a year after college - a base to get a job, get a flat and get a life. Are you seriously trying to tell me when to go to bed? 'Bye! Again.
More nutshells.... my Nan dies - big shock, big upset, leaving my Grandad lost. My Dad says 'Shoot me before I get like that'. Dad dies - big shock, big upset. Mum moves to this house. Grandad leaves my uncle's place and goes into a old folks' home. None of his 5 children can deal with him. Seems very sad but I get it. Wonder if the Sidcup saints are muttering about such a terrible family. Grandad dies. Seems a relief. Is that bad?
Back to Roving Blade's startling musings...... 'Nah you're doing a good job of hanging onto small boys instead for me'. (Both a compliment and a sneaky plea for it to continue.) Truth be told - it's all a bit embarrassing and I'd rather he kept out of it.
I'd been banging about in her house earlier - doing the plants, swearing at the prehistoric videos to keep the savages from trashing the joint, tutting at the amount of STUFF.... I peered out the kitchen window to stare at the curvy flower-beddy decorative-rocksy child-unfriendly garden. Why have I got no cosy feelings for this place? I'd even moved there with her for a bit when I tipped all my eggs out of the basket at about 28 years old and she put up with my STUFF and moods for about ... gods... way longer than the original plan of a month. Was probably about 18 months. Where is gods' names is my gratitude? Think I'm getting colder.... I've never actually LIKED this house. It was supposed to be a handy stop-gap. It became another prison. This chap we knew who had lost his job and was going thro' a divorce had decorated it for her. Pale blues and institution greens. Insipid floral border papers. His depression filtered into mine. Corner-fitting furniture. Shelves of Christal D'Arques.... Tablecloths. Coffin nails. To me. We weren't speaking to each other for much of this time. Brothers say things like 'Oh come on you know what she's like...' This is when the penny dropped that we were from separate planets and had had entirely different upbringings. Mothers and daughters eh? I escape - again. Pop out a Minx. Ever so slightly panic about history repeating itself. Mum and me are on speaking terms again. She seems all sentimental about the daughter thing. Yuck.
The window.... I tried to think up something to kick-start some sentiment of my own. I came up with a day in this garden - nearly nine months pregnant with Cheetah Boy, too hot to be sociable, I'd driven over to mum's to plop two year old Minx in her paddling pool under the gazebo and sit there with my feet in it with mum keeping a steady flow of drinks and cake. OK. That's good. The dining room table.... many a big ol' family nosh-up? Rude noises with the first spoon in the jelly? Interminable snakes and ladders tournaments with my boys? Getting warmer? Not really. The piano? Covered in family photos.... Lots of smiles there.... My hair looks crap in every one. Xmas? No. Way. Too much fuss and fluster. Come on.... is that it? Gods I hate pale green.
Where oh where is my humanity? Well.... at least Grandad's example is in my favour.... If they put him in a home then surely that's the template now? I've done with family co-habiting experiments. It don't work. We all get along alot better at a distance. Think I'd better choose my bungalow now before Minx shoves me off a cliff. Let's be practical here.... what's her template?
I am toying with going to see a hypnotherapist. Wondering if he could make me nicer. In the meantime, tell me about your mad mother..... Oh wow.... how COULD you? You're my new best friend....
Wednesday, 11 April 2012
And we'll have fun fun fun....
...til daddy takes the sharp things away....
I am not only a terrible parent (about which I'm not remotely apologetic), but I am also an abysmal daughter. I can do the practical stuff like taking in a Puzzler Compendium and bringing home the washing (despite two pairs of mum's pants constituting a full load), but I'm rubbish at the 'you look well can I flump your pillows let's brush your hair' bit. I'm the opposite of nursieness. I'm always sneakily looking at the clock. And I think my sigh as I walk out the hospital will probably cause a tsunami in parts of Asia. How does one learn to be a grown-up? And how will my own kids ever work it out with a mother like wot they've been stuck wiv?
Siiiggghhhhhhh.......
At least her sense of humour returned. For a week or so it wasn't evident and this made conversation very very hard work. Two truculent children staring at each other. 'Your family doesn't communicate without your funnies does it?' observes Roving Blade. We most certainly do not. This induces panic. We never greet each other with 'How are you (kiss kiss) you look nice (holdy hand) how are those lovely .........' fill in the blank (ie kids, cats, inlaws, ailments..) Jesus we'd run like buggery. We are more likely to creep up behind someone's back, poke 'em hard and say 'What kind of Care in the Community programme allowed you out dressed like that?' And then dodge the reply with a well-chosen hand gesture.
In my family we are all separate towers. With those narrow slits for sending out our arrows. And plenty of solid stonework for dodging others'. This is how we survive. It's served me perfectly well and I don't intend to dismantle a single rock.
Brother tower said to me the other day - in a unusual cease-fire moment - 'Let's just get it said right now that neither of us can have her living with us right?' 'Definitely.'
It's not that either of us is evil - or that mum is Satan's bitch - it just wouldn't work. The rest of the world can tut away as loudly as it likes. It ain't happening. A nice little bungalow with buttons was what we were both thinking. Near her friends.... (As my very dear chum C proclaimed 'Isn't that what Catholics are for?')
The other day I arrived at the hospital and mum announced 'I've decided I want to move.' 'Good.' 'To Brighton.' 'What?' 'Or Hove.' 'Uh... huh?' 'Or Norfolk or Suffolk.' 'Why?' 'We've had such lovely holidays there.' 'No we haven't.' 'I'm sick of Kent.' 'We're gonna move into Kent soon to be nearer everything we do, and you.' 'I want to be by the sea.' 'Kent has sea.' 'Oh no no. Can you get me a Sussex Life and a Norfolk Life and a Suffolk Life?' 'I can get you a Kent Life'. 'I like Norfolk.'
Norfolk. She's having a right laugh. My sense of humour has left the building.
I am not only a terrible parent (about which I'm not remotely apologetic), but I am also an abysmal daughter. I can do the practical stuff like taking in a Puzzler Compendium and bringing home the washing (despite two pairs of mum's pants constituting a full load), but I'm rubbish at the 'you look well can I flump your pillows let's brush your hair' bit. I'm the opposite of nursieness. I'm always sneakily looking at the clock. And I think my sigh as I walk out the hospital will probably cause a tsunami in parts of Asia. How does one learn to be a grown-up? And how will my own kids ever work it out with a mother like wot they've been stuck wiv?
Siiiggghhhhhhh.......
At least her sense of humour returned. For a week or so it wasn't evident and this made conversation very very hard work. Two truculent children staring at each other. 'Your family doesn't communicate without your funnies does it?' observes Roving Blade. We most certainly do not. This induces panic. We never greet each other with 'How are you (kiss kiss) you look nice (holdy hand) how are those lovely .........' fill in the blank (ie kids, cats, inlaws, ailments..) Jesus we'd run like buggery. We are more likely to creep up behind someone's back, poke 'em hard and say 'What kind of Care in the Community programme allowed you out dressed like that?' And then dodge the reply with a well-chosen hand gesture.
In my family we are all separate towers. With those narrow slits for sending out our arrows. And plenty of solid stonework for dodging others'. This is how we survive. It's served me perfectly well and I don't intend to dismantle a single rock.
Brother tower said to me the other day - in a unusual cease-fire moment - 'Let's just get it said right now that neither of us can have her living with us right?' 'Definitely.'
It's not that either of us is evil - or that mum is Satan's bitch - it just wouldn't work. The rest of the world can tut away as loudly as it likes. It ain't happening. A nice little bungalow with buttons was what we were both thinking. Near her friends.... (As my very dear chum C proclaimed 'Isn't that what Catholics are for?')
The other day I arrived at the hospital and mum announced 'I've decided I want to move.' 'Good.' 'To Brighton.' 'What?' 'Or Hove.' 'Uh... huh?' 'Or Norfolk or Suffolk.' 'Why?' 'We've had such lovely holidays there.' 'No we haven't.' 'I'm sick of Kent.' 'We're gonna move into Kent soon to be nearer everything we do, and you.' 'I want to be by the sea.' 'Kent has sea.' 'Oh no no. Can you get me a Sussex Life and a Norfolk Life and a Suffolk Life?' 'I can get you a Kent Life'. 'I like Norfolk.'
Norfolk. She's having a right laugh. My sense of humour has left the building.
Sunday, 25 March 2012
A Tap on the Shoulder
It's been a bit of a week. Swings and roundabouts some might say.. Others might say 'oh shit'.
Sunday. Had a perfectly civilized Mothers Day (usually this alone is worthy of many 'oh shit's), and we even spent this one AT my mum's ('oh shit' territory for certain) - but this time, noone trod on a cat, noone hurled the contents of Connect 4 down the back of the settee, noone said 'fuck', noone pulled their pants down and farted in anyone's lunch.... (Yes, for once, my mother behaved herself.) And she even still looked perky when we finally clambered into the embarrassment we park on her drive and screeched away. Normally she's looking seriously close to fetching the big gun by waving goodbye time. Maybe we're all growing up a bit. (Like cheugh...)
Monday. Our Home Ed tribe's football session wasn't in the rain or gale force winds and it didn't take three hours to get their boots and tracky bots off afterwards. The hall meeting didn't implode. We started making our flag instead of dropping chips on it. We decorated eggs and didn't sit on them. Nobody got locked in the toilet. The younger Trinity Youth Theatre group's improv presentation was actually entertaining. The older Trin Yoof's show was... less sweary and death-obsessed than expected. None of the boys split their lip at Badgers. High five.
Tuesday. I got a lie-in. I got breakfast whilst stationary. I got a shower (eventually). I got Lulu Cheese over to her dad's workplace four seconds before he reached his car. I got shopping. I got the boys into bed before 10.30pm. I got a phone call from my brother. I've now got to carry on reading about beheading dragons without letting on that Nanny's just had a stroke and is in the hyper-acute unit. I've got to work out what to do. (I've got a nagging feeling that I'm supposed to know what to do.)
Wednesday. Took Minx to her skating lesson (sans boys - always a bonus) and once again Robin Cousins was there - like last week. (He's touring in Grease and this is his local rink for two weeks). He's so amazing to watch. And we watched. And last week I watched wide-eyed as he floated over to Minx to give her some tips on her axel landing. She nodded alot but took nothing in. Just gazed at him all starstruck and then carried on doing it wrong. Afterwards we squeaked alot. This week not only does her coach rip my phone out of my dithering hands and ask him for a photo with Minx but follows this up with a request for a special lesson for four of her pupils - and he says yes. We squeak alot more. Then I burst the bubble with the other news and we go and see my mum in the hospital. It isn't great. Yin and yang is it....? First we went to the house to meet my bro. Picked up scattered objects and pointed at cats. Minx was terribly grown-up. She spotted the washing was still out and set about unpegging and folding, watered the plants, told me what dressing gown Nanny preferred and where the socks were and made us sandwiches. I gawped at how big mum's bras were and nicked her cheese. Role reversal time. Weird. Feel like someone invisible is trying to tap me on the shoulder.
Thursday. Bowling - no fights over Doris (a favoured ball), no warnings about eating our own food, no chasing small children up the sirened alleys - and I manage to sell all the boys while I take Minx back up to the rink. And tonight we have no bruised knees, no walloped buttocks, no spilt J2O all over my knitting. I don't know I'm born. My driving's gone a bit loopy tho'. Lots of After Eights required. Couldn't fit in a hospital visit without dramas this end. Big bruv covered. Course he did. He's my big bruv.
Friday. Back at the rink, half wondering if Robin Cousins will change his mind. But here he is. Expecting about 15 mins of his time - tops. He gives them 45 mins of dedicated coaching and not a flicker of despair at the boggling camera-wielding parents squashed in the corner. And won't accept any payment. Signs autographs and does chat and bears the gushing thank yous - such a dude. And even stays calm when the swathes of arriving Home Ed skate munsters (not my tribe) swamp him with coos and cameras. That's some mettle. (They're a funny bunch of buggers that North Kent lot....) Back in the driving seat trying not to crash. Despatch all kids into the hands of my tribe and head back to the hospital. Still haven't lost control AND I get to wap in my choice of CD. Take what you can get out any situation I say. I'll take Lucinda Williams any day. Mum's out of the strings-attached ward and up the corridor a bit. Less tea-spillage. Less trying to escape antics. I'm still trying to flinch away from that tap on the shoulder tho'. Still not listening to that voice saying 'It's time to be a grown-up now'. Back to the tribe and the sun-burnt kids. Oops.
Saturday. Medieval archery shenanigans with the tribe. Loved this. Twanging bows and flying arrows, quarterstaffs and shiny swords, heavy chainmail and wobbly helmets, muddy vegetables and funny clobber - and best of all fabulous sunshine and babbling chums. Larks a-plenty. Then child-abandonment again and back up the hosp. She's been wheeled further up the corridor. Assuming this is a good sign. 'Hello dear what's your name?' Hmmmn... Well she had just woken up. I should say I had just woken her up. (Well... I've gone all that way..!!) Is it my driving, or is the car possessed, or should I turn the stereo down a bit.... ? It all feels like I'm gonna sail off the road and not have to worry about the growing-up bit after all. (Although I do think points should be awarded for me not putting 'shiny' and 'helmets' together a minute ago.)
Sunday. I make Roving Blade drive my car to the golf range to see if it's paranoia or garage time. Turns out it's just paranoia. I keep the volume down a bit there and back tonight. Mum's still in the same pod as yesterday so for once don't have to go in search. I still manage to get lost tho'. (Who's the one with the brian blip?) She thinks she's going home in a couple of days. I don't THINK so. That voice over my shoulder is getting a little more insistent.
What happens when they do let her out?
Tap tap.
Sunday. Had a perfectly civilized Mothers Day (usually this alone is worthy of many 'oh shit's), and we even spent this one AT my mum's ('oh shit' territory for certain) - but this time, noone trod on a cat, noone hurled the contents of Connect 4 down the back of the settee, noone said 'fuck', noone pulled their pants down and farted in anyone's lunch.... (Yes, for once, my mother behaved herself.) And she even still looked perky when we finally clambered into the embarrassment we park on her drive and screeched away. Normally she's looking seriously close to fetching the big gun by waving goodbye time. Maybe we're all growing up a bit. (Like cheugh...)
Monday. Our Home Ed tribe's football session wasn't in the rain or gale force winds and it didn't take three hours to get their boots and tracky bots off afterwards. The hall meeting didn't implode. We started making our flag instead of dropping chips on it. We decorated eggs and didn't sit on them. Nobody got locked in the toilet. The younger Trinity Youth Theatre group's improv presentation was actually entertaining. The older Trin Yoof's show was... less sweary and death-obsessed than expected. None of the boys split their lip at Badgers. High five.
Tuesday. I got a lie-in. I got breakfast whilst stationary. I got a shower (eventually). I got Lulu Cheese over to her dad's workplace four seconds before he reached his car. I got shopping. I got the boys into bed before 10.30pm. I got a phone call from my brother. I've now got to carry on reading about beheading dragons without letting on that Nanny's just had a stroke and is in the hyper-acute unit. I've got to work out what to do. (I've got a nagging feeling that I'm supposed to know what to do.)
Wednesday. Took Minx to her skating lesson (sans boys - always a bonus) and once again Robin Cousins was there - like last week. (He's touring in Grease and this is his local rink for two weeks). He's so amazing to watch. And we watched. And last week I watched wide-eyed as he floated over to Minx to give her some tips on her axel landing. She nodded alot but took nothing in. Just gazed at him all starstruck and then carried on doing it wrong. Afterwards we squeaked alot. This week not only does her coach rip my phone out of my dithering hands and ask him for a photo with Minx but follows this up with a request for a special lesson for four of her pupils - and he says yes. We squeak alot more. Then I burst the bubble with the other news and we go and see my mum in the hospital. It isn't great. Yin and yang is it....? First we went to the house to meet my bro. Picked up scattered objects and pointed at cats. Minx was terribly grown-up. She spotted the washing was still out and set about unpegging and folding, watered the plants, told me what dressing gown Nanny preferred and where the socks were and made us sandwiches. I gawped at how big mum's bras were and nicked her cheese. Role reversal time. Weird. Feel like someone invisible is trying to tap me on the shoulder.
Thursday. Bowling - no fights over Doris (a favoured ball), no warnings about eating our own food, no chasing small children up the sirened alleys - and I manage to sell all the boys while I take Minx back up to the rink. And tonight we have no bruised knees, no walloped buttocks, no spilt J2O all over my knitting. I don't know I'm born. My driving's gone a bit loopy tho'. Lots of After Eights required. Couldn't fit in a hospital visit without dramas this end. Big bruv covered. Course he did. He's my big bruv.
Friday. Back at the rink, half wondering if Robin Cousins will change his mind. But here he is. Expecting about 15 mins of his time - tops. He gives them 45 mins of dedicated coaching and not a flicker of despair at the boggling camera-wielding parents squashed in the corner. And won't accept any payment. Signs autographs and does chat and bears the gushing thank yous - such a dude. And even stays calm when the swathes of arriving Home Ed skate munsters (not my tribe) swamp him with coos and cameras. That's some mettle. (They're a funny bunch of buggers that North Kent lot....) Back in the driving seat trying not to crash. Despatch all kids into the hands of my tribe and head back to the hospital. Still haven't lost control AND I get to wap in my choice of CD. Take what you can get out any situation I say. I'll take Lucinda Williams any day. Mum's out of the strings-attached ward and up the corridor a bit. Less tea-spillage. Less trying to escape antics. I'm still trying to flinch away from that tap on the shoulder tho'. Still not listening to that voice saying 'It's time to be a grown-up now'. Back to the tribe and the sun-burnt kids. Oops.
Saturday. Medieval archery shenanigans with the tribe. Loved this. Twanging bows and flying arrows, quarterstaffs and shiny swords, heavy chainmail and wobbly helmets, muddy vegetables and funny clobber - and best of all fabulous sunshine and babbling chums. Larks a-plenty. Then child-abandonment again and back up the hosp. She's been wheeled further up the corridor. Assuming this is a good sign. 'Hello dear what's your name?' Hmmmn... Well she had just woken up. I should say I had just woken her up. (Well... I've gone all that way..!!) Is it my driving, or is the car possessed, or should I turn the stereo down a bit.... ? It all feels like I'm gonna sail off the road and not have to worry about the growing-up bit after all. (Although I do think points should be awarded for me not putting 'shiny' and 'helmets' together a minute ago.)
Sunday. I make Roving Blade drive my car to the golf range to see if it's paranoia or garage time. Turns out it's just paranoia. I keep the volume down a bit there and back tonight. Mum's still in the same pod as yesterday so for once don't have to go in search. I still manage to get lost tho'. (Who's the one with the brian blip?) She thinks she's going home in a couple of days. I don't THINK so. That voice over my shoulder is getting a little more insistent.
What happens when they do let her out?
Tap tap.
Friday, 9 March 2012
Good Parenting
Don't be fooled by the title. I'm definitely not referring to myself. So breathe a sigh of relief. No pious preaching from this pulpit. (Just acutely agonising alliteration.)
I don't know if this is due to approaching menopause but I keep seeing loathsome new mothers everywhere. They look frumpy and have crap hair and no make-up. (You didn't click on this blog by accident did you? - thinking you'd find open-armed PC parenting sisterhood stuff did you?) It has been widely established that I dress like an elf, have put on 2 stone in 3 years, sport a self-inflicted Willy Mossop hair-don't in a faded shade of mutton-dressed-as and that my thick lashings of black eye-liner look ridiculous so this isn't a campaign for some lunchtime make-ever show. I just hate the way they moon about, as interesting as boiled potatoes, not thinking that their husbands or boyfriends would possibly think any the less of them because they are so over-flowing with nature and nurture that a spot of hair gel would be somehow inappropriate. I wish they'd all brush up or fuck off. It just reminds me of how crap I must have looked too. (I never did lose touch with my mascara brush tho' I'll have you know....)
I hate new mothers. And the feeling is mutual. I look at them and see slow-moving smug younger know-it-alls. They look at me and my litter and see the back of the book - and it wasn't the ending they've imagined. They would want to complain to someone about false advertising if only they allowed themselves to glance my way for longer than a nano-second. Most of them manage to cut me out of their peripheral view by some primal instinct. But I suspect it is the only primal instinct they have left. Everything else they do or think is as directed by some nazi child-rearing-expert brain-washing virus. Just listen to them talk to each other. It's thinly-disguised aggression. It looks like Stepford - but it's way more Hyacinth Bucket at it's core. (I do remember frumpy, I do - I don't ever remember the smug bit. I never reached smug. Bad parent obviously....)
We were surrounded by a pack of them in the swimming pool yesterday. They were patrolling around their button-eyed poppets like warships. Obviously they must have been horrified a bunch of wild pirates had just dive-bombed into their peaceful harbour - (shouldn't these children be in school?) - but they weren't catching anyone's eye. Amazingly we were still invisible. We had to negotiate all these icebergs in our adventures. (It was getting on for 12.30 - shouldn't they all be shovelling avocado mush down the obliging little red tunnels and getting ready for a nap?) It could've gone all This Town Ain't Big Enough but we each managed our own realities. We made occasional 'mind the little ones' chirrups to steer them away but it's more a case of wary circling. Eventually the lot of us had to make way for the crocodile parade of shivering prisoners of war. Sorry - school lessons. We were roped off and glared at all the way to the baby splash puddle hellhole - a sure-fire way of nudging us into the showers and out of their hair. Even after all the changing shenanigans, while waiting for our chips in the cafe, we could see the PoWs still shivering on the side of the action. Except by now they were wet and shivering. At least the new mothers were enjoying their 'what my perfect child eats' serve-and-volleys with each other in the warm. Definitely not noticing the goose-pimpled future through the windows.
I don't think I remember a whole lot about my monsters as babies - it all seems such a blur. I worry that I'll not even recognise each one if 4 baby photos were lined up before me. It was a battle of time, energy and unwanted advice. It did take me some time to remember I had my own mind and my own instincts - and these have been challenged over and over. I don't think I dyed my hair for a stretch of about 2 years at some point. I'd lost me completely. I never had my face on for school drop-off - (but it was always there for pick-up - I must've had a tiny voice still squeaking away). I used to wear brown for christssakes - destroy all photos. I recall I tried to limit sweets and telly. How quaint! I bought wooden toys. I smiled at pregnant women. Oh my gods..... It was another planet.
It was a planet where people with older children DID NOT EXIST.
I hated experienced mothers. It was like looking at the back of the book. I stopped reading altogether.
Recently I joined a yahoo group for Home Edders involved with exams etc. Minx has mentioned she might like to do some GCSEs. So I stuck my toe in new waters. It trebled my inbox and my burdened my already oppositional mind with anti-everything. At first I thought I'd persevere. But I realised it was just making me worse than usual. I can't help feeling that if I guide my feral beasts towards academia it will just stifle their genuine talents. Some kids have a bent towards paper and pens and maths and engineering and history and astronomy etc etc.... Some already know they want to be a physicist or a vet or a geologist and can get their heads round this stuff. I can't get my lot to look at the back of a cereal packet. Minx may well be happy with it - I will get round to sorting out a much recommended English course (as written by a Home Ed mum) and see how it goes but without any gloaty-excitement on my face or bragging to my mother. No pressure. It's just another 'thing' she's interested in as far as I'm concerned - like playing the piano or taking photos. Both of which she's gleaned from her dad and is happily building on by herself. But I've had to leave the yahoo group. I was in danger of posting up something childish last night whilst in a bolshie mood. It just seemed SO obsessive. It was peeking at the end of another book I decided was way too hardcore. (I'd not even bother to wait for it on DVD - not enough action.)
But are these academically-wired parents sucked into a lie? Are they living their lives through their children? They are Good Parents. How DARE I question the validity of qualifications? (Well... I've got some and they never got me anywhere.... )
Or.... am I standing in the way of my kids' path to a fruitful life? Am I living my rebellion through them? I'll not know 'til I get to the end of the book I s'pose.
As far as I'm concerned there's no hurry to write it.
(Gods know writing books ain't so easy eh? Still no sign of anything on that score round here.)
I know I am a Bad Parent. I'm fine with that. I hate good parents. I just wonder if my brood might prefer a good one?
Oh well - shit happens. It's best they learn this sooner rather than spend a fortune on counselling later. See? Always thinking of them! Good parent after all....
I don't know if this is due to approaching menopause but I keep seeing loathsome new mothers everywhere. They look frumpy and have crap hair and no make-up. (You didn't click on this blog by accident did you? - thinking you'd find open-armed PC parenting sisterhood stuff did you?) It has been widely established that I dress like an elf, have put on 2 stone in 3 years, sport a self-inflicted Willy Mossop hair-don't in a faded shade of mutton-dressed-as and that my thick lashings of black eye-liner look ridiculous so this isn't a campaign for some lunchtime make-ever show. I just hate the way they moon about, as interesting as boiled potatoes, not thinking that their husbands or boyfriends would possibly think any the less of them because they are so over-flowing with nature and nurture that a spot of hair gel would be somehow inappropriate. I wish they'd all brush up or fuck off. It just reminds me of how crap I must have looked too. (I never did lose touch with my mascara brush tho' I'll have you know....)
I hate new mothers. And the feeling is mutual. I look at them and see slow-moving smug younger know-it-alls. They look at me and my litter and see the back of the book - and it wasn't the ending they've imagined. They would want to complain to someone about false advertising if only they allowed themselves to glance my way for longer than a nano-second. Most of them manage to cut me out of their peripheral view by some primal instinct. But I suspect it is the only primal instinct they have left. Everything else they do or think is as directed by some nazi child-rearing-expert brain-washing virus. Just listen to them talk to each other. It's thinly-disguised aggression. It looks like Stepford - but it's way more Hyacinth Bucket at it's core. (I do remember frumpy, I do - I don't ever remember the smug bit. I never reached smug. Bad parent obviously....)
We were surrounded by a pack of them in the swimming pool yesterday. They were patrolling around their button-eyed poppets like warships. Obviously they must have been horrified a bunch of wild pirates had just dive-bombed into their peaceful harbour - (shouldn't these children be in school?) - but they weren't catching anyone's eye. Amazingly we were still invisible. We had to negotiate all these icebergs in our adventures. (It was getting on for 12.30 - shouldn't they all be shovelling avocado mush down the obliging little red tunnels and getting ready for a nap?) It could've gone all This Town Ain't Big Enough but we each managed our own realities. We made occasional 'mind the little ones' chirrups to steer them away but it's more a case of wary circling. Eventually the lot of us had to make way for the crocodile parade of shivering prisoners of war. Sorry - school lessons. We were roped off and glared at all the way to the baby splash puddle hellhole - a sure-fire way of nudging us into the showers and out of their hair. Even after all the changing shenanigans, while waiting for our chips in the cafe, we could see the PoWs still shivering on the side of the action. Except by now they were wet and shivering. At least the new mothers were enjoying their 'what my perfect child eats' serve-and-volleys with each other in the warm. Definitely not noticing the goose-pimpled future through the windows.
I don't think I remember a whole lot about my monsters as babies - it all seems such a blur. I worry that I'll not even recognise each one if 4 baby photos were lined up before me. It was a battle of time, energy and unwanted advice. It did take me some time to remember I had my own mind and my own instincts - and these have been challenged over and over. I don't think I dyed my hair for a stretch of about 2 years at some point. I'd lost me completely. I never had my face on for school drop-off - (but it was always there for pick-up - I must've had a tiny voice still squeaking away). I used to wear brown for christssakes - destroy all photos. I recall I tried to limit sweets and telly. How quaint! I bought wooden toys. I smiled at pregnant women. Oh my gods..... It was another planet.
It was a planet where people with older children DID NOT EXIST.
I hated experienced mothers. It was like looking at the back of the book. I stopped reading altogether.
Recently I joined a yahoo group for Home Edders involved with exams etc. Minx has mentioned she might like to do some GCSEs. So I stuck my toe in new waters. It trebled my inbox and my burdened my already oppositional mind with anti-everything. At first I thought I'd persevere. But I realised it was just making me worse than usual. I can't help feeling that if I guide my feral beasts towards academia it will just stifle their genuine talents. Some kids have a bent towards paper and pens and maths and engineering and history and astronomy etc etc.... Some already know they want to be a physicist or a vet or a geologist and can get their heads round this stuff. I can't get my lot to look at the back of a cereal packet. Minx may well be happy with it - I will get round to sorting out a much recommended English course (as written by a Home Ed mum) and see how it goes but without any gloaty-excitement on my face or bragging to my mother. No pressure. It's just another 'thing' she's interested in as far as I'm concerned - like playing the piano or taking photos. Both of which she's gleaned from her dad and is happily building on by herself. But I've had to leave the yahoo group. I was in danger of posting up something childish last night whilst in a bolshie mood. It just seemed SO obsessive. It was peeking at the end of another book I decided was way too hardcore. (I'd not even bother to wait for it on DVD - not enough action.)
But are these academically-wired parents sucked into a lie? Are they living their lives through their children? They are Good Parents. How DARE I question the validity of qualifications? (Well... I've got some and they never got me anywhere.... )
Or.... am I standing in the way of my kids' path to a fruitful life? Am I living my rebellion through them? I'll not know 'til I get to the end of the book I s'pose.
As far as I'm concerned there's no hurry to write it.
(Gods know writing books ain't so easy eh? Still no sign of anything on that score round here.)
I know I am a Bad Parent. I'm fine with that. I hate good parents. I just wonder if my brood might prefer a good one?
Oh well - shit happens. It's best they learn this sooner rather than spend a fortune on counselling later. See? Always thinking of them! Good parent after all....
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)