I'M STILL STANDING

The weather all week has been whippy and wicked.  High winds, lots of rain and high jinx ... always at school drop offs and picks ups which is the bane of any parents loitering in the playground.  It was definitely not a week for playground performance and politics.  (I think I speak for the majority when I say let’s face it we all look pretty miserable and rough when we’re freezing cold, windswept and being lashed by the rain – well I certainly did)!

I’ve been complaining about the black ice for the past couple of months and been extra vigilant – then as soon as the thick white icing of morning frost hits us hard – I hit the ground even harder.  I will be sporting these particular bruises for months.  (For once I am grateful for my ample padding).

I found myself tweeting Victoria Beckham early in the week – I’m not entirely sure what possessed me, and she didn’t respond, funnily enough.  I think I was too subtle ... in hindsight I should have been more obvious.

I’m continuing to sort and flog stuff ... It’s hard going and I’ve barely scratched the surface.  I’m getting rid of stuff bit by bit – more charity than anything else, though I’ve made a few peanuts.

I struggled with the diet this week.  I stuck to it all well and good – but the cravings couldn’t have been stronger.  Thank goodness for sinful Saturday yesterday – I didn’t half give it some welly.  However, today has been on the band wagon and I’m feeling incredibly virtuous.  Here’s hoping next week is kind to me – in every which way.

If karma’s anything to go by I should, in all fairness, have payback some time soon.  I made cakes and buns for friends I needed to cheer up this week, I sent cards, presents, emails and notes to others, I pulled strings where I could and lent shoulders and hands wherever I could.  I pretty much gave it all this week and whilst I hope it put a smile on the faces of lots of others I can’t deny I feel incredibly pleased with myself too.  It’s such a good feeling – which makes the giving/helping and doing so much more worthwhile.

Jem’s not had the best of weeks.  The poor kid came back from Beavers on Thursday night in absolute pieces.  His friend Callum had trapped his fingers in the car door – accidently I might add.  Daddy and I dashed about crushing ice and wrapping his hand in tea towels and calming him down – though not before I’d had a big hug and cried with him too.  I’d just had some bad news of my very own and Thursday was proving particularly testing.  There were a few wet pillows on Thursday night.

When I thought my week couldn’t get any worse ... along came Friday!  Jem running around naked at 6.30 am in the morning – as you do (to be honest it’s often the norm in our house) slammed his head straight into the corner of the wall of the door frame in the new extension.  He went down like a sack of spuds and hearing the resounding bang, followed by a thud (I swear the house shook) Pete and I rushed to his aid.  He put his hands to his head and we feared the worst when they came away covered in blood.  Several minutes of frantic cuddles, mopping with cloths and tea towels later, Jem and I were in the car and on our way to the hospital.  I knew it was serious.  Jem was particularly quiet and the tea towel was soaking through and changing colour.  I was thinking someone, somewhere was going to have to put him back together.  We got to Otley Hospital just before it opened and sat impatiently waiting for help.  Thankfully as we did so, the bleeding appeared to stop.  Jem seemed to regain his composure and, Jem being Jem, struck up conversations with the cleaning staff and a number of people waiting for treatment and he charmed the Receptionist into ushering him through in double-quick time ... either that or it was all just a bit too early for her!  Jem was cleaned up and stuck back together.  He insisted on me taking him to school, despite everything, and reluctantly, after much discussion, I relented ... after all my nerves were already frayed.

I got home and Mum and Dad (who’d driven over to help with Archie and Scarlett so that Pete could get off to work) had already left.  Dad called to say he’d left the door key in the mail box.  Opened the mail box – not a key to be seen.  Panic stations!!  After a good 30 minutes, searching, ringing Mum and Dad, etc, I was convinced that he’d dropped it and someone had picked it up and was coming back to do me over.  I albeit sat in the front room with a baseball bat.  I mean I would have done had I have had the energy. 

Instead, ravenous having missed breakfast, I made myself a very ham and pickled beetroot salad for my lunch.  I left it in the lounge whilst I went to let the dog out.  He got to the door, sniffed, and then legged it back in the house.  I got to the lounge just in time to see him snaffle the slices of ham straight from my plate.  You really couldn’t make this stuff up!!

I sent a shout out on Facebook for recommendations for a Locksmith and continued to worry.  Dad drove over to prove he’d left it and then, finally, after much ado, we discovered that he’d tried to ram it into the seam of the mail box and not the actual mail box itself.  I was suitably thrilled that we had located the key ... but it took a further 20 minutes of jiggery pokery with a very thin knife and lots of swearing to free the damn thing!?*

When I collected Jem from school never have I seen a member of teaching staff more on the edge.  Poor Ms Gillson couldn’t get rid of Jem quick enough ... I swear she visibly sighed with relief at relinquishing her caring duties.  After 2 days of saying; don’t run, don’t do that, calm down, walk don’t run, sit down, calm down ... I TOTALLY understand why.

Today was a weird one.  It started at 6.15 am when Scarlett came upstairs to announce that she’d got a baby.  When questioned by her somewhat bleary father she advised us that she’d married Harry the nice boy at nursery (first we’d heard of him) and they’d had a baby.  She hastened to add that she hadn’t married the naughty boy who goes around hitting everyone.  In Pete’s semi-conscious and somewhat baffled state he remarked how impressed he was.  I still haven’t deciphered whether he was impressed that she hadn’t had the baby outside wedlock, or that she hadn’t asked him to fund the wedding.  I’d best just confirm at this point that the baby is in fact our 3 year old daughter’s doll and I emphasise that she is ONLY 3 years old... and reeelaaaax.

I was narky as hell today, probably a combination of stress, tiredness and hormones!  There has been a great deal of niggling, shouting and general disagreeableness.  Ironically I gave Pete the trusted book ‘How to Survive the Menopause’ (or as Pete affectionately calls it ‘How not to commit murder on a daily basis and verbally kick the sh!t out of your long suffering husband’) to return to his work colleague!

So, the dining room isn’t cleared – but we’ve sorted quite a few things out, done a bit of tidying and then abandoned everything for Sunday lunch at my folks.  We had lots of lovely gammon joint and veggies and everyone tortured us by adding roasties, Yorkshire puds and gravy into the mix and a dessert of mint Viennetta and chocolate buns.  Still, we held our resolve and survived by the skin of our teeth.

Granny Sue has got the knitting bug and, not dissimilar to what she did with me for most of the 70’s and early 80’s, she is now making the most wonderfully fluffy creations for Scarlett at a rate of knots.

OK, I’m tired ... and to be honest still craving something sweet, and feeling a little bit riled ... so don’t even get me started on Corey Feldman’s hair!