Just call me Mrs Irritated this morning. It's gloomy, dark, and cold.
Plus...Boy #2's cold is back, so I'm covered in snail-trails of snot (when will I learn to colour code my wardrobe by children's ailments and activities? White for colds. Black for painting. Plastic sheeting for everything else...)
Plus... Husband forgot to take the flowers in when he dropped Boy #1 at nursery this morning (is this common practice, pupils taking it in turns to flowers in to school? Just seems yet another opportunity for one-upmanship if you ask me)
Plus... have had no luck finding a Kilt, yes, you read that correctly, a KILT for Boy #1 to wear at his nursery Christmas show. It's a musical performance of 'The 12 days of Christmas' apparantly - and he's a piper. This is going to be fun. He has already informed me in a rather final way; "I am not wearing a skirt, mamma. No way." Based on his level of involvement over the last 2 years at the school Christmas plays (sitting on his teacher's lap, weeping piteously at the sight of all the grown-ups and the glaring stage lights), anything more than £5 could be a huge waste of money. And yet, I have recieved a letter informing me he needs to wear a white shirt, a KILT (with 'jazzy' shorts underneath, if you don't mind. What the hell are 'jazzy' shorts? Is this a whole new cult of dressing I know nothing about?), long socks, shoes and - get this - a tartan beret. There are no words. Other than, it'll teach me to live in Kensington sweetie-lovey-darling...
Plus... having finally got Milly (mother-in-law) to commit to which photos she wants where in the book of her mother and aunt's lives (palaver is not the word), and downloaded them to Lulu.com and placed the order last night, I just recieved an e-mail stating they couldn't fulfill it due to technical problems. So have just spent half an hour on their live help site trying to sort that one out. Please god let them arrive in time for Christmas...
Plus... am trying to book a Santa trip for the Boys but all websites appear to be down. Have been informed by smug friends that it just doesn't pay to leave it to the last minute, apparantly. Last minute? It's not even December yet...
Plus, what is it about men and washing up? Yes, it's great that Husband does it. But not so great when I find the sink plug-hole blocked by bits of rice, cornflake, raisin and various other revolting bits of debris that apparantly will work their way through the system - eventually. Hmmm...
Reasons to be cheerful?
I have got one, actually. Boy #2's godmother, who recently decamped to the wilds of Gloucestershire is dropping by for coffee tomorrow morning. Hurrah! The company of my best mate, who knows my husband and doesn't mind me sounding off as she's looking for an opportunity to do the same about her bloke. (And we both know it means nothing, other than a chance to vent before we drink too much tea and eat too many biscuits.)
Life doesn't get much better. Until Christmas, anyway...
Plus...Boy #2's cold is back, so I'm covered in snail-trails of snot (when will I learn to colour code my wardrobe by children's ailments and activities? White for colds. Black for painting. Plastic sheeting for everything else...)
Plus... Husband forgot to take the flowers in when he dropped Boy #1 at nursery this morning (is this common practice, pupils taking it in turns to flowers in to school? Just seems yet another opportunity for one-upmanship if you ask me)
Plus... have had no luck finding a Kilt, yes, you read that correctly, a KILT for Boy #1 to wear at his nursery Christmas show. It's a musical performance of 'The 12 days of Christmas' apparantly - and he's a piper. This is going to be fun. He has already informed me in a rather final way; "I am not wearing a skirt, mamma. No way." Based on his level of involvement over the last 2 years at the school Christmas plays (sitting on his teacher's lap, weeping piteously at the sight of all the grown-ups and the glaring stage lights), anything more than £5 could be a huge waste of money. And yet, I have recieved a letter informing me he needs to wear a white shirt, a KILT (with 'jazzy' shorts underneath, if you don't mind. What the hell are 'jazzy' shorts? Is this a whole new cult of dressing I know nothing about?), long socks, shoes and - get this - a tartan beret. There are no words. Other than, it'll teach me to live in Kensington sweetie-lovey-darling...
Plus... having finally got Milly (mother-in-law) to commit to which photos she wants where in the book of her mother and aunt's lives (palaver is not the word), and downloaded them to Lulu.com and placed the order last night, I just recieved an e-mail stating they couldn't fulfill it due to technical problems. So have just spent half an hour on their live help site trying to sort that one out. Please god let them arrive in time for Christmas...
Plus... am trying to book a Santa trip for the Boys but all websites appear to be down. Have been informed by smug friends that it just doesn't pay to leave it to the last minute, apparantly. Last minute? It's not even December yet...
Plus, what is it about men and washing up? Yes, it's great that Husband does it. But not so great when I find the sink plug-hole blocked by bits of rice, cornflake, raisin and various other revolting bits of debris that apparantly will work their way through the system - eventually. Hmmm...
Reasons to be cheerful?
I have got one, actually. Boy #2's godmother, who recently decamped to the wilds of Gloucestershire is dropping by for coffee tomorrow morning. Hurrah! The company of my best mate, who knows my husband and doesn't mind me sounding off as she's looking for an opportunity to do the same about her bloke. (And we both know it means nothing, other than a chance to vent before we drink too much tea and eat too many biscuits.)
Life doesn't get much better. Until Christmas, anyway...
We had to do this kilt lark for a gala float a few years ago -admittedly it's easier living NHW* and all that. But, for the kilt bit, go and buy the cheapest strip of tartan material you can find, wrap it round him like a sarong and secure with big safety pins. You surely don't have to do pleats? And I can supply a tartan beret if you want. Well, it'd be a Jimmy hat really with orange hair attached. He'd look like a real Glaswegian then. Weegie in the vernacular.
ReplyDelete*North of Hadrian's Wall (with thanks to Iota).
Guineapigmum
Hi Christine,
ReplyDeleteJust thought I'd give you a bit of variety and another way of securing the future of your little ones.
Peace
What? That school sounds a nightmare. Fresh flowers? A kilt? Jazzy shorts? Tartan beret? I think you should send him in the traditional dressing gown with tea towel round the head. That is what kids are meant to wear for a nativity play, as eny ful no.
ReplyDeleteYou could try Edinburgh Woollen Mill (must be one somewhere near you), but it'll cost you a fortune.
If all else fails, play your PC card. Say that caricaturing Scottish people as kilt-wearing and beret-wearing is racist and offensive. And they do not wear jazzy shorts underneath their kilts, as any ful no (the fuls are doing a lot of noing in this comment...), so you can say that that bit is racist, offensive and inauthentic to boot.
There. Solved it for you.
Agree with Iota, standards must be exceptionally high at your nursery... we never have to take fresh flowers in to ours.
ReplyDeleteI don't think men notice dirt the way women do. It's not a conscious thing, I suspect. After two and a half years of marriage I've only now managed to train my husband to wipe down surfaces. He does it, because he's lovely and obliging, but I can tell from the look on his face as he wields the damp cloth he doesn't really 'get' it. Somehow I love him all the more for this. I don't know why.
Christine, thanks for the visit and the hint. As it happens, just after posting I managed to persuade Milly to take up the challenge. Since she owns a sewing machine, and everything. And her solution is exactly the same as yours. As for the beret? Forget it. (And that's what his nursery teacher said too...)
ReplyDeleteBTW - have you got a stalker? Who on earth is Property Guru, and why are they messaging you here?
Iota, the PC card is a brainwave. As my maiden name is Scottish I can even bring that in when I act all offended. (I am of course no more Scottish than I am blonde, but they don't have to know that...)
MAL - the damp cloth thing.You're right, they don't get it. I've been married a (little)longer than you so Husband does do it - but with a clean cloth? Some hope...
A kilt and fresh flowers? Yikes. That's a high standard to live up to.
ReplyDeleteI hope you have an absolutely wonderful time with your friend. Now that's something to look forward to!
RC, you have NO idea. Check out my post of 9th October if you really want to see what I'm up against. Did you not know that Harvest Festival is viewed as competitive sport in certain parts of London?
ReplyDeleteAnd yes, I am so looking forward to catching up with my friend. 20 years and we still behave like teenagers - but only when the kids aren't looking, obviously...
Property Guru = spam, methinks.
ReplyDeletegpm
ok, for the kilt. Cheap white sheet. Dark green, blue, red markers (or other scottish colours), get to work and paint a kilt pattern onto a sheet. Better still get wee bairn to help and he might be more disposed to wear it.
ReplyDeletewww.photobox.co.uk might save the day!
Sounding off about husbands...so therapeutic.
Pigx
Oh, and take property guru's advice to Christine (??! these spammers are fab), think, 'peace'.
ReplyDeletePigx
Thank you for your very kind comment this morning. I will definitely keep coming by your blog. When I first saw it, I thought "reading about someone else's potty training woes, NO THANK YOU". Once you're through that stage, you try and blank it out forever. But I love reading your boys' exploits (fruit-lobbing and banana-chewing), and hearing about the potty years in Kensington.
ReplyDeleteJust one small request. Could you enlarge your typeface a bit? My eyes aren't what they used to be. Or is it just that I'm a long way away?
Glad you have a nice reason to be cheerful:
Seeing my best mate, biscuits on the plate,
A couple of diet cokes, a whinge about our blokes,
She's coming up from Gloucesters
So she might prefer a Foster's,
We'll have a heart to heart 'n'
She'll help me do Pig's tartan.
Before she's time to wilt
I'll get her started on that kilt,
She's such a jolly good sport -
Might even make those jazzy shorts.
I'll then have hours and hours
To sort out those bloomin' flowers.
My troubles will be over
So I could go off to Dover,
But it'd be rather more propitious
To go back to sunny Mauritius.
Christine, spam, no doubt. But I just hate it when they get all familiar like that, don't you? (must work out how to block that stuff).
ReplyDeletePig, it's OK, I'm saved - Milly has come up trumps and a home-made kilt will be delivered here this week. Although we may just have a go at your idea for the hell of it - if anything can shift my son's idea of gender-suitable clothing that may be it.
And Iota... fantastic. But you do realise you've rather blown your cover? Not only is it now clear that YOU are the person who writes the words for all the advertising jingles, but if you have time to come up with that for a comment here, are you sure you can't throw us a bone on your blog from time to time? (And yes, I know you already said 'taking a break', not quitting for good...). In any case, I'm going to print that off in honour of Sarah's visit tomorrow - thankyou!
In the words of Property Guru -
Peace, everyone.
PS - Iota - will try and sort the size of the text out. Had been wondering about it myself - but just thought it might be time for a new contact lens prescription. So glad it's not just me...
ReplyDeleteNot sure why I don't get such nice spam on my own site. He can't be much of a stalker.
ReplyDeleteChristine - what is your own site?
ReplyDelete(and of course - Peace...)
http://edubuzz.org/blogs/guineapigmum
ReplyDeleteI'm not quite sure why I can't make the Google accout bit show guineapigmum. Must try harder.
It's a Wordpress blog and I can't get it to come up as an option on my Blogger account - which I have to have to leave comments here. 'My Web Page' on my profile takes you to it, though.
ReplyDelete