Well, I finally know how to get you guys interested. It seems that chocolate is the key - why on earth didn't I think of this earlier? Just include the word 'chocolate' in a post and hits on the blog go up by 20%. Brilliant!
(Repeat to fade...)
But I know what you're really here for. Did I eat it or not?
Now, I thought about stringing you along for a while in a radio-show host styley, which by the way, really pisses me off.... Don't they think about the heart-rate of the poor person on the other end of the phone when they say; "Sandra..... Sandra...." "Yes?" "How much do you need this money?" "Oh, Chris, you have no idea. It will really make a difference." "And what do you think? Did you give me the correct answer?" "I don't know Chris. I mean, I thought I had, but then my neighbour's sister-in-law knocked on the window during the ad-break and told me that the capital of Spain was Majorca, and now I'm all confused..." "Well, Sandra. She's wrong. It's not Majorca." "Yes?" "So Sandra......" "Yes?"
And so on.
But then I realised you would just skip the waffling and jump straight to the answer, so here it is.
No. I did not eat the chocolate.
But before you click away, muttering to yourself about inhuman will-power and start thinking I am not the down-to-earth everywoman you imagined, let me add this:
I did not eat the chocolate. Yet.
I know, I know. I've come this far. 3 days home alone (with the Boys, clearly, who can forget them?), and I've not given in. Why stop fighting now?
Have you heard about the straw that broke the camel's back? Well, these are today's...
As you know, Husband is away. Whilst I'm generally an emancipated independant sort of a woman, since I had the kids I find it difficult to sleep if there is no snorer next to me. I kind of put myself on high alert in that situation, so if the boys so much as sniffle I sit up in bed and start imagining all sorts of disaster scenarios. For example, last night...
Disaster Scenario 1.
Boy #2 coughs.
What if he's got pneumonia? Who will look after Boy #1 if I have to take Boy #2 to hospital? Will the neighbours answer if I call them to do it (at 3am?). Who else will be in the peadiatric emergency ward if I take Boy #2 in? Will I be exposing my child to TB / Legionnaires Disease / The Plague? Should I pack a bag? What about formula? Where is the Karvol?
Disaster Scenario 2.
It starts raining.
Oh god. We live in a basement. Will the drains take it? What can I do if they don't? I KNEW I should have bought sand-bags. But then where would we keep them? Can't keep them outside because of course then they would get wet in the rain, and then they would be too heavy for me to move them in front of the front door. But we don't have them, so... Gosh, that rain's heavy. Where are the passports? Better have them handy in case we need to get out of the flat. (?????)
And so on.
Boy #1's whinge-fest when he got up this morning. It sounded as if I was inflicting all sorts of injuries. When I asked him to clear up the blocks he had tipped all over his bedroom floor before we left, you should have heard the moaning. There were tears, shouting, sobbing, and general despair as he tried to explain (through the hysterical hiccups) that he was simply looking for the rest of his Dizzy (Bob the Builder) lego toy, which it was vitally important to find before he went in to school.
Now, I knew that most of this toy was rattling around in the bottom of his toy box, but that would have entailed a full-scale excavation worthy of the Valley of the Kings, with all sorts of treasures coming to the surface to distract and delay us before we left the house at 8.15am, so decided that the upset was better than the chaos that would have ensued if I shared this information.
Husband calls from Moscow. When I dutifully enquire after his health he announces grimly that he is alright - now.
Clang (that's the bell of doom, by the way).
It transpires that, whilst staying in a friend's apartment, he was taking a shower this morning, stepped out of it to reach for the shampoo he had left in his soap-bag, slipped, careered across the tiled floor, fell with a mighty thud, and slid into the side of the bath where his foot went through an unbacked tile, slicing open his big toe. (I won't tell you left or right. The poor man has to keep some secrets).
Apparantly, as he was falling, in that split second 'life-flashing before your eyes' moment, he foresaw complete disaster and envisaged breaking his back and having no way to answer the call to the emergency services when they came rushing to the door to save him. (Honestly, talk about hysterical thoughts, or what?).
A hospital visit was required, (although he was able to walk there, hmmm), and shots and antibiotics were prescribed. Unsuprisingly, he is feeling rather sorry for himself.
Great. I'm sympathetic, of course I am, but as we are due to be skiing this weekend (yes, our weekend away, the one without the kids), this is not the best news. And guess who no doubt will be carrying both our bags through the airport?
Nuts at this afternoon's playdate. None consumed by the Boys, but my condition of 'high alert' was increased until it was one minute to midnight on the Doomsday clock (check the link if you don't know what I'm talking about) for the whole afternoon. Not relaxing. I wouldn't mind but I always let the mums know about Boy#1's allergy in advance. I think that next time this happens I will simply walk around with the Piriton on my belt in a holster.
(It's a shame we all have mobiles in a way. If we didn't I could drive the point about cause (nuts) and effect (hospitalisation) home even further by asking the host mum to make sure she keeps her landline free in case I need to call 999...)
A parking ticket when I came out of both the Boy's parents evening at their nursery. Yes. I know. Parents evenings for a 2 and a 4 year old. (Obviously they are both child prodigies who are delights to teach, but you don't need to know that...).
And so. No chocolate consumed - yet.