Hello! I am updating the ol’ blog after a long absence, for which I apologise. I have a lot of excuses. They are thus:
– I had guests. In the actual house! The Funny Little Bungalow was inhabited by real humans, and they didn’t fall through the floor.
– I nearly broke myself at the roller disco and have a bruise the size of Ventnor on my left buttock. I was showing off. I believe I have also spliced my radius and ulna, too, but I think I’ll have to wait until my arm drops off to be sure.
– I broke my already broken mother. Guilt has crippled me further.
– We went away. The Four Little Seymours and I busted out of this joint and headed west, to Bude and beyond, for some sea air. It was nice.
– I am writing my fourth novel. (Ooh, that sounds good! If only the first three were published…)
– I have been compiling photo books which have kept me from the above, and thus, from blog-writing too.
– I have been making abortive trips to London hospitals to find out we have been sent to the wrong doctor, and ending up in the Natural History Museum instead. Always a bonus.
– I have been seeking paid work – the kind that actually produces a fiscal reward. This is proving tricksy. The chap at the supply teaching agency didn’t really seem to grasp my needs, and I fear we may soon enter a cold war via email.
– I have been settling arguments. Constantly and non-stop. About who will sit where in the car; about who hit whom with what; about passing the ketchup, and about the ownership of the travel toothbrush. You name it, the buggers will argue about it.
– I’ve been worrying. Mainly about cars, really. And priorities, and diets, and life cycles, oh, and mothers and futures, my dwindling patience, and that good old chestnut, The Teeny Weeny Renovation Budget. Plus, of course, wobbly boys with crooked legs and blocked pipes.
Worrying is very time-consuming. And totally pointless, of course.
A new term has begun! The Four Little Seymours survived the holidays, despite Mummy treading a little out of her comfort zone on more than one occasion. They had a blast celebrating their best good teenage friend’s foray into adulthood, and Boy Seymour even got to have a special little micro holiday all of his own – with a troupe of boys and an arsenal of Nerf guns.
I have great plans for the next few weeks – renovations aside. Especially as Big Seymour has just announced that he might go skiing this weekend… Er? WTF?
I suppose he does deserve a break, and the building works have got rather monotonous… but as I seem to just this minute have poisoned him with green, lumpy, toxic, out-of-date orange juice, all bets and skiing may be off. Which is handy, if we refer back to the Teeny Weeny Renovation Budget. Powdery snow or plastered walls… which would you choose?
But it’s all OK! I have recalibrated. The priorities have been identified. The sun has been shining, the babies are asleep and tonight, Matthew, we got free doors. So all is well. The stand-off with Supply Agency Chap can wait until tomorrow, when I will remember that I am a mature, confident, intelligent professional and not the gibbering, sweaty, nervous wreck I presented today.
Go me!
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