We have lived in Worthing for about three weeks now, and it’s been eventful! Since arriving, Boy has miraculously been awarded Scout of the Year, we have a new Prime Minister, the Queen has died, and Number One has left me! With her departure to pastures new, there are many mixed emotions flying around an already spinning head.
Curiously, I feel fine about her leaving.That is a pleasant surprise. I had thought I’d lie awake at night and worry about her, but she seems to have found a great group of friends and told me today that she feels safe. I resisted the urge to tell her not to get complacent – but still, I am happy that she is happy.
And when yesterday, I realised that as much as I may have wanted to watch the dear departed Queen’s funeral all day, it was not really fair to expect the remaining little Seymours to want to do so too. They’d seen enough, and needed to get out. Boy had turned into Hitler, Mini Seymour was goading him, and Number Two, it turns out, needed to find a pharmacy (!). So out we went.
Typically, our stomp was not without its problems. Boy Seymour has three mechanical vehicles at our temporary abode. But will he lend one? Not without a HUGE fuss, and not without then watching like a hawk every time Mini Seymour rests the f*cking thing against a railing or placing it even gently down on the floor. And as for when Number Two tried to join her sister for a quaggie (80s slang for lift?) on said scooter… he nearly combusted.
I had hoped we might have turned our jaunt into a run, because exercise is a great stress reliever! But when I reached the bottom of the road I realised that Number Two was wearing Adidas sliders and Christmas socks. WHY? Boy on bike, Mini on scooter, Mummy in trainers and reinforced bra… and Number Two totally ill-equipped. The mission was doomed from the start.
So when Number Two nearly got annihilated by a twunting (speeding) cyclist, and my attention was momentarily elsewhere, I walked into Boy’s bike and said “F@ck Off!”, it was through sheer stress that I did so. I am sure the ladies in the snack booth by the pier will be tutting at my parenting skills, but in my defence, I had just taken skin off my shin. I was swearing at the bike, not my son. Honest.
I had declared to the kids that NO SHOPS WOULD BE OPEN, so momentous was this day, but that was an out-and-out lie.For there were people everywhere, not reverentially mourning their Queen, but eating ice cream on the front, guffawing, dining out and cycling too fast. Fair enough, royalty isn’t for everyone, but I am still not sure what to make of it all…
We found Boots open (quite fortuitously, actually), and meandered on back, having started with two grumpy kids, and ending with two, only a different two. I felt the need to message Number One to tell her what she was missing. Her reply only served to reinforce the idea that she was happy out of it!
The day culminated in a trip to collect Minty the Blue Car, with protests about the journey from the outset, prompting Big Seymour to declare that the children were so naughty that if they ask for anything, the answer must henceforth be forever NO.
There followed an argument during which I tried to establish what exactly that means, how we are to implement it and feeling yet more convinced of my parenting fails. I did point out to Big Seymour that the kids aren’t actually all that naughty really, but found myself questioning this logic when Boy Seymour took it upon himself to start moving televisions around just before we left Grandma’s to come home, intent on following through with some whim or other involving an XBox.
This morning, in spite of my regular promises to myself to stop worrying about everything, I failed. Our drive over the hill was comical: a stuck lorry resulted in lots of traffic on very tight lanes, and as I tucked the Shiny Van right into the hedge as far as I could without falling over the cliff, a twit in a shiny car approached. I wound my window down and said very clearly- yet politely – that I seem to be scratching my wing mirror. My subliminal message to him was – “get the heck over, you still have a foot and a half until you are in the bloody hedge, I am already as far over as I can be.” His reply? “We are all scratching our cars this morning, darling.”
“Er, no! You are not! I was subtly suggesting that you could GET OVER and join in with the scratching, to alleviate the bottleneck!”
I kept quiet, of course, and this was said only once I had passed him, because he was clearly a delusional idiot, but I felt maligned. I am not someone who won’t get in the hedge!
And then, after I was beeped trying to drop Boy off safely, I was watched intently for ages by a a knob as I reversed into a space to pop to the shop in The Village. I was taking my time to get my angles right, and smiled exaggeratedly at him as I did so, before giving him the bird after he eventually walked away. He could have helped me out if he was worried!
Ah! I see my resolution to de-stress is going marvellously. I guess it’s reassuring to know that, even in the absence of our Queen, life continues as normal! And in an experiment to see if sea air is good for the soul, I can only conclude that when it comes to the Four Little Seymours, it has no effect whatsoever!
Still stressed! It’s the way I roll, and it probably always will be.
#thankgodforwine
PS, in five days, we will be roofless. That may account for some of the angst. I will keep you posted.
0 Comments