An Update

Life improves, and - although I am so behind with everything that it's hard to tell - things are clearly much easier than they were six months ago. Husband's leg is very much better. He is walking (albeit still with a limp), and continuing to make gradual progress. The small boy has started at his sisters' school, which has had a very positive effect on all our lives. I have work coming out of my ears (which is a very good thing, and I am not complaining...).

I am heading to Scotland next month for a chunk of respite care in the arms of my beloved mountains - I wasn't planning to take the laptop, but am tempted to try writing something; I have not written a word since January, which saddens me, as my head is bursting with stories of many kinds. I am struggling a bit with my OU course (it always comes bottom of the list), but loving it when I can settle to a few hours of linear recurrence series and the like ;o) On the flip side, the smaller girl has broken her arm (less said about that the better!), and I injured my eye last week - but we are both healing well!

Looking forward to a better year :o)

Dettol & Dioralite

You can guess, can't you?

We've all had it, all five of us, in forty-eight hours. Actually, it's longer than that now, because the small boy threw up again today, over thirty-six hours after the last time (parents of other small children will understand why this is so unfair). Only this time he did it at school, at pick-up time, right in front of the assembled parents. He also managed to splat three other small children and a teacher in the process. Oh, God. [hides face in hands] I'm tired.

We leave for Scotland tomorrow. No more school now for small boy and, given that he had to take yesterday off too, we might as well have gone on Saturday... except for all the vomiting on Sunday, of course.

To Infinity and Beyond

Himself and the small boy (aged four-and-a-bit) were having a conversation in the car this afternoon. The small boy was writing numbers on one of those magnetic drawing-boards.
SB: Look at my number eight, Dad. Isn't it good?
H: Yes very good.
SB: Eights are easy. You just start with an S, and carry on going.
H: Yes, that's right.
SB: And look. I can write infinity. It's just an eight on its side.
H (astonished): How on earth did you know that?
SB (adopting the air of a university professor): Infinity is bigger than the biggest number there is. I bet you didn't know that!
H: So, can you count to infinity?
SB: No! Don't be a silly head. It would take me the rest of my life to count to infinity.

They don't half put you in your place sometimes!

---

I have been awarded the Mwah by Helen. She has no idea how much this perked me up at the time (I've had a really shitty few days). So thank you, Helen! I hope it has the same effect on Sarah G and Honeysuckle, both of whom have made me think a bit just recently. Thank you, girls.

Della Galton's Course I

It was when I reached the motorway, switched on the cruise control and turned the stereo up so loudly that I practically had Jimi Hendrix in the car with me (Voodoo Chile makes such a great change from Wheels on the Bloody Bus), that I realised I was actually doing my own thing.

The next fun part was finding Helen. She was in the queue for the coffee machine when I spotted her. She glanced at me a couple of times, no doubt wondering why I was grinning at her! Once introduced, we sat together, and giggled a lot. We all giggled, and laughed. It was a great day.

There were six in the class, and Della (who is as genuine a person as I could wish to meet) allocated half an hour for each of us, and we were all encouraged to comment and advise on each other's stories, which was a constructive and encouraging exercise. Everyone had good ideas! Certainly my story, when it is subbed, will need to be credited to Me, Della, Helen, and a nice lady called Christine.

Helen's going to write a proper course review on Monday. This is good, because my brain is a shambles, and I can't think of anything else to write except that it was a great day. But, I think I said that already.

It was a great day (sorry). I learned a lot. I'm very glad I went. It was all thanks to Della, for being so clever; Helen, for being so adorable; Jane, for Bullying me into it; Julia, for looking after the small boy; Liz, for looking after the small girl; my lovely step-daughter (and her mum), for looking after the baby; and himself, for picking up the pieces.

See the Della Galton website for details of more courses. I can't recommend her teaching highly enough.

Another Disastrous Holiday

Sorry about the silence. Am perfectly well (although rather grumpy) following an Internet-free, four-day break in the Shropshire wilds. Despite a delightful location, snug cottage, and a lovely visit to my uncle, I am grumpy because, yet again, it all went horribly wrong. Here is a summary of the last few times I've ventured away from home:

July 2005 - We were burgled. The resultant damage cost over £10,000, and ten months, to put right.
July 2006 - A postman named ALAN JENKINS smashed into my car (on my birthday) in a remote part of the Isle of Jura (itself pretty remote), and I had to take 50% blame DESPITE BEING STATIONARY AT THE TIME (still seething over that one).
Oct 2006 Had major row with husband, and had to be talked out of divorcing him on the spot by very good friend (thanks, Maggie!)
May 2007: My Dad, who was with us (in isolated Scottish cottage), had suspected heart attack.
Oct 2007: Small girl had croup for two days, baby teethed for two days/nights, small girl broke her leg.
Feb 2008: Small boy was unexpectedly, and spectacularly, sick in the car. Spent the whole time convinced he was going to vomit at any moment. Baby teethed solidly; got no sleep. Had four-day headache instead. Got £60 parking ticket.

I'm never going away again, ever...

Wish me Luck...

Today, I'm going to switch off my computer (unprecedented), and Tidy My House (nearly unprecedented).

If I don't resurface tomorrow, please come looking for me; I'll be buried in the small boy's room (upstairs right), under a pile of soft toys, brio train track, and dirty socks.

Bouncing Boy

Still feeling poorly, but was greatly cheered up by listening to the small boy (on the telephone) telling his father all about his trampolining class today. He was describing certain moves he has learned, and it was funny listening to his interpretation of his teacher's instructions:

'Reach up to the sky' became 'fly up to the sky'; 'push down hard' became 'whoosh down hard' [it's a bit echoey in there], and; 'kill the bed' [and expression meaning to stop suddenly] became 'and we had to kill the trampoline, but, Dad, I didn't know how to do that, so I just stopped bouncing.'

A Relaxing Lie-in

I was still in bed at 8.30 this morning, when Jane came to collect the small boy for school.
"But it's inset day," I wailed from an upstairs window.
"No, Leigh. We've had this conversation before... [we have?] ...and it isn't inset day."

Arrrrrrrrgggh!

With only a small amount of oiwwing, the small boy was prepared to leave the great CBeebies-website portal (my computer) and get dressed. Meanwhile I made his lunch, found his PE kit (anyone who has seen my downstairs cupboard will be particularly impressed by this), and yelled "We're off," up the stairs.

Recently, himself has excelled in being a Good Husband, and I felt only slight guilt as I shut the door on the urgent cry of a newly-potty-training toddler: "Wee-wee coming. Wee-wee coming."

Miraculously, we made it to school, just as the bell went.
The small girl made it to the potty (and then carried the thing, sloshing, upstairs to show Daddy).
And I realised that panics are so much more relaxing when you don't know about them in advance.

The Importance of a Good Self-Image

I wanted to share with you the small boy's drawing of himself on the school's Christmas tea-towel.

Adorable Children

Himself has a birthday today.

Sometime around six thirty (am) I became aware of a conversation going on downstairs. Now the small boy (nearly 5) can get up when he likes, but the small girl (nearly 3) is not allowed out of her room before the clock chimes at seven (when the baby gets up). She had quite clearly ignored that rule this morning.

Having been working on my Message until after midnight, I really couldn't be bothered to fetch her back to bed. There were no sounds of struggle, so I left them to it.

Shortly before seven, I heard them coming up the stairs, whispering. They were dragging something heavy. There was some discussion while they stood outside our door, until I heard a quiet "Yeah, let's go in. Come on." They crept into our room, and stood silently beside the bed for three whole minutes until the clock struck the hour.

They had retrieved all Daddy's presents, from the various places in which we hid them yesterday evening, put them in a bag, and had brought them up to give to him.

How's that for adorableness?

Your Messages & Silence

Posted a second Message (20:30), and am really pleased with it. Words came as quickly as yesterday, and more or less in the right order. Very satisfying.

Also, I've done lots of editing today. Among other things, I have finally found the solution for a Problem Paragraph. I've been staring at it for over a month (in between eating, sleeping, and taking various children to various hospitals), and suddenly it clicked!

This revelation might have had something to do with himself being airborne somewhere over southern England, the small boy being at school, the small girl being at Jane's, and the baby being asleep. I could actually hear the cogs going round, which was good - although the graunching might not have been...

Wanna know how to procrastinate...?

-------------------------------------------...ask a four-year-old at bedtime.

Having had a really Bad Day out there in the real world of trying to run a web-hosting business (the other thing I do when the kids are napping), I have now sat down at my desk to write (humph).

The children went to bed at seven, as usual, but the small boy is still padding about, going to the loo, washing his hands ("Mummy, the soap thingy's run out"), looking for a towel (although there's one on the radiator), fetching a cup of water (from the tap in the kitchen because the one upstairs is too tight for him to turn on) putting out Penguin to take for Show & Tell tomorrow...

The conversation will go like this:
--"Mummy, I just need—"
--"GO...TO...BED!"
--"Going, Mummy."

I can't be angry with him, though. I know where he gets it from...ahem.

Arrrrgh. Sticky Fingers.

Never, ever, give a four-year-old honey on his toast, and then say,

'Yes, of course you can play on my computer.'

Even if he swears he's cleaned his hands first.
Four-year-old-boy handwashing standards are not really up to mine.

And I know this.