Tuesday, 23 November 2010

Great, when even your 7-year-old son finds you minging without a bit of bronzer and a touch of mascara, what hope have you got?

I am just about to set foot out the door for the first day in November when it has not rained. I turn to Monty Buster and quickly ask him: “hey Monty, look at mummy a minute, now, can I get away with not wearing any makeup today?” his reply; “errrr, no.” Great, when even your 7-year-old son finds you minging without a bit of bronzer and a touch of mascara, what hope have you got? Not wanting to scare people in the local supermarket, I get my spatula out………

On the way out, I am afraid, very afraid. The driveway fills me with terror as I back out, I am bombarded with various animals trotting across my path, chickens (who are actually soooo stupid that they do not move, yesterday I looked out of the wing mirror and saw an orange mass on the floor, thinking I’d actually done it, I had squished a chook, I rush out to see it is in fact a pile of leaves…..), the dog, some cats, it is a mine field and I dread it on every outing. I back out inches at a time, sometimes with my eyes shut as I cannot face it, it is an involuntary reaction I guess, although not that helpful!

New shoes are in order for Lola today, as she conveniently snapped the buckle on hers after seeing her younger sister Mitzi get a new pair……. Still, off we trot. In France they have just put out Christmas things, they tend to do it far later here than England, which I really like, it means that the commercialism side of things is a little more respectful of the actual events, and thus I have less of an issue with the huge organisations seeking to benefit from us lowly beings who have  kids with eyes and mouths like giant dumplings, demanding everything they can see with menaces. So nice work la France! I digress, as the Christmas things are out, I find I have replacement children, stand-ins. Their whole beings have been taken over by mental children, as if on too much fizzy pop and sweets filled with e numbers….. I no longer recognise them, understand them, or connect with them on any helpful ‘mummy has said something, lets do as we’re told shall we?’ level either. It's one gigantic free for all, and I feel utterly helpless and completely out of control. Walking round the shop with the 4 of them it is like herding wildebeest with a spoon. I stand in a trance for a minute watching them flying round going “ooooh mummy, can I have that? Can I have this? Ooo and that ooo and look mum look at this” times this by 4 and that’s a whole load of little voices demanding things of little me……I wish I was on horseback in cowboy costume and a huge great lasso thing to control them….but I, alas, am not, so to plan B: “Tell you what kids, if you all come now, you can have all of it for Christmas!” Of course banking on the fact they’d forget as soon as we leave the shop………..fool.

I refuse point blank to get Monty any more starwars lego. The last couple of days have seen a mild improvement, but up until then, since his birthday on the 7th November, due to uncontrollable excitement, he has been pottering around in his den till 9pm (he thinks we can’t hear him) and up at 6am, straight under his den again to play with his lego. He cannot help himself. And what between that and the reparation of various ships reducing grown men nearly to tears -Alex having mild panic attacks every time something is broken and daddy has to fix it according to the original, thrown away instructions- (yes, thanks to me tidying!)…..it as, as they say; ‘a mad ‘ouse’……!

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