Monty is sad when he comes in from school tonight. I ask him what’s bothering him as we have a cuppa and draw at the table after school tonight. He tells me about a boy ‘Justin Bieber’ (say it with a French accent, and pronounce the Bieber, Beebear, and you’re kinda there, it was a good effort for a beginner). He says all the girls are ‘amoureuse de lui’ in love with him. I ask him if this is a new boy in his school (keep reading-I realise my unbelievably behind the times mistake in a minute) he says no, it’s a film star, der. Or something along those lines. The ‘der’ gets me thinking. I am obviously not just wrong, but ‘der’ wrong. It’s a coming of age when your 7 and a half-year-old son 'ders' you for the first time. This was serious. I busy myself Googling Justin Beebear. Oh, OK, only the modern day new Brad Pitt. My son’s der was justified, if a little rude. I have been derred and shamed guys. In my defence, I never read magazines, we do not have a working T.V and I catch up with news on the computer, and rarely do this, thus living in blissful ignorance of the self-destructing planet we are living on with Justin Bieber, lucky us. So you see, I am behind, but I am not taking responsibility. Good philosophy that. Treat life like you’re an insurance firm ‘ah yes, Mrs Wensley (where’d Wensley come from?) we see that your house just burned down, but you see, from the evidence, there are your finger prints all over it, so we’re aware, but taking no responsibility’. As Mrs Wensley cries you w*nk*r, I live there, that is why you have found my fingerprints all over it.
In our house, we have a dog who is frightfully gay, the chickens who are mutating into giant, carnivorous flapping ostriches, we have 3 cats too. One who is the laziest cow in the whole of the animal kingdon. She’s 10, she was abandoned and we found her at 6 weeks old, her name is Angelica the fat cat. Initially it was simply Angelica. She is shizer at catching daddy long legs, when how can this be that a daddy long legs, by name it suggest it’s giant long-gangly-legged proportions, and yet she cannot really even catch one of these. Yesterday, was a monumental moment for us, at the age of 10, she caught her first ever mouse. It was still alive, and unharmed, so I rescued it and set it free, or sent it on to another worse death.
|The mouse hid in my arm crease, and I carried it to freedom...|
Bumble, the 3rd cat we got who we found in the field last summer, has not yet had his ‘bits’ chopped off, and is causing issues with Weetabix the 2nd cat we found. Alex explains to Monty about a little operation to chop off Bumble’s ‘nuggets’ (his Dad’s choice of phrase) and he’ll be less aggressive. Monty wondered whether the 2 naughty aggressive boys at school could have their nuggets chopped off to chill them out. Hmmm, I’ll suggest it to the mums…
I have Esmie throwing the most insane paddies when everyone is back in from school. She’s into everything, apart from sitting down, and is generally good as gold for me in the days when it’s just her. The minute we get in from the school run, she grizzles, follows me round throwing tantrums over nothing-different child. My discipline practice has always been to
lock them in a cupboard ignore completely tantrums and paddies, and big up to the point of sounding like mummy Barney (that f*ck*ng annoying American purple dinosaur-how come he survived the extinction? Cruel world that sings relentlessly about ‘happy, happy I’m so happy’ things) when the behaviour’s something you want practiced. But despite many efforts I am not hearing the end of the paddies just yet. It’s not even like she needs to battle for attention, she’s still carried around lots, helps me cook and although I do make it clear that it’s the other’s time for a bit now as they’ve been at school all day, It’s not as though I leave her in the car and get the other 3 in and homeworked/bathed/fed/read to/beded.
|Comeon kids, be happy happy happy and sing happy things with me....|
I can but try as someone or other said, never a truer word in my case! Tomorrow we’re getting a new chicken! To replace the deceased (R.I.P Meg), then collecting Lola’s best friend and taking her and Lola to a party, after somehow before 2 o’clock getting a present and her dressed up as a princess (yawn) again. So I am now off to prepare mentally for the angel child who got dropped off, to have turned into a e-numbered up, fizzy popped up to the eyeballs..Bejazus, it’s gonna be the real rock and roll tomorrow at party kicking out everyone-else’s-kids-at-long-last-and-now-you-have-to-invite-mine-to-your’s-so-I-get-3-hours-off-too, share and share alike.
There we go, I’m off now, I’m bored-see you all!