Well a fair few questions have been posed this week, and as yet, we have not been able to magic the answers out of our bottom holes. Sorry for the vulgarity, but it is true.
|Mitzi, a debutant photographer...she's got talent, no?|
I am sat writing this with my dinner on my knee…I was very organised today, began doing a BIG fish pie, all to be ready to eat all together at 6 ish…but my neighbour and her daughter showed up, and it was all over, 6.30pm, she left, leaving me with no dinner prepared and kids covered in mud pie creations. Nice. So a quick picnic tea, raw veg, cheese and bread and butter. That’ll do the trick. Hence Alex and I eating on our knees, him watching, yes, you guessed it, UFC fighting, and me, trying to ignore it and write my blog, necking down carrots and a pie slightly resembling a fish one, but only half done, it’s not raw though, or burned, so we are happy, spoiled even, at the fact I have not destroyed it. The number of dinners I have burned in the name of writing my blog. Sinful, but necessary, I have a crowd (!) to please…
|Exactly how I found him before flushing him down the bogalog...|
In the middle of the night last night, Mitzi descends, she does this often, and it is, to be honest, becoming a little tiresome. There’s no need, at nearly 5, surely she should be sleeping better than a new born? No? Oh well, *shuts up and gets on with it*. As she walks through the kitchen, we spot a giant cockroach running for it’s life to hide in some kind of crack-attention everyone, any crack will do…I instruct her to fetch me a bunch of loo roll, he’s going down the toilet, as I do with all that I find that poses a danger to orifices, crevices, health in general (except humans, they’re all safe, for the moment…) flushed away to oblivion, to be recycled, and come out 7 times later as drinking water. Hmmmmmm, not the nicest thought, recycled cockroach water. It was a middle of the night intimate moment with my daughter, and when your intimate moments are flushing cockroaches down the bog at midnight, there, you realise, there must be something up with this…
|Bless him, unrequited love at 7-years-old...it's a hard life.|
Monty on the way to football training was telling me about his 3 wishes he’d given himself. Had they worked? I asked him. ‘Well no, mum, not yet, it takes 2 days to be fulfilled, so not tomorrow, but the day after Camille (he’s been in love with for 2 years, he’s definitely faithful my son) will be back in love with him (she ‘dumped' him 6 months into the relationship…) And he is very much looking forward to the fact she will be besotted with him again. I did gently prepare him that sometimes they do not come true, wishes, like my winning the lottery and getting a donkey…he understood, but reckons she’ll fall back in love with him on Thursday. So watch this space all…Monty bless, is small, the smallest in his class, and Camille, the tallest, she towers above him, at least 3 heads bigger…but love is love, so who am I to say size matters…?
Now listen to this, just before I leave to collect 2 out of 4 kids for lunch: ‘Dingy dangy dong, ringing out your bells, dingy dangy dong, bom bom’ OK, seriously, the French, can you not even make the smallest of efforts? ‘Dingy Dangy f****G dong?’ As if? And in actual fact, this song is a current fave in France, which just makes it all worse, the chorus (that which I have written above) is in English, the rest in French. Really though, REALLY…?
On that ‘the French pop is utter pants’ note, I am running out the door…
See you tomorrow,
Tamsyn x *turns UP the volume ‘dingy dangy dong ringing out your bells…’ and does a spin and everything to the chorus*