Right I haven’t blogged in ages because, well y’know life. And work. And just stuff. Why is there so much stuff?
We moved out of the house and decamped to my mums after the electrician described the most expensive thing we have ever bought as ‘a death trap’ funnily enough this was not a phrase used in the estate agent’s promotional material. Every time I call in to visit The Death Trap – I’ve always wanted to live in a house with a name -I wonder why we thought renovating a property was a good idea.
Back when we were looking to buy it all seemed so simple, wandering round other people’s family homes discussing which walls we wanted to flatten -nearly always the one with the photos of the grandkids on it. Sorry.
One elderly owner was horrified by the fashion for open plan living and convinced we’d be putting back walls and doors by the end of the year. Fortunately he couldn’t see us rolling our eyes because we were in the entrance porch, next door to the pantry, next door to the utility, next to the teeny, tiny kitchen because all the fucking floor space was taken up with doors. Who needs to open that many doors to get out of a kitchen? No one.
Part of me can understand the whole having separate rooms thing, usually the day after I’ve cooked a curry, but then the other part of me needs to know what my children are doing at all times because if I’ve learned one thing being a parent for 6 years it’s: if they can’t see you and you can’t see them, someone is probably vajazzling themselves with a glue stick.
The highlight of staying at Grandma’s is the 40 minutes plus commute with the kids where I get to find out everything that’s happened at school. Something like this:
Me: So what happened at school today?
Me: If no one answers my question I’m putting Radio 4 on. What did you do at school?
6yo: So. You know that Christmas song with all the….I don’t know what you call them, but it’s a song. So. We did that.
Me: You sang a song?
6yo: Duh we didn’t sing it I didn’t say anything about singing.
Me: Well what did you do?
6yo: So. It’s a Christmas song all about, whatever, and we made a picture of it with all the other years and I did the moustaches on the chickens.
*complete silence again*
Clearly ‘doing the moustaches on the chickens’ is an adequate explanation of the day’s events. After several miles racking my brains for a Christmas song that features moustachioed poultry I try again with the other child.
Me: What did you do in Reception?
Me: What swans?
4yo: The swans in the Christmas song, she already said that.
If you were driving through West Yorkshire at about 4 o clock and spotted a red faced woman headbutting her steering wheel, that was me.
Oh and in case you haven’t worked it out the Christmas song is?
A Partridge in A Pear Tree, the moustaches were for the French hens. Obvs.