Good heavens it has been some time. Some time that I haven't even noticed the passing of, it's just gone in a cloud of illness, organising and furore.
As I mentioned last millennium, I am getting married, albeit next year, but, as those of you who have made your steps down the aisle, THERE IS SO MUCH TO DO. Everything that you think is simple and straightforward immediately becomes more complicated with the secret subplot that you had no idea existed. For example, venue, you have one in mind, you ring, but then you find out that if you have one person over their stipulated amount, you have to move the venue to their far more expensive location 6mm left of the one that you had your heart set upon. Children, we want them at our wedding, but we want them gone by 6:30/7, so that the adults can have that time without the threat of being sick or falling over, or both, under the skeptical eyes of their offspring. Logistically this is a sub plot that, after 3 bottles of wine, we decided would be better parked in the "to do" column. Dresses, this I found easy in many regards, but having listened to the advice of those more knowledgeable than I, visiting one shop and deciding on the first dress, just meant that all the other shops wouldn't be able to beguile and befuddle me, so it was best to see a few. Thankfully though, the first dress in the first shop won out over all and Amanda Wakeley or We Saw You Coming as I like to call it, can keep her size 2 dresses with size 80 price tags.
Both my children, I have been told, will be undergoing general anaesthetic. The youngest on the 7th April and eldest at whichever point the NHS actually get the referral letter that is currently being passed from pillar to post. I don't agree with operations in smalls, particularly not my smalls (I mean children here, not underwear, just incase there was confusion). I said this to the specialist in charge when he gave me and the Registrar the six seconds of his very precious time, and he said that the removing of the lump in my daughter's nose was such a minor operation that I need not let it concern me for another second and that "if it were his child" he'd have the operation (not him, he confirmed after questioning, but his child) and that "it's better to get it over with now as we'd look very silly down the line if it was something nasty and we had done nothing about it!" To which I nodded, although afterwards I thought (once the petrified panic had left me), if you're worried about looking stupid, might I suggest another line in footwear, as opposed to operating on my child? Just a thought. My eldest daughter is waiting for her slot for grommits, of which I had many sets when I was younger, but I am a little more keen on that as I understand it and have been through it and it might stop her "whadyousay-ing" me every other sentence. Selfish I know, but it's either that or death!
We're also looking at moving, taking the plunge and leaving the smoke behind for the vast sprawling metropolis of Dorset. We have fallen in love with it, there is a school there that we have found that is basically a stable where the girls can go and be free and the worst thing that might happen to them is a falling out with a tack box or an angry sheep. A place where the main road is in a foreign place that the locals talk about in a similar way to the characters in The Lord of the Rings talk about Mordor. I am pretty sure that once we get down there, the children will take care of themselves and be like Wendy Darling and the dog will become self sufficient and take himself for walks and put the keys in a place that I can find them once he returns. The fact that we have to treck over hill and glen to get a pint of milk that we'll inevitably run out of, we always do, just doesn't really count. That and the fact that it'll be so cold that we'll be numb because all the houses come with natural air conditioning and run on oil that we won't be able to afford. We won't be able to go out ever really because everything shuts at 9 and we'll be ostracised by the ridiculously friendly yocals because "we're not from London you know!" It's ideal and I can't wait.
The children are going through another "phase", this is the "whingeing, badly behaved, irreverant, impertinent, non-listening phase" that all the books tell you about. The one that seems to be the longest, the one that I have no idea how to tackle so change my approach mid-sentence and confuse the children as well as myself so that no-one knows where they are. They say that you should be as irregular and irrational as possible, that's what makes stable, mentally healthy and delightful children, I know because I don't think I could cope with anything else. But it's alright, because this is a phase, so no matter what I do, they'll get through it, I just need to get to the next phase, surely?
As I mentioned last millennium, I am getting married, albeit next year, but, as those of you who have made your steps down the aisle, THERE IS SO MUCH TO DO. Everything that you think is simple and straightforward immediately becomes more complicated with the secret subplot that you had no idea existed. For example, venue, you have one in mind, you ring, but then you find out that if you have one person over their stipulated amount, you have to move the venue to their far more expensive location 6mm left of the one that you had your heart set upon. Children, we want them at our wedding, but we want them gone by 6:30/7, so that the adults can have that time without the threat of being sick or falling over, or both, under the skeptical eyes of their offspring. Logistically this is a sub plot that, after 3 bottles of wine, we decided would be better parked in the "to do" column. Dresses, this I found easy in many regards, but having listened to the advice of those more knowledgeable than I, visiting one shop and deciding on the first dress, just meant that all the other shops wouldn't be able to beguile and befuddle me, so it was best to see a few. Thankfully though, the first dress in the first shop won out over all and Amanda Wakeley or We Saw You Coming as I like to call it, can keep her size 2 dresses with size 80 price tags.
Both my children, I have been told, will be undergoing general anaesthetic. The youngest on the 7th April and eldest at whichever point the NHS actually get the referral letter that is currently being passed from pillar to post. I don't agree with operations in smalls, particularly not my smalls (I mean children here, not underwear, just incase there was confusion). I said this to the specialist in charge when he gave me and the Registrar the six seconds of his very precious time, and he said that the removing of the lump in my daughter's nose was such a minor operation that I need not let it concern me for another second and that "if it were his child" he'd have the operation (not him, he confirmed after questioning, but his child) and that "it's better to get it over with now as we'd look very silly down the line if it was something nasty and we had done nothing about it!" To which I nodded, although afterwards I thought (once the petrified panic had left me), if you're worried about looking stupid, might I suggest another line in footwear, as opposed to operating on my child? Just a thought. My eldest daughter is waiting for her slot for grommits, of which I had many sets when I was younger, but I am a little more keen on that as I understand it and have been through it and it might stop her "whadyousay-ing" me every other sentence. Selfish I know, but it's either that or death!
We're also looking at moving, taking the plunge and leaving the smoke behind for the vast sprawling metropolis of Dorset. We have fallen in love with it, there is a school there that we have found that is basically a stable where the girls can go and be free and the worst thing that might happen to them is a falling out with a tack box or an angry sheep. A place where the main road is in a foreign place that the locals talk about in a similar way to the characters in The Lord of the Rings talk about Mordor. I am pretty sure that once we get down there, the children will take care of themselves and be like Wendy Darling and the dog will become self sufficient and take himself for walks and put the keys in a place that I can find them once he returns. The fact that we have to treck over hill and glen to get a pint of milk that we'll inevitably run out of, we always do, just doesn't really count. That and the fact that it'll be so cold that we'll be numb because all the houses come with natural air conditioning and run on oil that we won't be able to afford. We won't be able to go out ever really because everything shuts at 9 and we'll be ostracised by the ridiculously friendly yocals because "we're not from London you know!" It's ideal and I can't wait.
The children are going through another "phase", this is the "whingeing, badly behaved, irreverant, impertinent, non-listening phase" that all the books tell you about. The one that seems to be the longest, the one that I have no idea how to tackle so change my approach mid-sentence and confuse the children as well as myself so that no-one knows where they are. They say that you should be as irregular and irrational as possible, that's what makes stable, mentally healthy and delightful children, I know because I don't think I could cope with anything else. But it's alright, because this is a phase, so no matter what I do, they'll get through it, I just need to get to the next phase, surely?
