23rd June 2015
I bought Nigella Lawson’s book that was going to teach me how to be a Domestic Goddess. I even opened the pages a couple of times. But somehow, I’m immune to her teachings. And most others that want to convert me to being good at domestic thingies. Thank goodness for the Grumpster. He’s currently bailing me out, now he’s home from work. Apparently it’s only the sweet potato fries that are frazzled to within an inch of their lives.
When I say it’s only the sweet potato chips that are frazzled, I don’t mean that. I forgot to mention me. I am somewhat frazzled as a parent.
Is there a book on how to be a good mum? I would like to read that because despite having the aptitude to being immune to most learnings, and having the benefit of great omniscience in our home , (I have nearly 17 year old twins), I would at least leaf through the pages.
An altercation took place tonight. Me vs Twin 1 and Twin 2. Combined. I definitely lost. It’s a long and sordid story, and probably not worth going into right now, but suffice to say, they’re entitled to 3 trips back to the UK per year to visit their biological dad. And I’ve determined that it’s better they stay home this school hols to revise, because you know: year 12 and mock exams the week they start back. Important.
Obviously I put over my points calmly, rationally and reasonably. And coherently. Obviously…
God love young Herbert. He came up after the sirens had left the room and asked if I needed a hug. “I know how it feels,” he sympathised. “You mean being ganged up on by the Gruesome Twosome?” I asked. It’s hard being 4 years younger and the worst crime of all: a boy!! No wonder he gets anxious sometimes…
That husband of mine is a good sort. I sent a WhatsApp outlining events. He came home armed with a bottle of wine. On a school night! (Because yes, I have to remove my skivey pants and go back to the real life paid employment tomorrow – septic toe and all).
Which is why my other preferred method of dealing with life’s problems isn’t available right now. I could have pulled that damn toe nail off, if I thought it would get me out of the house for a run. But I realised (thankfully) that was the wine making me brave.
Anyway, as we always suspected, when all else fails, online shopping is the answer to all problems, no matter what. And because I’ve kissed and made up with my friend Paypal, meaning I’m the only one with access to funds over the t’internet, I’m forgiven. Now that my fingers have done the talking and helped order cute as a button dresses…
Now the one outstanding issue is who has to break the news to the ex. The mini dictators have won on both scores. They get frocks and I will get the dressing down: I have to send the email breaking the news that they won’t be travelling back.
Wine, chocolate, run, shopping? What gets you through the ups and downs of domestic bliss?