Whoops! It appears my lack of blog knowledge and know-how has made others believe I don't want 'comments' but it was another example of genuine ignoramus on my part. I suppose I didn't think I would receive comments, just that this would be some sort of reflection of my mental bilge, written largely for my own perusal. I do accept that this blog must read a bit like a re-hash but that's more by accident than design - I probably do sound 'chick lit' but so what! That's me : non-intellectual, ineffectual, middle England (but not a Daily Mail reader I might add).
I can offer further evidence of genuine, and also technical, ignoramus. I tried to install (or whatever you call it) a CD (a Paul McKenna 'relaxation' one - yes, I know fugging rubbish but might help my neurosis) and only managed it in part. It ended abruptly after a few minutes with Mr Mckenna telling telling me to count backwards from 300 and I had just reached 287 (or was it 278) when the thing stopped and The Darkness jumped in. I don't know whether it worked as I instantly became irritated that I hadn't fixed it up properly, cursing myself for not listening to husband's instructions, so I shall have to re-attempt tomorrow or something. I enjoyed 'The Darkness' more than McKenna so perhaps my sanity will be saved by them instead.
My son was bitten at nursery yesterday. I am not suggesting it was bullying. He was apparently being rather affectionate with another who wasn't as keen and ended up with what looked like a lipstick mark on his left cheek. I can't help it, I know it's going to happen but I felt a bit upset about it. I have seen him hugging and trying to kiss other children and, while it appears 'cute', I recognise that this is probably not an entirely enjoyable experience for some and that his affectionate nature will eventually end up squashed and replaced with a very teenage sounding "err Mummmmm" every time I go to hug him. I just hope that is later rather than sooner.
On another note, things seem to have taken a more positive turn with my husband. He has been home for Monkey's bedtime every night and has generally been more pleasant towards me. It's a relief. I have run out of vodka and I don't want to smoke so the remaining option was right down to kicking the wall and saying "fuck".
Wednesday, 28 March 2007
Wednesday, 21 March 2007
Wednesday 21st March
This is evolving as some sort of 'marriage analysis' blog. Can I solve my marital strife by writing it down for the world to read (er, let's not flatter myself by thinking anyone would want to read this depressing, self-indulgent diatribe)? I doubt it.
OK, well, we had our weekend away. Not entirely a disaster and neither is my marriage. More that I have a general feeling of depreciation and dissatisfaction that I am sure is familiar to most marrieds. Forever the dreamer, I suppose I thought our marriage would be different and evade the traps that 'other people' seemed to fall into. Trouble is, we have become those 'other people' and all the crap that goes with them. I suspect my husband feels the same although, and this is a huge generalisation, men tend to stick their heads in the sand until an almighty crises forces them to address the problem. Please don't hate me for this generalisation, it's merely based on my limited experience of men.
I feel emotionally neglected. My husband cannot bear yet another episode of self-pitying tears so we bob along in a sort of 'ignorance-is-not-quite-bliss-but-just-about-bearable' state of things. I thank God that no-one seems to look twice at me these days nor that I am ever in the company of men because I think I would feel extremely vulnerable to some ego-flattering flirtation. I can't believe I'm even thinking this, let alone writing it. My husband does not seem to notice me and the less he notices, the more I notice him not noticing me. Does that make sense? I don't know what to do. I feel as if I'm rotting inside.
We went to 'Relate' once. Do you know it? It's where you go when you think you want to stay together but can't bear the sight of each other. We thought it was great but then had to go on a waiting list as apparently, there are lots of other happily marrieds out there contemplating their 'options'. When the long awaited phonecall came, we were going through a 'good phase' so we didn't bother. It's a lot of effort to lay your spleen on the table once a week. This, I now realise, was a mistake as we are stuck with the same sht that we always had with each other.
I can't work out whether he feels as fed up as me or my dissatisfaction is growing at an alarmingly faster rate than his. Is that the secret of longevity in marriage: your dissatisfaction grows at a mutually acceptable rate?
Answers on your keypad.
OK, well, we had our weekend away. Not entirely a disaster and neither is my marriage. More that I have a general feeling of depreciation and dissatisfaction that I am sure is familiar to most marrieds. Forever the dreamer, I suppose I thought our marriage would be different and evade the traps that 'other people' seemed to fall into. Trouble is, we have become those 'other people' and all the crap that goes with them. I suspect my husband feels the same although, and this is a huge generalisation, men tend to stick their heads in the sand until an almighty crises forces them to address the problem. Please don't hate me for this generalisation, it's merely based on my limited experience of men.
I feel emotionally neglected. My husband cannot bear yet another episode of self-pitying tears so we bob along in a sort of 'ignorance-is-not-quite-bliss-but-just-about-bearable' state of things. I thank God that no-one seems to look twice at me these days nor that I am ever in the company of men because I think I would feel extremely vulnerable to some ego-flattering flirtation. I can't believe I'm even thinking this, let alone writing it. My husband does not seem to notice me and the less he notices, the more I notice him not noticing me. Does that make sense? I don't know what to do. I feel as if I'm rotting inside.
We went to 'Relate' once. Do you know it? It's where you go when you think you want to stay together but can't bear the sight of each other. We thought it was great but then had to go on a waiting list as apparently, there are lots of other happily marrieds out there contemplating their 'options'. When the long awaited phonecall came, we were going through a 'good phase' so we didn't bother. It's a lot of effort to lay your spleen on the table once a week. This, I now realise, was a mistake as we are stuck with the same sht that we always had with each other.
I can't work out whether he feels as fed up as me or my dissatisfaction is growing at an alarmingly faster rate than his. Is that the secret of longevity in marriage: your dissatisfaction grows at a mutually acceptable rate?
Answers on your keypad.
Thursday, 15 March 2007
Thurs 15th March
It's getting worse. Much worse. I have been embroiled in what must be a common argument with wives-of-successful-husbands. The crux being who comes first: the job or the wife?
My husband announced that despite it being my birthday tomorrow and his strong assurances that he wouldn't have to go to a lunch 'do', he was under enormous pressure to go to said lunch and was that. Obviously I did what I know best: I turned it into a DRAMA. I pulled a face (I think I even went red and hot) and stomped around the kitchen before whipping out a load of ancient grudges and throwing them at him, wham, bam, straight in the b*ll*cks. I listed things such as him "being away last year on my birthday " and how the year before (my 30th) that he "hadn't berluddy organised anything". It was the equivalent of throwing a small atom into the room. He retaliated with "I'm pulled in both directions" and then proceeded to list his grudges "I hate the travelling" and "I hate the job". All of which sounded fair enough but not when I thought it was me deserving to do the foot stomping.
I stomped out to get my hobbit-like feet made presentable and came back determined to drink vodka and tonic and keep my trap shut. I managed the former bit but think this also loosened my resolve on the latter.
He attempted an apology for his having to go to the lunch and instead of being gracious, I stupidly rode the wave of rage and launched into another diatribe amounting to 'poor me' whinge whinge. He said how hurtful some of the stuff I come out with is. I suppose it is, isn't that the point of a pointless argument? To try and hurt each other and win? I know there's no winning and I don't want to hurt him. Sheer frustration at the situation made me MAD (mental and direct) and now I don't know what to do. He's retired to the spare room so I have my big bed for company while I wrestle with my conscience and will no-doubt see in my 32nd year alone.
I know it's childish but it's like I said: a choice between me or the job. I feel v. marginalised and simply wanted to be put first on my birthday.
Mental note for my new year: must try and grow up and consider husband's feelings more.
I think I even did ironing during this battle tonight. Perhaps this is a truer indication of my forthcoming maturity?
My husband announced that despite it being my birthday tomorrow and his strong assurances that he wouldn't have to go to a lunch 'do', he was under enormous pressure to go to said lunch and was that. Obviously I did what I know best: I turned it into a DRAMA. I pulled a face (I think I even went red and hot) and stomped around the kitchen before whipping out a load of ancient grudges and throwing them at him, wham, bam, straight in the b*ll*cks. I listed things such as him "being away last year on my birthday " and how the year before (my 30th) that he "hadn't berluddy organised anything". It was the equivalent of throwing a small atom into the room. He retaliated with "I'm pulled in both directions" and then proceeded to list his grudges "I hate the travelling" and "I hate the job". All of which sounded fair enough but not when I thought it was me deserving to do the foot stomping.
I stomped out to get my hobbit-like feet made presentable and came back determined to drink vodka and tonic and keep my trap shut. I managed the former bit but think this also loosened my resolve on the latter.
He attempted an apology for his having to go to the lunch and instead of being gracious, I stupidly rode the wave of rage and launched into another diatribe amounting to 'poor me' whinge whinge. He said how hurtful some of the stuff I come out with is. I suppose it is, isn't that the point of a pointless argument? To try and hurt each other and win? I know there's no winning and I don't want to hurt him. Sheer frustration at the situation made me MAD (mental and direct) and now I don't know what to do. He's retired to the spare room so I have my big bed for company while I wrestle with my conscience and will no-doubt see in my 32nd year alone.
I know it's childish but it's like I said: a choice between me or the job. I feel v. marginalised and simply wanted to be put first on my birthday.
Mental note for my new year: must try and grow up and consider husband's feelings more.
I think I even did ironing during this battle tonight. Perhaps this is a truer indication of my forthcoming maturity?
Wednesday, 14 March 2007
Weds March 14th
I feel like it is a strange time at the moment. I feel quite at-odds with my husband although this could be, and, more than likely to be down to PMT (or 'DMT: During Menstrual Tension' a.k.a 'During Mental Time') where I am ruled by my hormones and I go from being a normal person to one who has a mood swing every 20 seconds or so. My current one is that I am not happy, I am unsuccessful, I am NOT ENOUGH. A hair-shirt wearing 2o seconds or so.
My husband is complaining of general illness. This weeks ailments have ranged from torn shoulder (previous Friday), a seized back (all weekend), an 'internal' knee strain (Monday) through to "general bleuugh" and yet none have been diagnosed or necessitated a medical opinion. Thing is, I do feel sorry for him and he probably is genuinely run-down. The problem is that I am at saturation point with his on-going minor-injury achievements and now don't give him the attention I am sure he probably deserves.
I sometimes feel there is vast emotional gulf between us. He was brought up with the 'keep it in, keep it locked up' school of feelings and I grew up with my tears 'indulged' and the odd scream and shout to boot. I'm not suggesting that either way is better, just vastly different so much so that we don't always understand each other and sometimes, like now, I feel a bit disliked by him. I am having a tearful 20 seconds where I am now convincing myself that my husband is quite out of love with me at the moment. I admit it: I sometimes don't feel loved by him and it's horrible and soul-destroying.
I feel I should also make an admission of DMTness that occured last night. Husband was out at some work thing and I had spent a big chunk of time on my own with Monkey yesterday. I had a boring evening by myself and felt lonely. I received an email from him saying what a great time he'd had. My nasty little DMT streak typed a particularly moaney email back, signing off 'Fed Up'. This went down like a lead-balloon. This is the reason he's being 'cool' with me, I know it. F*ck the f*cking hormones
My husband is complaining of general illness. This weeks ailments have ranged from torn shoulder (previous Friday), a seized back (all weekend), an 'internal' knee strain (Monday) through to "general bleuugh" and yet none have been diagnosed or necessitated a medical opinion. Thing is, I do feel sorry for him and he probably is genuinely run-down. The problem is that I am at saturation point with his on-going minor-injury achievements and now don't give him the attention I am sure he probably deserves.
I sometimes feel there is vast emotional gulf between us. He was brought up with the 'keep it in, keep it locked up' school of feelings and I grew up with my tears 'indulged' and the odd scream and shout to boot. I'm not suggesting that either way is better, just vastly different so much so that we don't always understand each other and sometimes, like now, I feel a bit disliked by him. I am having a tearful 20 seconds where I am now convincing myself that my husband is quite out of love with me at the moment. I admit it: I sometimes don't feel loved by him and it's horrible and soul-destroying.
I feel I should also make an admission of DMTness that occured last night. Husband was out at some work thing and I had spent a big chunk of time on my own with Monkey yesterday. I had a boring evening by myself and felt lonely. I received an email from him saying what a great time he'd had. My nasty little DMT streak typed a particularly moaney email back, signing off 'Fed Up'. This went down like a lead-balloon. This is the reason he's being 'cool' with me, I know it. F*ck the f*cking hormones
Thursday, 8 March 2007
Shenanigans 8th or 9th of March
I'm struggling to keep up with this blog thing. Partly because of 'LIFE' and all it's shenanigans (I'm sure that in today's world, someone somewhere must have sat down and thought "hmmmm, that's what I'll call my baby, an original name like 'Shenanigans' - try saying it outloud with an Aussie accent and it sounds appropriate somehow) and also because a lack of confidence about my own written ability and style. My brain is rusty post-baby - oh, that's a lie because he's not a baby anymore, he's two and a half but what's that between friends? I am a 'victim' of my own success in imposing an effective routine for my child and, as such, it has sapped my imaginative side ( read 'day dreamer') . Instead, I do certain things at certain times of the day. The trouble is, it's the same things at the same time of day, every day. Not really a fertile imaginative breeding ground.
Last night my husband and I had an unexpected five minutes of truth and honesty, a dangerous game to play whether sober or not. He asked me if I still loved him (alarms went off all over in my head) and when I asked him why, he said "I think I irritate you all the time". Now, there's a grain of truth in this but certainly not to the extent that he implied or feared so I replied "in what way?" and he said "with my mess and everything" (he means general disorganised paperwork and wires and cables etc, what I call 'bloke stuff'). I said "Don't be silly, that's just bloke stuff". But deepdown I felt, and still feel, full of guilt that I have been making him feel this way. I am responsible for some of him feeling like this, I am turning into my Mother in that I become 'edgy' if the house is a mess or the newspapers are piling up. Undoubtedly I have not hidden my feelings about this enough - I'm sure I'm not fully aware of how visible teeth gnashing is to one's husband. I hate to think that I am going to drown in my own ecological disaster that is a bi-product of modern day family life: the plastic milk cartons, the ready-meal trays, the nappies (no he isn't nappy trained yet) the bottled water because our tap water doesn't just stink of chlorine, it actually tastes of TCP. All these things that seem to be a blemish on a sense of order and control if they are left to gather dust.
I dropped round to 'LovelyMum's' house this afternoon. I took homemade flapjack which our children duly scoffed and I pretended I had already eaten thus avoiding any embarrassing fat conversations. 'LovelyMum' is a classic teeny tiny pear and rose (pear shaped and English Rose) and although I'm not huge, I knew that if I started eating, I would start waffling on about my own self-loathing and body hatred. What I want to know, which I think we all want to know, is how does she do it? How does she eat and not get FAT. I should add, I don't suspect an eating disorder is at play, just that she is like a French woman: eats and doesn't get fat.
Last night my husband and I had an unexpected five minutes of truth and honesty, a dangerous game to play whether sober or not. He asked me if I still loved him (alarms went off all over in my head) and when I asked him why, he said "I think I irritate you all the time". Now, there's a grain of truth in this but certainly not to the extent that he implied or feared so I replied "in what way?" and he said "with my mess and everything" (he means general disorganised paperwork and wires and cables etc, what I call 'bloke stuff'). I said "Don't be silly, that's just bloke stuff". But deepdown I felt, and still feel, full of guilt that I have been making him feel this way. I am responsible for some of him feeling like this, I am turning into my Mother in that I become 'edgy' if the house is a mess or the newspapers are piling up. Undoubtedly I have not hidden my feelings about this enough - I'm sure I'm not fully aware of how visible teeth gnashing is to one's husband. I hate to think that I am going to drown in my own ecological disaster that is a bi-product of modern day family life: the plastic milk cartons, the ready-meal trays, the nappies (no he isn't nappy trained yet) the bottled water because our tap water doesn't just stink of chlorine, it actually tastes of TCP. All these things that seem to be a blemish on a sense of order and control if they are left to gather dust.
I dropped round to 'LovelyMum's' house this afternoon. I took homemade flapjack which our children duly scoffed and I pretended I had already eaten thus avoiding any embarrassing fat conversations. 'LovelyMum' is a classic teeny tiny pear and rose (pear shaped and English Rose) and although I'm not huge, I knew that if I started eating, I would start waffling on about my own self-loathing and body hatred. What I want to know, which I think we all want to know, is how does she do it? How does she eat and not get FAT. I should add, I don't suspect an eating disorder is at play, just that she is like a French woman: eats and doesn't get fat.
Thursday, 1 March 2007
Thursday 1st March
I have been distracted from writing because my poorly husband has been spending all his 'well moments' using the internet. Thankfully, for his sake as much as mine, he has gone back to work today. All evening he was asking "Can I eat this" and showing me lemon cake or vegetable soup. He looked crestfallen when I gently explained that as he had had a tummy bug, not a good idea.
We have several house plans going at the moment including a possible loft conversion. This would be used to house the already too many trains (both child and adult versions) and train sets and generally have a 'cinema type room'. I know what this means, it means I shall have to bend and allow a mahoosive television set and some leather arm chairs (could well end up being lazeeboy style a la Chandler and Joey from friends). I don't know why I am so resistant to the sight of a television. I LOVE telly although I do have a little rule about not having it on during the day. This rule is in place for me as much as my son as I think I would inevitably be drawn into ringing all those premium rate numbers to try and win a Nissan Squarial or £1000 cash. I would also achieve even less because I'd want to watch 'This Morning' and those chat shows where the host/hostess seems to really care about those kids with ASBO's.
I went to collect Monkey from nursery and no-one really spoke to me. Firstly no-one let me in through the security door, they looked the other way and continued chatting and then, once inside, I felt invisible even to Lone Dad who appears without fail to collect his son. This was really disappointing as I had chatted to Lone Dad once before and, as someone who doesn't want to appear rude, I sorted of grimaced at him. He didn't return the grimace so now I feel a real outcast. I overheard one horsey mother who, incidentally, never makes eye contact with me, saying how she had clippered her son's hair but not with any great panache because she was more used to clipping a horse. Perhaps it's time for me to dust down my riding boots and turn up fully jodphured in order to secure some conversation.
We have several house plans going at the moment including a possible loft conversion. This would be used to house the already too many trains (both child and adult versions) and train sets and generally have a 'cinema type room'. I know what this means, it means I shall have to bend and allow a mahoosive television set and some leather arm chairs (could well end up being lazeeboy style a la Chandler and Joey from friends). I don't know why I am so resistant to the sight of a television. I LOVE telly although I do have a little rule about not having it on during the day. This rule is in place for me as much as my son as I think I would inevitably be drawn into ringing all those premium rate numbers to try and win a Nissan Squarial or £1000 cash. I would also achieve even less because I'd want to watch 'This Morning' and those chat shows where the host/hostess seems to really care about those kids with ASBO's.
I went to collect Monkey from nursery and no-one really spoke to me. Firstly no-one let me in through the security door, they looked the other way and continued chatting and then, once inside, I felt invisible even to Lone Dad who appears without fail to collect his son. This was really disappointing as I had chatted to Lone Dad once before and, as someone who doesn't want to appear rude, I sorted of grimaced at him. He didn't return the grimace so now I feel a real outcast. I overheard one horsey mother who, incidentally, never makes eye contact with me, saying how she had clippered her son's hair but not with any great panache because she was more used to clipping a horse. Perhaps it's time for me to dust down my riding boots and turn up fully jodphured in order to secure some conversation.
Monday, 26 February 2007
Monday 26th February
I have two poorly patients. Husband is doubly afflicted with a sore shoulder and a sickness bug. I am concerned that he catches every bug doing the rounds. I think it must be a combination of tube air and office air -ugh. Monkey Boy has an horrendous sounding cough. I took him to the Doctors about 10 days ago only to be told "no he's fine, just a cough". It seems to be worsening and I am always incredibly anxious that it will trigger an asthma attack. I'm touching wood as I write because so far this winter, so good and no horrible frantic trips to the local A&E. The bark like cough sounds dreadful, I wince if he does it in public as I imagine people will assume I am negligent in some respect.
Back from the Doctors. Monkey seems to think that it is some sort of treat! He grew impatient to leave the house, saying "I go to see Doctor now" and really charmed the pants off her when she was listening to his chest. Apparently he has croup which he's had before and ended up being nebulised in hospital for. I have given him all his medication and I pray he copes and we don't end up in a scramble to A&E in the middle of the night. I've even put his humidifier on in the hope the steam alleviates it a bit.
I am half heartedly watching that dreadful 'soft' current affairs programme on ITV while eatnig my 'meal for one' which is homemade flapjack. It's all about an 8 year old who is obese. I couldn't help noticing that even in the photos on the mantlepiece he's got a can of Coke in his hand! I also noticed that his Granny's surname is 'Bake'. Ahh, now there's a nice shot of his Mum smoking a fag while tending the deep fat fryer - makes sense when you see it in this context. Poor child, I feel really sad for him. I should know, I was an overweight child and although I might have lost weight, the pyschological scars are huge. I still have 'issues' about food too. I'm don't have an eating disorder but my relationship with food is definitely awkward.
Back from the Doctors. Monkey seems to think that it is some sort of treat! He grew impatient to leave the house, saying "I go to see Doctor now" and really charmed the pants off her when she was listening to his chest. Apparently he has croup which he's had before and ended up being nebulised in hospital for. I have given him all his medication and I pray he copes and we don't end up in a scramble to A&E in the middle of the night. I've even put his humidifier on in the hope the steam alleviates it a bit.
I am half heartedly watching that dreadful 'soft' current affairs programme on ITV while eatnig my 'meal for one' which is homemade flapjack. It's all about an 8 year old who is obese. I couldn't help noticing that even in the photos on the mantlepiece he's got a can of Coke in his hand! I also noticed that his Granny's surname is 'Bake'. Ahh, now there's a nice shot of his Mum smoking a fag while tending the deep fat fryer - makes sense when you see it in this context. Poor child, I feel really sad for him. I should know, I was an overweight child and although I might have lost weight, the pyschological scars are huge. I still have 'issues' about food too. I'm don't have an eating disorder but my relationship with food is definitely awkward.
Saturday, 24 February 2007
Saturday 24th February
I'm having a good day despite achieving next to nothing. I managed a 5k run in the gym today. A big deal for a non-runner like me. I think it helped that I had an espresso just beforehand. Mind you, I felt knackered for the rest of the day.
Husband has offered to take me to Le Manoir for my upcoming birthday. Would be lovely, French food is my favourite, except there is a minimum 2 night stay for weekends. My birthday falls on a Friday this year so I doubt we'll go as rooms begin around the £350 mark!
Monkey Boy adores his Daddy so much. Saturday is definitely 'Daddy time' and at least twice today he ordered me to "Go in the kitchen Mummy". I try not to take exception to this as Daddy is working such long hours and Monkey barely sees him in the week. I definitely feel like a 'weekend wife' at times. Still, I also enjoy my independence and have never minded my own company and thoughts.
I had mixed news today. A former friend gave birth to a baby boy and I am delighted for her and her hubby but I doubt I will see her baby unless it is by accident. We had an 'enduring' friendship through school but this was largely based on her bullying me and me having a perverse need for her approval. I made a mistake of entrusting her to carry out the duties of a 'chief bridesmaid' (conjures images of Atilla The Hun somehow) and was then surprised when she attempted to let me down at every turn. This 'honour' of being a bridesmaid was bestowed upon me by her until, at the eleventh hour, I realised I had been 'uninvited' in this role. Not even having the guts to tell me to my face and yet happily chat about the plans and the detail of her wedding in front of me, left me raw. It proved pivotal in our relationship. I decided that I would step back, unable to accept the same crap that I had as a child. God, this is reading like a dodgy therapy session.
Spoke to Mad Granny (my Mother) today. I can tell she is struggling. My grandmother has Altzheimers disease but also has a back problem which is causing her intolerable pain. Apparently she'd been popping Ibuprofen like it was going out of fashion - along with her other tablets- but it was causing deterioration in her digestive tract so the Doctor ordered her to stop taking it. My dear Ma was with her for hours yesterday, feeling utterly helpless in easing her pain. It is a horrible thought that you can't help the pain of someone you love. All this was related with great pace on the basis of needing to go and help my father , and yet, just as I'm doing a mental drift, she snaps me back with some minor titbit of gossip about someone or other
Husband has offered to take me to Le Manoir for my upcoming birthday. Would be lovely, French food is my favourite, except there is a minimum 2 night stay for weekends. My birthday falls on a Friday this year so I doubt we'll go as rooms begin around the £350 mark!
Monkey Boy adores his Daddy so much. Saturday is definitely 'Daddy time' and at least twice today he ordered me to "Go in the kitchen Mummy". I try not to take exception to this as Daddy is working such long hours and Monkey barely sees him in the week. I definitely feel like a 'weekend wife' at times. Still, I also enjoy my independence and have never minded my own company and thoughts.
I had mixed news today. A former friend gave birth to a baby boy and I am delighted for her and her hubby but I doubt I will see her baby unless it is by accident. We had an 'enduring' friendship through school but this was largely based on her bullying me and me having a perverse need for her approval. I made a mistake of entrusting her to carry out the duties of a 'chief bridesmaid' (conjures images of Atilla The Hun somehow) and was then surprised when she attempted to let me down at every turn. This 'honour' of being a bridesmaid was bestowed upon me by her until, at the eleventh hour, I realised I had been 'uninvited' in this role. Not even having the guts to tell me to my face and yet happily chat about the plans and the detail of her wedding in front of me, left me raw. It proved pivotal in our relationship. I decided that I would step back, unable to accept the same crap that I had as a child. God, this is reading like a dodgy therapy session.
Spoke to Mad Granny (my Mother) today. I can tell she is struggling. My grandmother has Altzheimers disease but also has a back problem which is causing her intolerable pain. Apparently she'd been popping Ibuprofen like it was going out of fashion - along with her other tablets- but it was causing deterioration in her digestive tract so the Doctor ordered her to stop taking it. My dear Ma was with her for hours yesterday, feeling utterly helpless in easing her pain. It is a horrible thought that you can't help the pain of someone you love. All this was related with great pace on the basis of needing to go and help my father , and yet, just as I'm doing a mental drift, she snaps me back with some minor titbit of gossip about someone or other
Friday, 23 February 2007
Friday 23rd February. A bit later in the day
We didn't make it to the library. I decided to tackle Monkey's frizzy mob, I say 'I' but really I mean the hairdresser. Monkey doesn't have a great track record in this dept. I recall a *four person incident*, to try and persuade, cajole, and finally pin-him-down-to-cut-it. It was with some trepidation that I made eye contact with the hairdressers. Needn't have worried tho', Monkey was really good and easily distracted although he did prematurely declare "finish now". I carried out the bribe and took him to the toy shop where we bought yet another sodding Thomas the Tank Engine engine.
Husband rang sounding a little worn around the edges. Apparently his superbly organised plan to get a cab home from Le Manoir has been thwarted by a mix up over the name of our town and there being another with a slightly different spelling but in another county! He reckons he's going into London and then will get the train. I am a bit anxious that this is a cunningly hatched plan. In my worst nightmare he is lying and spending the night with a) a hooker b) a. n. other woman or c) a lapdancing venue. Obviously this prompted a chocolate binge including three biscuits, half a tub of ice-cream and a cup of hot chocolate. In the best case scenario he is telling the truth and I am a mad neurotic who always assumes the worst and has chronic self-esteem issues. The latter is probably true. Think I have spent too much time on my own today.
Husband rang sounding a little worn around the edges. Apparently his superbly organised plan to get a cab home from Le Manoir has been thwarted by a mix up over the name of our town and there being another with a slightly different spelling but in another county! He reckons he's going into London and then will get the train. I am a bit anxious that this is a cunningly hatched plan. In my worst nightmare he is lying and spending the night with a) a hooker b) a. n. other woman or c) a lapdancing venue. Obviously this prompted a chocolate binge including three biscuits, half a tub of ice-cream and a cup of hot chocolate. In the best case scenario he is telling the truth and I am a mad neurotic who always assumes the worst and has chronic self-esteem issues. The latter is probably true. Think I have spent too much time on my own today.
Friday 23rd February
I have exactly five minutes to post before I must dash upstairs to do the following: shower and dress post-workout this morning, sort out the airing cupboard (yawn), hang up all the clean clothes - I NEVER iron and especially not since my charming husband laughed at my previous attempts and wake the monkey boy for a fun-filled afternoon (I'll try my best).
I am still feeling a bit zonked from our NYC trip and have been very slack in organising play-dates so MB and I will have to survive by ourselves and go to the local library or something for the afternoon. He loves this as the children's room has bookshelves shaped like a small train. All things train-shaped are a hit with him. If only I could persuade him to take as much interest in the books!
My husband is eating at 'Le Manoir Aux Quat Saisons' this afternoon. Lucky git. I just ate Baxters Healthy Carrot Soup, it tasted very 'healthy' if you know what I mean. He told me last night that he's ordered a cab from there to home at 6pm (bearing in mind it's a celebratory lunch) and to expect him a "little the worse for wear". This usually means he will come in, mumble something like "hemmo" and go straight upstairs to bed where he will fall asleep in his underwear and socks and not stir until our son wakes him at 7am with shouts of "Daddy ! Daddy where are you?!". Nevermind, despite predicting a lack of adult conversation this evening, I have the delights of Ugly Betty to watch and also a DVD of the film "The Devil Wears Prada" - are these the same story?
I am still feeling a bit zonked from our NYC trip and have been very slack in organising play-dates so MB and I will have to survive by ourselves and go to the local library or something for the afternoon. He loves this as the children's room has bookshelves shaped like a small train. All things train-shaped are a hit with him. If only I could persuade him to take as much interest in the books!
My husband is eating at 'Le Manoir Aux Quat Saisons' this afternoon. Lucky git. I just ate Baxters Healthy Carrot Soup, it tasted very 'healthy' if you know what I mean. He told me last night that he's ordered a cab from there to home at 6pm (bearing in mind it's a celebratory lunch) and to expect him a "little the worse for wear". This usually means he will come in, mumble something like "hemmo" and go straight upstairs to bed where he will fall asleep in his underwear and socks and not stir until our son wakes him at 7am with shouts of "Daddy ! Daddy where are you?!". Nevermind, despite predicting a lack of adult conversation this evening, I have the delights of Ugly Betty to watch and also a DVD of the film "The Devil Wears Prada" - are these the same story?
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