oh there is a nice yummy feeling in the air this morning. warm air. clear sky. I hung the washing out on the line, and as I was hanging, I could hear this cosy cooing noise coming from a bush in the garden. oh, whats this I think? and then I hear some flappy flapping, and out flaps a pigeon... who promptly flies up to a neighbours roof and does the biggest shit in the world. I carry on hanging the washing in the bright sun. I think there is a pigeons nest... so maybe in a few weeks time we'll have little fluffy chicks hopping around the garden? (or being maimed by the skanky foxes...)
the chestnut trees are in full candle-tastic-bloom.
the honeysuckle is about to pop.
the strawberries are flowering left right and centre.
the tomatoes are growing rapidly.
and the grass groweth long long long.
ah. I love May.
(although I feel a bit sorry for the hayfever sufferers...)
oh and I just love it when a kid does something they've never done before. so, tonight, as the girls were munching their chicken nuggets (well, at least they were home made...) liz starting singing something completely random which made mol have an attack of snorty giggles. at the same time as said attack took place, mol had also just sucked in a large quantity of pink-milk (a la lola).
end result: Mols first ever go at The Nose Trick.
laugh or cry - she knew not what to do, but pink milk was snorted across the table, via her nozzies, and as I heard this weird assortment of noises (gloopy raspy sludgy poppy choky kind of noises) and turned my head away from my calming cup of Lapsan Souchong tea, Mol was sitting there with two great lines of pink milk dripping from her poor nostrils.
mean mum that I am my first reaction was to laugh out loud and congratulate her through this momentous rights of passage - I nearly put on a pot of spaghetti so we could try it with another genre of food.
but then I realised that mol is only 7, and this had come as a bit of a surprise and shock. so instead I reached for the tissues and assumed maternal concern, whilst Liz continued to sing her random song of nothing oblivious to her sisters mastication malfunction.
bliss.
Friday, 21 May 2010
Saturday, 15 May 2010
how clean...
Domestic bliss!
The dishwasher is whirring away downstairs in the dark kitchen, cleaning and polishing and drying...
The washing machine has had a cycle with sheets pillow cases duvet covers and pyjamas.
The wind and the sun has dried aforementioned on my clothes line. No birds flew by and pooed on the white cotton.
The girls rooms are tidy (ish).
I've folded the laundry and put it into neat piles, and on my way to bed, I shall drop the folded clothes at the door of the appropriate room, a bit like father christmas dropping his toys into the stockings of the good sleeping children... I deliver clean clothes at the door of clean sleeping children...
The spare room has clean bedlinen on the bed and my desk isn't too horrendously messy - ready for the arrival of mum tomorrow afternoon.
My bed has clean sheets and duvet cover and for a special treat - ironed pillow cases. I have on clean pyjamas. And. I have just had a bath.
So - how much am I looking forward to slipping into bed, in approximately 5minutes after I've brushed my teeth? The cool sheets. The slightly crisp almost feel of ironed cotton on my cheek. I can't wait. I just love nights like this.
(ooh, crumbs: just watched two episodes of Dr Who on re-run - god? scary? hide behind the sofa stuff? and what, 8 year olds watch this? I'm forbidding any child of mine access to Dr Who until they're legal to vote or marry - whichever comes first...)
And to top it off, there is a fresh batch of fairy cakes in the tin downstairs.
A triumphant day in the life of Domestic Goddessness - especially given that I had the hangover from hell most of the day. Wine. Don't you just love it? (But right now, I love my clean sheets better.)
The dishwasher is whirring away downstairs in the dark kitchen, cleaning and polishing and drying...
The washing machine has had a cycle with sheets pillow cases duvet covers and pyjamas.
The wind and the sun has dried aforementioned on my clothes line. No birds flew by and pooed on the white cotton.
The girls rooms are tidy (ish).
I've folded the laundry and put it into neat piles, and on my way to bed, I shall drop the folded clothes at the door of the appropriate room, a bit like father christmas dropping his toys into the stockings of the good sleeping children... I deliver clean clothes at the door of clean sleeping children...
The spare room has clean bedlinen on the bed and my desk isn't too horrendously messy - ready for the arrival of mum tomorrow afternoon.
My bed has clean sheets and duvet cover and for a special treat - ironed pillow cases. I have on clean pyjamas. And. I have just had a bath.
So - how much am I looking forward to slipping into bed, in approximately 5minutes after I've brushed my teeth? The cool sheets. The slightly crisp almost feel of ironed cotton on my cheek. I can't wait. I just love nights like this.
(ooh, crumbs: just watched two episodes of Dr Who on re-run - god? scary? hide behind the sofa stuff? and what, 8 year olds watch this? I'm forbidding any child of mine access to Dr Who until they're legal to vote or marry - whichever comes first...)
And to top it off, there is a fresh batch of fairy cakes in the tin downstairs.
A triumphant day in the life of Domestic Goddessness - especially given that I had the hangover from hell most of the day. Wine. Don't you just love it? (But right now, I love my clean sheets better.)
Monday, 10 May 2010
U-Turns are illegal. Or are they?
Depending on the sort of U-Turn you are committing... I'm not talking about a U-turn between junction 17 and 18 on the M25. That's a quick way to kill yourself and probably 2/3rds of the commuter population.
No, I'm talking about other sorts of U-turns. Like, when you change your mind about something. I think politicians maybe do it quite a lot. I think maybe some animals do U-turns quite a lot, like slugs: today I'm a man-slug. and tomorrow I will be a woman-slug. and have slug-babies. and then maybe i'll be a man-slug again. Politicians, slugs... you know. they're all at it. And so too are errant daughters, and sons-in-laws.
A week last Thursday we experienced the biggest U-turn of our married life (no no, don't be Melodramatic! Nothing silly like realising we're both gay and feeling the need to go explore our true sexuality in Brazil - nothing so exciting as that, don't worry!).
No, a week last Thursday the buyers of our beautiful, much cherished, loved, polished, nurtured N8 house, withdrew their offer. Now that was a catch-the-breath-moment, I can tell you.
Initial reaction: fuckers? what? why? This was at 10.30am - Husband was in his busy technologically flamboyant Soho office; I was in my technologically challenged but very flagrant Garden Centre, so we both continued with our duties in the work-place. Meanwhile, our subconscious heads were whirring like a propellor on a spitfire going full throttle. What were we going to do? My parents are expecting us to be in Hampshire in less than 3 months - paying them rent - and its almost impossible to put a house on the market (even one as desirable as ours!), catch a buyer and clinch the deal in under 6months! Shit a brick as mum would say.
so, that night, after I got home from my ballet class (I haven't told you about that yet - oh, SO good - but for another bloggette, later), I sat down, buttocks wobbling from the plies I'd just been bending and stretching in and out of (ouuuwww), with Husband, and we had probably the Most Mature Conversation of our lives. Ever.
And in this conversation we outlined what we could do, our options, sell or rent or... dot dot dot. This 'dot dot dot' became a big 'dot dot dot' and we realised that our buyers pulling out was our last opportunity to speak-now-or-forever-hold-our-peace-and-move-to-the-country (i.e. put the house back on the market and crack on...).
And so, we started on the black-hole of the dot-dot-dot. I think I went first, and saying something a bit whispery like "I think my biggest regret for moving away from London would be that I couldn't do..." (fulfill my dream training and actually chase a small ambition i've been working at of late...). And then I said to Husband, what's your biggest anxiety about moving? To which the response was "I'm dreading it", at which point I think our fate was sealed.
How could we move away if Husband was dreading it (there is a specific aspect of the move which the 'dread' encompasses - not the whole thing, I think...) and if I were to be full of regrets?
Recipe for disaster.
And at that point in the conversation we both looked at each other and there was a dramatic Pinter Pause where our brains both went CLICK at the same time, as we realised that maybe the country dream would have to be postponed for a while, whilst we worked out our life courses just a little more.
Talk about a U-turn! I could make a bloody brilliant slug I reckon (I have the right skin tone for it too.. a bit bumpy, prone to slimy-episodes [especially after a night out] a bit slow off the mark... etc.).
So after sleeping on it - we Maturely decided to sleep on it, so no rash or rushed decision was made only to be unmade 12hours later... - we (actually, I) had to break the news to my parents (awful awful, horrid, hard conversation) and gradually, over the last week, we have been undoing the doing of the last 6months. Which is an awful awful horrid hard thing on one hand, but on the other hand, I am experiencing a massive wave of relief, as I realise how dangerous a situation we could have been in had we gone through with the move.
So. Slug on. We have u-turned indeed. Mammoth.
And I've applied to do some more training (although not guaranteed a place - fingers crossed huh) and Husband can now spend the £4k we've saved on not commuting - on, oh, how about ME! Hurrah all round!
No, I'm talking about other sorts of U-turns. Like, when you change your mind about something. I think politicians maybe do it quite a lot. I think maybe some animals do U-turns quite a lot, like slugs: today I'm a man-slug. and tomorrow I will be a woman-slug. and have slug-babies. and then maybe i'll be a man-slug again. Politicians, slugs... you know. they're all at it. And so too are errant daughters, and sons-in-laws.
A week last Thursday we experienced the biggest U-turn of our married life (no no, don't be Melodramatic! Nothing silly like realising we're both gay and feeling the need to go explore our true sexuality in Brazil - nothing so exciting as that, don't worry!).
No, a week last Thursday the buyers of our beautiful, much cherished, loved, polished, nurtured N8 house, withdrew their offer. Now that was a catch-the-breath-moment, I can tell you.
Initial reaction: fuckers? what? why? This was at 10.30am - Husband was in his busy technologically flamboyant Soho office; I was in my technologically challenged but very flagrant Garden Centre, so we both continued with our duties in the work-place. Meanwhile, our subconscious heads were whirring like a propellor on a spitfire going full throttle. What were we going to do? My parents are expecting us to be in Hampshire in less than 3 months - paying them rent - and its almost impossible to put a house on the market (even one as desirable as ours!), catch a buyer and clinch the deal in under 6months! Shit a brick as mum would say.
so, that night, after I got home from my ballet class (I haven't told you about that yet - oh, SO good - but for another bloggette, later), I sat down, buttocks wobbling from the plies I'd just been bending and stretching in and out of (ouuuwww), with Husband, and we had probably the Most Mature Conversation of our lives. Ever.
And in this conversation we outlined what we could do, our options, sell or rent or... dot dot dot. This 'dot dot dot' became a big 'dot dot dot' and we realised that our buyers pulling out was our last opportunity to speak-now-or-forever-hold-our-peace-and-move-to-the-country (i.e. put the house back on the market and crack on...).
And so, we started on the black-hole of the dot-dot-dot. I think I went first, and saying something a bit whispery like "I think my biggest regret for moving away from London would be that I couldn't do..." (fulfill my dream training and actually chase a small ambition i've been working at of late...). And then I said to Husband, what's your biggest anxiety about moving? To which the response was "I'm dreading it", at which point I think our fate was sealed.
How could we move away if Husband was dreading it (there is a specific aspect of the move which the 'dread' encompasses - not the whole thing, I think...) and if I were to be full of regrets?
Recipe for disaster.
And at that point in the conversation we both looked at each other and there was a dramatic Pinter Pause where our brains both went CLICK at the same time, as we realised that maybe the country dream would have to be postponed for a while, whilst we worked out our life courses just a little more.
Talk about a U-turn! I could make a bloody brilliant slug I reckon (I have the right skin tone for it too.. a bit bumpy, prone to slimy-episodes [especially after a night out] a bit slow off the mark... etc.).
So after sleeping on it - we Maturely decided to sleep on it, so no rash or rushed decision was made only to be unmade 12hours later... - we (actually, I) had to break the news to my parents (awful awful, horrid, hard conversation) and gradually, over the last week, we have been undoing the doing of the last 6months. Which is an awful awful horrid hard thing on one hand, but on the other hand, I am experiencing a massive wave of relief, as I realise how dangerous a situation we could have been in had we gone through with the move.
So. Slug on. We have u-turned indeed. Mammoth.
And I've applied to do some more training (although not guaranteed a place - fingers crossed huh) and Husband can now spend the £4k we've saved on not commuting - on, oh, how about ME! Hurrah all round!
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