How good does that first cup of tea taste in the morning? Or the one at about eleven am, after you've done the first lot of interminable chores of the day? Or how about the one you have to reward yourself for getting the boy to bed with minimum fuss or bother? And then there's the one with a chum. Or are you a coffee drinker? I much prefer tea myself, although I will have a coffee if I'm out and about. My friend Sarah treated me to one this morning. I had a cob on, and was probably a right moany old bag as we walked across a very windy Porthmeor beach. She is a good enough friend to let me bang on. All the usual I'm afraid, topped up with my utter disbelief at Alfie, who washed the dried mud from his school shoes with my dish cloth only to throw it back into the washing up bowl. That was full of soapy water and breakfast dishes. There was a lot of under breath swearing.
Olly did not want to go to school. He walked up the steps to his classroom like a dead man walking. The marvellous Mrs Pulley swept him up into a bear hug, and that was enough to make him giggle his way through the door. Oh how I love Olly's teacher, and her swathes of linen. I love that she pads around the classroom without her shoes on, and has this incredible attitude towards a child's learning. I was having a flap regarding Olly's reading book, and she was so reassuring. She validated what I was already doing, and calmed my frayed nerves about the whole learning process.
You'd think I'd have it all off pat with the third child, but there are areas in which I still question whether I am getting it right. I sometimes worry whether I am too laid back, but then again I really don't want to be as strung out as I was when Sam was this age. What a dragon mother I was then, poor boy. Who by the way has been ignoring my texts. Again. I ended up sending him a poem to see if that would garner a response. It did:
'Your poem was a good effort, but didn't scan particularly well. Love Sam'
The weather has been it's usual mixed bag, and we are due for rain and wind again. Just as well I have to wait in for the man to service the boiler tomorrow. He was supposed to come before Christmas, but claimed he couldn't find the house. That was before the new house sign was put up. Only three years after the old one fell off. I couldn't decide on a suitable font. Well, it's a difficult decision. In the end Marc threatened to get the most vile sign he could lay his hands on. I very nearly let him, out of sheer pig headedness. But it's funny how this kind of threat can spur me into action. I'm such a procrastinator. Until the thought that something ugly may greet visitors to the door. Anyway, if the boiler man doesn't find me tomorrow he'll miss out on a cup of tea in my second favourite mug. It has a badger on it.
I could go on in this fashion for forever and a day. It's not really rocket science, my blog. It's not really going places either. Bit like myself!
Have a lovely week, one and all. Hopefully I shall find structure and meaning and sense soon.