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Home nearly alone I miss my boy and I miss having Constance around as well. ffice On Friday we went to the Brackenbury in Hammersmith to say good-bye in style. Once again The Boy proved once again that he is not really a kids menu sort of a child by opting for the sea bass with salsify, spinach and baby onions and fish fumet and declaring it yummy. We took the tube (Piccadilly line) and a young girl took a shine to Constance and mistaking her for our 15 year old daughter started a weird one way conversation (I did not know I looked old enough to have a teenage daughter – mental note to investigate creams claiming to make you look younger). The lack of answers did not seem to disturb her in the slightest. So in the course of a very long 10 minutes we learned that we are way cool to have let Constance have her eyebrow pierced, that she should not go to Soho because it’s full of dodgy men who are after young girls and would pimp her in a minute because they just think anybody is up for it, that she likes The White stripes and that you have to be careful because of terrorists and that she thought her brother was one. Tube journeys can be so enlightening. Every single one reminds me of why I tend to avoid it. It seems to carry more weirdoes than the average bus or train. On Saturday we all went to Waterloo and Him Indoors admitted his throat tightened a bit when he saw The Boy disappear through the door with his suitcase in tow. Constance called us when they got to Paris and everything was fine (nothing like a packed lunch on the Eurostar to keep little boys happy). The latest news from my mum is: the Boy is having a whale of a time with his grandparents and seems to have acquired a pair of roller skates during his stay at Constance’s parents at the week-end. Her little brothers have introduced him to new games like ‘lets build traps out of fruit boxes to catch chicken’ and ‘lets play Joan of Arc with worms’ and ‘lets take the baby rabbits to the bedroom so we can play with them’. Since then my father has relocated the box of matches – a purely precautionary measure of course. All the plans we laid about what we were going to do while The Boy was away have shrunk. Operation update the upstairs toilet has ground to a halt as Him Indoors is ploughing through increasing amounts of coursework and revisions. The office has become a no go area for me as his work is spread about on the desk. I could have got more of the gardening done or maybe finished the tiling upstairs but I cannot seem to shake off the remains of the winter lack of drive. Anyway, Him Indoors has more coursework to do tonight so I am going out with Kim. We will be celebrating Philippa’s latest arrival (a little girl) and catching up with gossip. Should be fun. Better check the train times to Windsor… |
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7.4.04 11:28 |
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ffice" />|
Did the earth move for you ? No but I sure moved the earth... s far as I know when most parents ship their kids to relatives they make the most of the opportunity by going on romantic walks/trips, evenings out and fancy dinners. ffice Not us. While The Boy is away with his grandparents we have joined the Easter week-end DIYing masses. We have not I am afraid tackled the still unfinished upstairs toilet (any volunteers out there who fancy doing a bit of grouting and plumbing in their spare time? I thought not). However we have made good progress on the garden. The broken fence panels have been replaced and stained to match the others. The cherry tree and blueberry bush have been moved to more convenient locations. The bark has been moved from the front garden to the back to form a nice thick layer of cushioning under the climbing frame. 4 raised beds now grace the right side of the garden and enough top soil to fill them has been moved from the front garden to the back. Him Indoors had some fun taking rubbish to the dump. He sulked a bit as it meant driving my car, which would cramp anybody’s style. On the minus side the house now resembles a mud track, my thighs feel like I have done 200 lunges (pile of soil to shovel to wheelbarrow action) and my arms like I have done 100 biceps curls and 100 triceps dips. The joys of double digging are very overrated. On the plus side after another trip to the dump he garden should be useable again, ready for the lighter evenings and just in time for most planting. And there is now far less soil needing sifting in the front garden and there should be just enough to fill the containers and the bags for the potatoes. Perfect if I mix it with a bit of compost. And it leaves us with a whole bank holiday Monday to do what normal people do when their kids are away. |
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11.4.04 23:21 |
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My bum does not look so big in a South West Trains carriage
Went to pick up the new au-pair from ffice:smarttags" /> ffice I suppose the girl who got on the train before me would have one minor complaint about the layout. The corridor/alley is slightly narrower than on older trains and the poor girl managed to wedge herself between the two aisle seats on the way down to an available place to sit. She got herself unstuck and got through sideways eventually. I could see half hidden grins and sniggers from fellow travellers and prepared myself to be mortified as I followed in her footsteps. I was glad to find out I did not need to go sideways or breathe in. Always nice to find out I am not quite as fat as I think I am, then again, after tonight’s Chinese takeaway I may need to write to South West train and ask them to make sure they only put the old trains on our line for a bit I feel like my tummy is going to burst. |
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15.4.04 00:07 |
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How could I resist ? Him Indoors says that I am an advertiser's dream. I guess when he opens the cupboard and sees this it's unlikely he will change his mind.
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19.4.04 22:56 |
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I'm a chicken You know the family reunion which was due to take place on Sunday. I chickened out of it. I made up excuses about ferries, back to school, new au-pair and logistics. To be fair the excuses were not totally half baked but if I had really wanted to go I could probably have tried harder and investigated alternative routes. According to my Dad, it went really well, people enjoyed themselves and I was the only one missing. It was lunch at a restaurant with serving planned to start at 1300. My Dad made a point of telling me that it was great fun and that people did not leave until 1900, but that they all understood I could not make it. He also made a point of telling me that my cousin who lives in the south of France and has a young baby had managed to travel for the occasion. The hint was about as subtle as the way he try to get us to ask him to open another bottle the other day.
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20.4.04 23:38 |
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Cocktail anybody ? A while back I made some raspberry vodka as per Princess Fairytoes' instructions. Chuck of gumbo pages was very kind and provided some suggestions on how to use it besides drinking it neat or topping it up with cranberry juice. the Footloose Cocktail: Chuck has a great site which will make you hungry just reading the recipes. If you fancy trying some New Orleans flavours, go have a look. |
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21.4.04 22:36 |
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Mummy's food is always the best, he said as he scraped the burnt bits off the fi
One of the guiding rules in life is that it is generally a good idea to avoid making the same mistake twice. I try to obey it when the stroppyness and the stubborn streak do not get in the way. ffice On Friday, Him Indoors’ mother is coming from ffice:smarttags" /> Him Indoors loves pasties. He is a good Cornish boy who was brought up on them. The Boy likes pasties. Nanny in I never make pasties. I have learned long ago that every man has a favourite dish from their childhood. Very often the dish was a family favourite cooked by their mother. It can be simple or elaborate but no matter what, nobody, especially not their wife/girlfriend/partner can cook it as well as their mother does/did. I will not cook pasties despite repeated requests. The Boy’s father had a favourite when I met him. I was naïve and thought it would be a good idea to make it for him. The favourite was apple pie. No biggie. I made apple pie and time after time while our housemates declared them great the verdict was the same “it’s not like my mother’s, my mother’s apple pie is nicer”. I did not give up, I kept trying. One day I went for Sunday lunch at his mother’s house. It was the beginning of a long and intense dislike for his parents but that’s another story. For pudding I was presented with the famous apple pie and the penny dropped. There was no way in the universe my apple pie would ever taste like his mothers as I could not bring myself to make such bad pastry – ever. The pie had more pastry than apple. The pastry was pale, barely cooked and soggy. All along I had been trying to make a great apple pie not realising that what he wanted was his idea of a great apple pie. The apple pie he had been eating and had enjoyed all his life. I am not alone to have made this error. A friend got tired of hearing how her stew does not taste like her mother in law’s stew. She did blurt out that of course it does not because she can not contemplate ever cooking anything as bland as his childhood favourite. I have often wondered which dish will be the power dish between me and whoever decides to share my son’s life. My friend has wondered the same about her sons. My mum makes lumpy mash. I use a ricer so my mash is as lump free as they get. Sometimes though I find myself thinking, it’s not quite as good as my mum’s. Maybe it’s not just men whose heart can be found using the route which goes via the stomach.
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21.4.04 22:40 |
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