At Mums

The dog is getting old, we are all getting old. Walking The Dog is a very very slow business.

But it is a beautiful sunny day and we are in tremendously good spirits Mum and I. It is a happy day and I am pleased to be in her company.

We have walked about 500 yards to the nearest grass verge when the dog stops to 'do her business 'as my Granny would have said. It does a massive pile. Mum brings out the inevitable 'poo bag' to scoop it up. She ties the top with a flourish and, holding tight to the looped handle, off we go again.
'How far is the bin?' I ask her, thinking that it would be nice to have a dog but that the 'pooper scooper' bit might be a bit much, especially as the children have been out of nappies for so long!
'Just around the corner' she says with a jolly smile, as the dog plonks itself down for another go.
'More?' I say in astonishment
'Oh yes' says Mum, almost proud, 'Sometimes I get through 3 of these!' She brandishes another bag and swoops upon the steaming pile.

She has the whole thing off to a fine art, and before we know it we are off again down the road.
'Sometimes' she says ' I think more comes out than goes in!'
'Really?' Ewww
'Yes' she says 'Feel the weight of that' and she hands me the two warm bags!
'I think I can live without that experience Mum' I decline

She really is something else sometimes, but you've got to love her!

The call

Maggie May was right, I did know the answer to my dilemma. The reason I'd been so worried about ringing my prospective employer, was because they may have negotiated on finishing times and if they had, then I would have had to have taken the job. In my heart of hearts I did not want it. I wanted to be sure of keeping my children. I wanted to savour the last year of Small Sprog; taking him to school in the morning, being there in the afternoon to hear his chatter, buy him an ice cream or cajole him to his extra maths lesson, depending on the day of the week.

I put off the call until Monday morning and was told that they would not negotiate. Was I still interested? No, I knew the answer straight away, I was not.

Back to the drawing board then. Time or money, which is more important to you?

Back to reality

As my much-looked-forward-to holiday period comes to an end, my sleep becomes disturbed once more and thoughts of work, childcare, finance and divorce flood my mind in the small hours. I try not to look at the clock when I am restless, otherwise I count the hours that I have missed and add them mentally on to my deficit! Lying there in the early morning greyness I can hear the rain steadily falling. What I really need, I think, is a nice warm lie in the sun, I want to hear the crash of the sea and dig for shells on the shoreline. All this is brought on by knowing that my children are in Cornwall. I have checked the weather continuously this last week to see if it is dry where they are. I worry about Small Sprog on his body board and hope that he is supervised enough and warm...

Just as I departed for York I received an email from my prospective employer; I have tried to contact you at home, it says, please call me when you receive this message. I quickly email back to say I am about to drive to York and I will be back at the end of the week. Yet I could have called her then. I am putting it off. I want the job but not the hours, I want to see my children, I want it all.

On the other hand, Husband, despite threats, has not cut us off financially and has paid money into the bank. This month then, I am solvent at least. Yet the threat was very real and who knows what will be up his sleeve next. Do I want to live every month like the last one?

Ah and the good news, I suppose is that a court hearing may be due at the end of November, twenty two months from the day when I told him it was over. The solicitor says the first hearing is only 'House Keeping'. I am not holding my breath, just as well I guess, as I'd have expired long ago!

So in the twilight of morning, as I thought for the hundredth time how useful a crystal ball would be, I tried to encourage myself to make the call. Perhaps to ring at the weekend would be bad manners? Who am I trying to kid?! I have managed to forget reality for the last three weeks, now I must face it, and to be honest, why am I putting myself through this, trying to second guess what they will say? The only way to find out is to make the call.

Off again!

Over two weeks into the school holidays and I am childless once more. This time I nearly cried when they left, if Mum hadn't been there too then perhaps I would have, I couldn't cry in front of her, it would have made her cry too! It has been an emotional time, there have been the most wonderful moments, mixed with job and health worries, life is never dull in suburbia.

We had a brilliant week away, a proper family holiday, it felt easy and free and we all agreed the simple pleasures were the best; we fed ducks, paddled in clear shallow streams and skimmed stones in the river. We laughed, a lot. We enjoyed each other and played silly games. We ate ice cream and sweets until our teeth ached! We were happy. I will always remember that holiday, it is the most normal and stable time that I have spent for as long as I can remember. Sometimes normal is a great relief!

The days after our return were filled with visiting various friends before they went on their holidays, the time has passed so quickly, all of it good.

But the inevitable came. After managing to spend nearly 4 weeks on the trot with my children, I had to let them go. It was harder this time. We were out of the routine of every other weekend with their dad. I will not see them now for over two weeks and by the time they return, the holidays will be nearly over.

And all the time I had with them, the whole four weeks, I wanted to say 'Isn't this good? Couldn't we just do this forever? Can't we just go on and on?' But of course they need to see their father, it's only right, yet they seemed so settled at home with me, I find myself wishing...

How have you spent your summer so far?

Small Sprog is gross!

'Mummy?'
'Yes'
'You'll never guess what's in my hand?'
'Ummmmmm'
He is waving it about in a demented fashion
'No, what is in your hand?'
'My fart!'
'Say again?'
'I caught my fart!!' he giggled 'Can you smell it?!'
He lets it go in the vicinity of my face...

Ewwwwww!

Apparently this sort of behaviour is written in his DNA.

Thank goodness he doesn't have access to matches!