Just blog-browsing while taking a break from wirtnig - yes, it's been so long since I did any that I've forgotten how to spell it - when I came across a comment from a lady who had used her photo in that little profile thing/bit that appears when you write a comment. She had mentioned something to do with activities for little children.
I've never seen a face that so totally says, 'I am an earnest and dedicated mum who believes in doing everything with my children, ensuring that they can experience every art form, scientific wonder, literary and dramatic event, in short doing everything it is possible for me to do to ensure that these little wonders of creation can develop into well-rounded bigger beings. We cycle and recycle; we got to the art gallery and museums; we go to Tiny Tots gym and always attend the library for the story-telling sessions. We eat raw carrots and raisins, discuss with our infants the issues raised in Teletubbies and pay utmost attention to our children whose every need comes first. So if I am talking to you and my child interrupts, I will respond to my child rather than telling him to wait a moment while I finish my conversation.'
My word, that is a rant. These women are wonderful. I'm sure they are. They're just not me. They might have been once upon a time but that was before I had children. (We did do lots of things; I don't think my children suffered.)
That probably all confirms how hard-hearted I am. I think I am possibly reptilian. When I got into bed last night, I shivered and said, 'I'm cold.'
Husband said, 'You feel warm to me.'
'That's just on the outside; on the inside I'm cold.'
Husband's work is waving redundancy notices around again. I told him, if he gets made redundant, he could apply for a research grant into reptilian women living today. In order to pursue the subject thoroughly he would need to undertake worldwide research so the grant would have to be large enough to cover that expense. And obviously I would have to accompany him as the control.
* * * * * * * * * * * * *
Daughter suggested getting a rug to brighten up our dingy hall until the time when we get round to decorating. So on Saturday we combined rug-selecting with washing-machine purchasing.
Trouble was that we hadn't measured the hall. 'No problem,' said Husband, who set to work with a scrap of paper and a pen. 'Right, this is the maximum but a little bit smaller would be better.'
We got one a little bit smaller, brought it home, put it down in the hall and it got lost.
I should explain that our hall is more room-sized than hall-sized. (Oh, flipping heck, I keep getting these message from Dell popping up on screen, accompanied by a space-age whirrrl. Makes me jump every time.)
Harvey approves of the new rug though. And he hasn't pooped on it yet.