Back in the saddle

I usually do Jeremy the courtesy of waiting until he is out of the country before watching a horror flick, but having lost my nerve so badly last week, and he needing to work in the kitchen all evening, I figured two stout walls between us would do the trick.


This time it was Ghost Ship. Salvage crew finding a luxury liner derelict these forty years, no apparent reason why, gradually being picked off one by one by . . .


And I was fine. Time to admire the inventiveness of the opening scenes (eeuw! very bluggy!), to enjoy the splendid art direction, to envy some of the stunts that Julianna Margulies got to do, to jump at doors inexplicably slamming shut, to gasp when, instead of seeing his own reflection in the mirror, he sees something else, to shudder at the . . . you get the idea.


I'm so happy I have my nerve back! Just look at the time, I'm the only one downstairs in the single pool of light cast by the monitor, and I don't even feel the need to, just in case, check over my shoulde

300

We went to the movies last night, to see this which I thoroughly enjoyed. The visuals were eye-poppingly beautiful, the choreography of the battle scenes was haunting, and the re-telling of the historical events hilariously inaccurate. Oh, and there was lots of blood. LOTS of it. If you like your violence comic-book gory, this is the movie for you. Jeremy, on the other hand, found it a little tedious. (What! it was fabulous!) I think the high point of his cinematic experience was the trailer for Spiderman 3.

I don't know whether to be happy that lots more people now know about the epic Spartan action, or weep that history has been so badly served. That whirring sound you hear is Herodotus revolving in his grave. At at least 78 rpm.

Beri finished Nursery today (mope) so we celebrated by buying new lunch boxes for everyone. Kit needed one as his finally broke, Beri felt a new school demanded a new lunch box, and Sid - well, need I say more? (Note to self - stop listening to her. Just because it's pink doesn't mean she needs it.)

And I still can't tell you about Orlando, because I haven't got a picture of him! So you'll have to make do with this one for the time being.

Goodbye to All That

Life appears to be going especially fast, as this term comes to an end. It's Beri's last term at Nursery, so after Easter he will be going full time. And next term is Sid's last at playgroup, so I will have to start thinking about a third set of school uniform.

This morning we were all invited to an open day at Forest School, to see what Beri had been up to. We found a forest glade, with nooks and crannies all around in the greenery, a tarpaulin shelter rigged between two trees, a fire with marshmallow on sticks and popcorn in a popper on a very long handle, the occasional newly planted tree, goats on one side and a view across the Chess valley on the other.

We watched Beri happily dive off into the woods, playing fabulous make-believe games (that said, for all I know they may actually have been building Noah's Ark) and skitter back for the occasional piece of popcorn. It was abundantly clear that what Forest School had done for him, and all the children born late in the academic year, was give them a gang - people they can rely on during their only term in Reception. Phew, eh?

Jeremy is going to be at home the next couple of days tiling the utility room floor, and waiting to hear about interviews. Keep your fingers crossed.

Bad Mother's Day

Today has been unnecessarily medical.

First off, having lost a filling over the weekend, the only appointment available to me before about - oh, June 2014, was at the exact time that Beri and Sid should have been eating lunch. Because I don't actually do Forward Planning in any meaningful way (apart from having set the video timer for House on Thursday, and that's still two whole days away, so that makes me organized, ok?) we stopped in at the baker's on the way down. Because I do actually draw the line somewhere, I instructed the children to wait until we were in the dentist's waiting room before they ate, rather than eat in the street.

What a fantastic idea! Have you any notion of just how crumby those big sausage rolls are? All over the sofa, the children and the floor. The best bit was showers of slightly spit-laden flaky pastry settling gently over the pile of soft toys. Eeeuw. I got a distinctly short reception from the receptionist when I asked if they had a dustpan and brush, and spent twenty minutes on the floor brushing and tutting and telling myself in the most exasperated tone I could muster that it had been the most foolish thing to do, but poor babies, you were so hungry, and we weren't going to be too much longer, the dentist was only a little late . . . Eventually it was my turn. I showed them where I was going to be, and left them chewing chocolate brownies. Barely had I lain down in the chair when the room was invaded by two chocolate-covered children, who wouldn't leave.

You try being reassuring while flat on your back, wearing bright orange goggles, the Merry Widow Overture blaring from the radio, the drill bit screaming and your vocabulary limited to Uh-hh-ah-uh and yuy-yh-ya-hh-y and Argh!

The dentist asked that I not floss around the temporary filling. As that was how I had dislodged the filling in the first place, oh how I laughed.

Then we had a horrible turn before bedtime when Kit took his shirt off to reveal what had been, yesterday, four small red patches on his back, and now was raised blister-like patches outlined in angry red covering over half his back, up into his hairline and down one arm. Jeremy drove him into High Wycombe Hospital, where 'an allergic reaction' was diagnosed. Yikes. We have no idea what set this off, but the answer is Piriton. Storms in teacups don't come more disproportionate. I actually do have a photo, but d'ye know? I don't think I'll publish it . . .

What I Do with Myself During the Day Part Deux

Get interrupted. I have small children, of course that's what I do all day.

This particular interruption, regular but not frequent, starts with a squeaking noise. Not urgent, hurt, frightened or bored, just a melodious chirping. It goes on for a while before I realise that it may be a message for me. I drop whatever I'm doing (the crossword, some needlepoint, guitar practice, watching a horror movie on telly, you know the sort of thing), go into the playroom to find

And she can't get down.

On the grown-up front, Jeremy, who keeps telling me that all his contract work has dried up, and he will now be at home DIYing and looking for a job, keeps getting work. Admittedly we can still never see more than a week ahead, but argh! He has very long list of things to do here at home! The multi-talented man did spend a day last week refitting the larder, which is now positively spacious. (When we moved in here, my mother (jokingly I think) called this 4' x 4' cupboard 'the Filipino maid's room'. I'm now considering doubling the rent.)

We also sadly bid goodbye to Elaine and her family. Apart from the gels with whom I did Latin 'A' level, she's the only person I know who knows who Lars Porsenna is. What am I supposed to do now?

Beri Can Read!

For a good few weeks now, Beri has been putting together the letters he sees on book covers, cereal packets, lorries, and far more often than not coming up with what they spell. So (at great personal cost - I wanted to do this!) I suggested Jeremy and Beri spend some time in our library with some of the Oxford Reading Tree books we borrowed from Anna over four years ago, when Kit was this age.We thought maybe one book (they really are quite short) every few days, to get him interested without putting too much pressure on him.

Well. We only have six book in Stage 2, and Beri zipped through them all in that first session. Do we buy more at Stage 2, or do we go on to Stage 3? Decisions, decisions . . .

We are so proud of him we could burst.

Oh - and when Jeremy, dropping Beri off at nursery the next day, mentioned this to his teacher Mrs Brown, and asked her to ensure he had access to suitable literature at school, she looked slightly surprised, and remarked 'Beri does hide his light under a bushel, doesn't he!'

What I Do with Myself During the Day

Watch television, hooray!

Well, only on this one occasion. It happened that Jeremy was in Bucharest at the beginning of this week. (All that way for a two-hour meeting, but he gets to charge them for two days of his time. I know - madness.) My pleasure, when he is out of the house, is a good horror movie. I bought myself Severance, and settled down, late in the evening, alone in the house apart from three tiny, defenceless children upstairs, for a rare treat.

I lasted twenty minutes. Twenty. Minutes.

I bottled. Totally funked it. Twenty minutes! The screeching violins had barely got up to speed! A few moments of handheld camera (cue creepy music) from inside the bunker, and I hit the off button so fast I still have the bruise. I may never play guitar again. (Well, that's actually true, but mostly because of not practising because of idleness, not my over-dexterous use of the remote control.)

I clearly needed broad daylight for this, and preferably an inappropriate hour. So, yesterday, having got all the children off to school, by 9:30 I was back home, sat on the sofa in front of the TV and d'ye know, I really enjoyed it. Oh yes, it was indeed drenched in gore, and I had to watch half of it from behind the sofa, but the funny bits were very funny indeed.

I hadn't banked on Jeremy actually being in the house at that point, watching me watch telly at 9:30 in the morning, and I've been trying to persuade him ever since that this is not how I usually spend my child-free time.

A Weekend in Essex

We celebrated Ian's and Jeremy's birthdays in Goldhanger this weekend. The children were madly excited, at bedtime, to be put into the car instead of their beds, and it meant a comparatively quick journey for us.

After our customary visit to the Goldhanger playground, we were delighted by the presence of the Essex Samba Band in the village square. Tiny village, LOUD NOISE! Having only seen samba bands in television footage, I had no idea how they operated. They had so many different sorts of percussion instruments, and their leader controlled the music with a whistle and some very exotic gestures. They were wonderfully rythmic, and I was surprised by the wide variety of people in the band.

The afternoon saw Jane being so patient with the children as they all made Grandad's birthday cake together.

Then we went to Maldon quay to pay our respects to Brythnoth, hero of a famous defeat. He's relatively new in town, and stands at the end of the Promenade Walk. We were mildly surprised to find no indication of his name or the name of the sculptor, John Doubleday, anywhere.

Sunday meant the usual three-generational bunfight, with Fenella and Stephanie's families joining the party, but this time the children, to their delight, ate their lunch from around the kitchen table, leaving the adults to the relative civilisation of the dining room. And to show how attuned the family is to each others needs, Fenella and I gave Jeremy the same birthday present (the six Connery Bond movies) and Fenella and Jeremy both gave Ian the Last Mughal. Synchronicity or flippin' irritating? You decide!

My First Time . . .

staying up PRACTICALLY ALL NIGHT to get a costume ready for Kit to wear yesterday. It was World Book Day, and the Junior School had decided that Villainy was the order of the day. Kit made an exotic choice - Captain Thunderbolt Vulpoon from the Edge Chronicles. Exotic! Pantaloons, cummerbund, great key ring, cutlass, lacy cuffs, buttoned and braided jacket and a tricorn hat with a giant feather in it. Oh, and a moustache and eyebrows, but those were easy. Luckily, Ma's cupboards provided rich pickings, and all I had to get were black craft paper and paint. But all that cutting, stitching, sticking and splodging took up far longer than I thought. Let this be a lesson to me!

So of course I had to take a picture before he left. As soon as Kit had gone (he got a green card for his costume! Hooray for me!) Sid and Beri decided that they were now Mr and Mrs Valentine (remember the biscuits?), hit the floor, and demanded I take a picture of them too.

Off to Jane and Ian's to celebrate Ian and Jeremy's birthdays. The children are very excited about going to bed in the car.