Oh, Day of DARKNESS! Day of Creeping Despair and Vague Feelings of Crankiness! Day of Reasons To Feel a Bit Sad For Oneself! Day of Dramatic Sighings and Head Cupped in Hand Hoping Someone Would Notice!
Why this sudden departure from usual larkings and family funtime frolics and dressing up as woodland creatures along the Edgeware Road? Well. Here are nine perfectly reasonable reasons why:
1. I locked myself out of the flat twice today. Two times. The first time, I got the turbanned tiler to come and let me back in, which was all very handy as he was working on someone else’s tiles a few doors down. But whaddya know? I did it again, like a sick attention-seeking locked-out recidivist. And I was too ashamed to go and hassle the tiler, so I waited in the garden for Mark to come home while I put my head in my hands in a Very Dramatic Way. No one noticed, though, which brings me neatly to number 2:
2. My friends don’t want to come out for dinner with me on my birthday. The less said about this one the better. But, like, I sent a little email out, suggesting a restaurant and a date and other such helpful details, and NO ONE REPLIED. Not one. Is it me? Is it the restaurant? The recession? It must be me. Ah well. Could it possibly be related to number 3?
3. I have an ugly coldsore of leper-esque crowd-thinning proportions adorning my top lip as a weepy scabby Monument To Filth. It makes wearing Tom Ford redundant, and very wrong, so I am reduced to Zovirax and hiding in the flat. Sort of. Not really, because life must go on, and someone has to drop the kids off at school. Which I did, this morning, and Tom the Dad chatted at me for about three minutes just GAWPING at my coldsore in the way that men may gawp at your boobs if you wear the right top, and then he said “Jeez, that is one hell of a coldsore, girl.”
I KNOW, Tom. I did not confuse it with leftover muesli-bits. I KNOW.
4. I am wearing moccasins. I found them in my wardrobe. They look a bit funny. It shames me.
5. Ok, this one is making me a most angry lady. Strangers keep tut-tutting me about the children. I get glances/reprimands/”helpful” suggestions from complete strangers about those pesky kids doing ordinary stuff, like using their scooters, climbing up stuff, falling asleep in the pushchair and having their heads loll to one side. In an effort to make my feelings clear on this emotive issue, I have penned a letter to the world. It goes like this:
Dear The World:
My children are not made of glass. I am not a bad parent. The kids are fine, I am sure of it. Please keep your glances and tut-tutting to people who really want your advice and help. It is not me. You make me very cross. Parenting is hard enough anyway, without it being a public sport.
And seriously, relax. Children are tough and need to learn and sometimes they go down the hill a bit fast and they fall off and they LEARN. And sometimes (I am speaking to the Italians among us) the kids can be out at 6pm without shoes and without a jacket. They are hardy, and they neither freeze, nor get hypodermic needles stuck in their feet.
A Non-Hovering Parent
6. The babysitters have fled. There are none to be found. This could be related to the whole filthy coldsore thing. Anyone of you free on October 2?
7. Everything in our bathroom cupboard is growing fur. It is damp in there. You open the cupboard, there is a smell, there is mould. It is making my essential oils and posh unguents look positively manky.
8. The teacher’s aide keeps insinuating that Noah’s packed lunch is annoying (his lunchbox is made of tin and is constantly breaking with a very loud clang throughout the lunchhall) and that I fill it incorrectly. This is LunchBox Harrassment. Apparently, he cannot have any more yoghurt because he eats it messily, he has too much in his lunchbox, and he eats too slowly. I get some variation of this theme every day. My dear little Noah has just turned FOUR. I say, leave the poor fella (and his mother) ALONE.
9. My hair has grown into the lampshade shape again, but there are no babysitters to be found in Londontown for me to go to Aveda and get it fixed. See #6. Yellow lampshade hair is very, very far from stylish.
I feel better now. Thank you for the opportunity to vent. Anyone else want to have a turn?