Testy

Again, neither witty nor charming, but food for thought all the same.

Do you now, after all these years, qualify for what, in highschool, you would have considered "cool"?

Find out by taking this test.*


* thanks to Hamo

A quiet little whinge

While waiting for blog-worthy inspiration to Strike! I shall be thinking aloud on more mundane topics. There are some things I want to figure out.



Expect what follows to be neither witty, entertaining nor charming.



For instance:



Why am I a useless mother at bed-time? and, more imortantly, How do I fix it?



To recap, the players are:



Overkill Bill (husband) - big, bossy, bearded, bashful (although you wouldn't know it from talking to him)



Polly (15) - melancholic, determinedly depressed, emo from her unkempt hair right down to her holey, black stockinged feet.



Mayday (12) - choleric, fashionably stylish, the Quin to Polly's Daria



Noisie (8) - sanguine, dramatic, devastated, endearing, generally out of sorts with everthing.



Basil (1) - phlegmatic, sociable, enjoys school holidays and pet stores.



Oh, and this just in:



Bob (due in November) - has already threatened to cause the mental disintegration of his/her mother, but bound to be cute enough to get away with it.



So anyway:

During the day (unless I'm at work - Thank. God. for work) I'm bored, a bit miserable, unmotivated, surrounded by lots of things to do that I don't feel like doing, and feel pathetic for not doing, and don't like not having done. Like vacuum the car, do my budget etc.

Suddenly, when the kids get home, I'm all motivated and happy to do the stuff I haven't wanted to do all day. The dishes are a JOY! Suddenly we must have TREATS! I bake, I chat, I chase. I am supermum.

Until eight o'clock.

Then I hit a wall. And the wall tells me that the children either go to bed NOW!!!! or they die.

Noisie goes first, supposedly at 7:30, but she pushes it for drinks of water etc until 8:00. I can manage this, because the wall has yet to be met with.

Mayday is supposed to go to bed at 8:30, but by 8:00 I forget this and send her anyway, overriding her protests. Mayday is (currently) my most problem-free child, and I just can't be bothered with her. I punish her for her lack of issues, and for being compliant.

Polly goes to bed sometime, I don't always know when. I go to bed first. She watches too much television and never does any homework. I've decided to not hassle her about this. She seems happier, but it still bugs me, and I sometimes give her my exasperated, disappointed look, and a mini-lecture if I'm anxious enough, which I know is really heavy to bear, even for a teenager who pretends it isn't.

So I'm not at work today, and I've eaten three honey joys and two banana choc-chip muffins which are supposed to be for the kids but are, of course, just comfort food for me.

Maybe this'll work

There's no such thing as writer's block. Someone in the weekend paper said that if inspiration fails you, go out and hunt it with a club.

I do think I'm a bit out of practice with the clubbing.

So I'm going to start small, with a haiku or two. Maybe one every Monday?

Ahem.

Keyboard fails to hold
satisfactory interest.
Busting for a pee.

You see what I mean?

I'll try again later.

Next bar one

Actually, I think it was the depressing photos back in November that put me off.

Never fear. Won't be seeing or hearing or reading any more of that tripe.

Not here, anyhow.

So, "Self", I says

I really wasn't going to bother. Would anyone read it anyway?

Then I thought, so what? I haven't written anything vaguely poetic or semiautobiographical or prosaicish or anything at all since I stopped writing here.

And that's just a waste of a perfectly good tattoo.

I've gotten horribly responsible like that. But, as much as I don't miss writing, I miss being a person who likes writing.

Such as this is. Or might be if I bother.

Bothering, then, shall comence with my next post.