But first, for something pretty

There aren't enough pictures on this blog.

This one makes me a bit dizzy.

For want of a better title

It's high time somebody did something about writing something here. So much goes on, and so little of it gets remembered. By me. I started out doing this as...

...I can't remember. But it soon became a handy way of getting some writing done. Practicing for when I'm a famous writer, you know. Now, however, I find to my delight that there are MEMORIES recorded here, and some quite precious ones, too. So I think I'll keep at it.

Anyway, Polly has left school. What a relief for both of us. Actually, before I talk about how lovely that all is, I need to whinge about HOW THE SCHOOL SYSTEM SO TOTALLY SUCKS* and should only ever be considered as a last resort for any thinking and/or compassionate parent, and only when they can't find a decent babysitter.

But to do this, I'll need to gather evidence**. Stay tuned for rantage.







* Not withstanding (which I think means- not including) the absolutely delightful Ms Blackberry, who will no doubt single-handedly revolutionise the entire thing, and even if she doesn't, will be excused on account of her being the one glimer of hope in an otherwise bleak landscape of state-sanctioned nazism and the systematised channeling of young enthusiasm and naivete into cynical, virtual-reality, escapist, self-hating nihilism.

** I think I left it under my bed, amongst a pile of other ignoble ignorable papers.

Wrapped in goosebumps

I'm rewatching Twin Peaks- haven't seen it since it was on TV.





I had forgotten how absolutely delightful is the Special Agent Cooper. Just wonderful.





That pleased, slightly manic smile he gets when he figures something out. Wonderful.

Oh God, but how AWFULLY scary is Bob?!

Why being a grown-up is better.

I said I wouldn't say it ever:

I'm glad the kids are back at school.

I always look forward to holidays and long weekends, because you don't have to do the mad rush in the mornings to get everyone fed, dressed, packed and out the door on time.

I always used to cringe when I heard mothers say (in front of their kids!), "Orr, can't waaait 'ntil skewl goes back." Or, even worse, when they'd try and get me in on it, "Doncha haaate skewl holidays?"

"Nope, I love 'em", I'd say. "I really miss the kids when they're at school. The teachers get the best part of their day."

I even said it last week. Yay. Long weekend. No Monday morning rush.

But it's so quiet right now. The house is a mess, but I'll get to it. Maybe. I can watch a DVD, maybe even vacuum out the car. Not going in to work until Wednesday.

I feel bad for the kids. Six hours of school a day, plus travel time, is a full-time job for kids. Then they have to come home and do homework. Poor little buggers. Their morning rush doesn't finish until 5 o'clock this afternoon. They've got the whole social minefield to walk, on top of the classroom stuff, and they won't have a moment to themselves all day.

I'm so glad I'm not a kid anymore.

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.