More please sir

Oscar is feeling better.  This is good in many ways because yesterday his lustre definitely lacked, and although it was very useful to have a small boy who just wanted to lie around on the sofa in his pants all day watching telly (already training to be a man), it was also quite unnerving. Sort of like when you wish they would go away and play, and then, when they do, and all is quiet, you start to panic.  It is at times like these that I always experience that great parental dilemma.  Should I just carry on and have a cup of tea before I go and see how many limbs are missing, or should I hurtle upstairs with the First Aid Box?

Today he has been full of beans and bounce.  Mole and his mum came round in the morning, and Mole and Oscar hurtled round like loons, squeaking and shouting and singing, while we sat amidst the wreckage and watched in mild amazement.  I am always astonished at how noisy small boys are.  I mean the girls were no shy, retiring violets either, but he really does have quite a bellow.   His ability to run round like a greyhound chasing a rabbit is also quite impressive.  I feel tired just watching him. 

At lunch time we went to granny’s house.  I needed to do some work, and I had promised to cook risotto.  I was supposed to stop off at the supermarket (another thing I forgot), and take some things to mum’s.  I failed spectacularly to do either.  I did get some work done and cook risotto though.  Oscar had two helpings, which was another sign of impending wellness, and fuel for more bellowing and galloping, galloping and bellowing.

We drove home, picked the girls up from school and then promptly headed out again to Sainsburys to buy the things I had forgotten earlier in the day, and earlier in the week, and possibly last year. I also needed new wellingtons for Tallulah to keep at granny’s house, which I was reminded of when I got to granny’s at lunch time only to remember that the new wellingtons I bought for Oscar yesterday to keep at granny’s were still on the hall floor at home.  Bugger.

We drove back. I cooked tea.  It lasted about a hundred years.

It has been a very pedestrian day, which has utterly worn me out.  I have absolutely no reserves of energy left, and with Oscar getting back to fighting weight again I need to be more alert than ever.  I wish I could send him to nursery tomorrow.   You are supposed to keep them at home until the pox have scabbed over.  They have nearly all scabbed over. I am so tempted.  On the other hand, it would be very naughty of me to infect an entire nursery of children just because I want to lie in a darkened room and snore.

And realistically that’s not going to happen.  It’s Tallulah’s birthday tomorrow.  The excitement levels will have been cranking since dawn and we will be full steam ahead by breakfast.  I just need to grit my teeth, think of England and have the  cafetiere on a constant low boil.

I have other things to tell you. Grisly family tree things, Quentin Blake things, book things.  I cannot do it.  At best I can stretch to mundane and tedious recountings of my day.  I am sorry.  Be thankful that I have not told you anything about French polishing. I am right off French polishing, and I wasn’t even that on it in the first place.

I was going to write that I will try to be more compelling tomorrow.  I got stuck on ‘I will try to be more…’

I think that’s good enough really.

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