It is Sunday. We are supposed to be fettling the house. Jason has the bit between his teeth, now that there is a distinct possibility that we will be moving in less than three weeks.
It’s all hands on deck.
The children are not thrilled.
They are currently at the tip with daddy, learning vital life lessons in how to sort plastics and what to do with tetrapaks.
Tallulah is furious. She is a girl who believes that any situation in life is infinitely improved if you are wearing a floaty, tulle dress with layers of sparkles, stiff petticoats and acres of bling. Were I an American mother she would have been a shoo in for a toddler beauty pageant. Apart from the constant scowling and the tempestuous refusal to do anything anyone asked of her.
She is not good at wearing warm clothes. She despises jeans, socks, sweaters of any description, and anything that isn’t encrusted with jewels. She will wear leggings if forced, but only under a frock. I use the word frock advisedly. Dresses are an inadequate description of what she would wear left to her own devices.
Yesterday she went for a walk with my aunt and cousin at Bradgate Park. I think I have mentioned our sub zero temperatures, biting wind and snow flurries to you? She was forced to change twice by me, and once by my aunt before we could let her out of the house. She went, grudgingly, sporting a face like a chicken’s arse.
Today, because we are doing outdoor things apparently, sorting the shed, picking up leaves, etc, going to the tip, she has been forced, yet again to compromise her aesthetic sensibility.
She came down this morning in a sun dress and bare feet, wearing a crocheted shrug. Jason sent her back upstairs with a few, choice words.
She was not best pleased.
She got to the top of the stairs and then screamed down the stair well.
‘I hate you. I hate jeans and I hate warm clothes and I’m not going to wear them because I don’t care what you say.’
So began a battle of wills which lasted half an hour and required a two parent intervention, and the threat of not being allowed to go to an antiques fair with granny next week if she doesn’t learn to dress appropriately for the conditions and the weather.
She is still mutinous.
I pointed out that Kate Moss, one of the most (arguably) beautiful women in the world, generally wears a uniform of jeans and ratty old jumpers, teamed with wellington boots.
It cut no ice.
I pointed out that beauty came from within, and that it didn’t matter how beautiful your clothes were, even John Galliano would be pushed to make you look glamorous if you had a face that could freeze a man’s innards at twenty paces thanks to all the rage coasting across its surface.
She cared not.
Eventually we won, but it was not a graceful victory. It was grudging and painful and I feel that this is only seconds out, round three.
Still, she hasn’t staged a rebellion for quite some time, and it was long overdue.
I should thank her for all her training. After all, our landlady’s behaviour was amateurish in comparison. I have cut my sparring teeth with the best in the country.
It is important to count your blessings where you can.
Talking of which, I seem to have escaped the fate of the family trip to the tip, mainly due to the fact that I have already pre sorted all our rubbish into appropriate piles, and rinsed out all the things that smell. I think I have done my bit.
Also, with the children, and all the rubbish, there was no room in the car for me.
Consequently I am alone at the MOD.
I feel I should be sorting things out and running around dutifully.
Instead, I am here.
Indulging in the guilty pleasure of blogging.
Oscar slept last night, except for one incident where he lost his drink in the wee small hours. There was hardly any coughing, no vomiting, and no barking.
Hooray!
He is more perky. We are more perky.
Sleep is a beautiful thing people. It is not true that sleep is for the weak. Sleep is delicious and there should be more of it. It is a sybaritic pleasure. That is what sleep is.
Anyway, here I am.
I only have a few minutes before they get back and we must all put our shoulders to the wheel again.
I’m going to eat a biscuit and loll about.
Don’t tell anyone.
My lips are sealed!
Would the vigorous application of sequins etc to her warmer clothes encourage Miss Stroppy to wear them? Or a small prize for every four layers of clothing worn?
I say, gosh sometimes it’s sooo much easier to have a dog. . . as long as I put the lead on she doesn’t care what she wears. Course I can relate to Tilly’s petulant pouting as I’m a secondary teacher. I think the constant sighing and eye rolling from the senior girls drove me back to teaching the younger girls who are still willing to listen to you. Love casual clothes day when the girls bare their midriff, their shoulders and often sport clothing which says: Playboy bunny. . . and lots of orange foundation. . . and it’s an all girl school. So they’re only impressing each other.
Loving the fettling and lolling. . . such good words, even if I don’t know what fettling is. . . but I gather it’s packing up to move?
Perhaps you should consider moving to Oz? It’s much warmer here and I bet you’d find some lovely houses to rent and we have football for Tallulah although it’s different but often involves lots of mud. . . .
You have my sympathies; I have had years of that with Attila. She still wears ‘frocks’ so short I think they are really blouses, and often goes to school looking as if she is going clubbing but over the last 6 months or so she has suddenly, voluntarily, chosen to wear trousers, muttered stuff about it being cold and complained that Topshop are selling sleeveless frocks in January.
Sharon’s idea could be genius though. I wish I had thought of that years ago – it might be worth a try!
Sharon
Just the thought of sewing sequins makes me sweat. It’s why I never encouraged them to do ballroom dancing. The prize might work though.
Josie
Fettling is more a deep cleaning, sort of scouring I think. The expression ‘elbow grease’ gets bandied about a lot with the term fettling.
Alienne
It is a brilliant idea if you’re any good at sewing sequins.