I am unbelievably tired. Well, not unbelievably to me. I operate in a permanent, low level cloud of sleepiness, but the fact that other people are now actively commenting on the state of my tiredness is new – and troubling. The lady at the petrol station has gone from patting me sympathetically to a full on hug. I kid you not.
Jason is home. This is good. Although even he said: ‘Good God woman, you look exhausted. What have you been doing?’ Which made me want to drive to the petrol station for a hug.
I feel I must blog, and indeed there are probably many terribly exciting things to tell you, except that I cannot pour them into any coherent shape without them all skittering off to the four winds of my enfeebled brain.
So let us have a list.
The small children have taken it upon themselves to make this week ‘International Bickering Week’. I am not sure if anyone else is celebrating it, but we are certainly doing our bit to make sure it does not go unmarked. They have argued over everything from the correct way to peel a banana to whether that level of drink in a glass is sufficient for breakfast purposes. We have had pit stops along the way to fit in other burning issues, such as who cleaned out the sink last, if indeed anyone did; whether it was him or her that left that light on etc. It’s all riveting stuff and I’m sure it would make a corking episode of the Archers should they ever run out of ideas, but I am a little weary of it now. It may explain why I seem to look so particularly tired.
Oscar has moved into a flirtation with cross dressing. This does not bother me one whit. I found him fighting with Tallulah over one of Tilly’s cast off skirts. It was rather nice actually, pale green cotton with a sort of leafy pattern. He has good taste. Tallulah was saying that he could not wear it, because he was a boy. He was nearly in tears, and said that he could wear what he wanted and he liked it. I felt my heart break for him. I want him to be able to wear it, and I also want him not to care what anyone else thinks because why should girls get all the best clothes? And why should anyone bother what we wear anyway?
I loved him so much in that one, desperate heart beat of a moment.
Tallulah won the toss because she had bagged it first, unfortunately for Oscar. But he did get some splendid pink pyjama bottoms with poodles all over them as compensation. When I went to tuck him up he showed them to me, his bottom lip wobbling. I said: ‘Oscar. You look incredibly smart. I love what you’ve done with those pyjamas.’ He beamed. He said: ‘I wanted that skirt because I could have worn it in the garden and it would have been excellent for trampolining in.’ I agreed, but suggested that there might be other skirts in his future, should he still desire to trampoline in them, and that everything would be fine and good.
I then went and had a fierce word with Tallulah about small boy’s rights to wear whatever the hell they liked, and indeed large men’s rights. We are not going to have that nonsense in this house.
In other news:
My lovely friend Sharon has sent me a brown paper package wrapped up in string. It contains some particularly cool socks and some even cooler chocolates and the best hand made card I have received in many a long day. Sharon, I love you.
My husband bought me a Paul Bommer screen print for my birthday. It depicts the entire old rhyme of Oranges and Lemons says the Bells of St. Clements, but without the chopping off the head bit. I love it. When it is framed, I shall attempt to take a photo of it to show you. Jason I love you.
My lovely friend Nicki bought me a beautiful literary map for my birthday. She was so excited about it I had to open it today. I didn’t mind because I was very excited about it too. I need to take it to the framers very quickly because if I keep unrolling it to have another little look at it, like I have been doing all day, it will disintegrate very shortly. Nicki I love you.
I met Andrea for a late lunch yesterday. We set the world to rights and ate lots of cake – which was nice. Andrea I love you.
I ran away with my mum today, and we ate lots of cake and did some treasure hunting – which was also nice. Mum I love you.
Cake has been a constant watch word this week. I cannot say I am sorry about this at all.