The week is looming

It is the last week of term.

Thank the holy baby Jeebus Cheezus.

I am trying not to feel too resentful that many of my friends are already on holiday, and have been able to turn their alarm clocks off.

BASTARDS.

I am also trying to be more efficient this week. The last few weeks have been somewhat of a shambles morning wise. I have, more often than not, slept in rather later than is advisable, and then been faced with the indignity that even though I am slightly less tired I then have to run around and around in ever decreasing circles like a demented whippet trying to cram into half an hour what normally takes an hour and a half.

In these straitened circumstances there have been casualties, as you might expect.

And frankly, the extra snatches of sleep have never been entirely worth it, looking like a freshly dug up zombie as I do most days.

This morning therefore, I sort of leapt from the bed, and have managed to shamble sleepily through most of my morning chores in reasonable time. I have checked that Oscar has the right stuff for swimming. Last week, when left to his own devices he chose the dampest, soggiest towel from the towel rail to take with him, rather than a clean, dry one from the drawer. Consequently by the time he got to swimming he had to wriggle into clammy shorts, which is never much fun at the best of times, and combined with the head squishing rubber swimming cap of death, does not make for a satisfied swimmer. In fact, that sort of activity could easily be an olympic sport of its own, particularly for the under tens with slight dyspraxic tendencies.

I have also checked that Tallulah has the right things for her many and varied activities. Luckily for me there is no singing this week, which means one less ample bag to cart about. They have finally finished Sir Cliff by the way. We are now onto something from a musical. I was discussing this with Caron on Saturday. I appreciate that in order to learn to sing properly it is important to choose twiddly songs with lots of range and depth and interest. It is just a shame that they cannot cut their teeth on things like Rock The Casbah by The Clash, or Girlfriend in a Coma by The Smiths. It would make life a lot easier for those of us with a less musically appreciative ear, who have to listen to it for hours every day.

Tallulah has her last Holy Communion lesson for a few weeks this evening. Everyone is very grateful for this, even Tallulah I feel, who compelled by Christ as she is to like this sort of thing, is of the opinion that it is dragging on a bit. I really shouldn’t moan as I have decisively opted out of any interaction with the church, and refused to go for the lessons with her, like all the other nice parents do. On the other hand it does tend to wind its tendrils into our lives, whether we like it or not. And we decidedly don’t.

Last week I got the phone call about the dress. It has to be white, and it has to be of a level of gorgeousness that makes My Fat Gypsy Wedding look tasteful and restrained is the general idea. I did suggest to Tallulah that we look for a nice cotton sun dress that she could wear again and again. She looked a bit heart broken. I felt like a puppy strangler. I resigned myself to the fact that meringues must be bought at vast expense, only to gather dust in the wardrobe and eventually be cut up for dusters or sold for 99p on EBay. I seethed rather.

On Friday, on my unbirthday, we went to our local Oxfam shop in the city (I chose this activity by the way). It has a bridal section. Normally I pass this by in haste. Even when I did get married I did not do bridal wear, so it has never been my thing to ooh and ash over a great quantity of sateen and things that make you look like you’ve been viciously trapped in a Venetian blind. On this day however, I lingered and browsed. I found a white satin dress with lots of stiff petticoats and tasteful lilac sash in Tallulah’s size for £12. Oh happy day! It is perfect. Absolutely perfect, and she loves it, and I do not have to drag round all the horriblest shops in the world getting distressed by man made fibres and small children. And I have fulfilled my duty to the church. Let joy be unconfined.

And let us not speak of the fact that shoes still have to be purchased.

I have remembered to sort out my Pilates kit. I need a bit of bendiness training this week, so remembering to pack my kit is a big plus. Two days of ironing and crouching on the floor, wrapping things in forty seven square yards of bubble wrap has done for my hips completely, and I woke up feeling like someone has spent the night hitting them with small hammers. It could actually have happened. After all, Jason has fled to Germany this morning, so who knows what he did before he left in the wee small hours?

I have many parcels to send today. So many in fact, that I have been rendered rather embarrassed by them, and feel that were I to take them all to the post office in one go, and given that it is pension day today, several old people might die waiting in the queue for me to finish. I think I will divide it up and go in two shifts. It is the only thing standing between me and a) lots of funerals I will be compelled to go to and b) an angry octogenarian lynch mob.

I had thought this week might be a bit less pressured, but then I looked at my diary. Monday and Tuesday are the usual madness. Wednesday we sometimes get off for good behaviour, but because it is my birthday we are doing tea at granny’s house. This is not a complaint by the way. Tea at anyone’s house is always welcome. Thursday there is a leaving do for the school secretary who has been at school for the last thirty years and deserves a jolly good send off. Ever since I stood in for her for two weeks last year I have the utmost respect for her stamina and ability to multi task under pressure so streamers will be unfurled and toasting will commence. Friday is usually a free day, but may well be the day that the tutoring that I can’t fit in on Thursday gets fitted in.

Roll on Saturday when the alarm clock can be smashed with vigour and all my responsibilities can be thrown to the four winds for a fortnight.

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