Interspersed with nice things, like finally having lunch with Andrea after a million missed dates, crossed wires and emergencies. Like making it to the pub quiz by the skin of my teeth and coming third. So that’s good.
I have also eaten ALL the things. This seems necessary. It’s probably left over from my attack of Ebola at the weekend. I literally cannot stop spying things that may or may not be food stuffs and poking them into my pie hole. My trousers are straining at the seams.
My skin is straining at the seams.
You know that bit in Silence of the Lambs where he feeds up the woman because he needs to make a coat out of her?
Put the lotion in the basket, etc…
In slightly less macabre news;
Tallulah loved her two days at her new school and doesn’t really want to go back to her old school tomorrow. She is full of swagger and acting like she invented high school. She has been lecturing Oscar about what it means to go to big school. He is hysterically excited on her behalf. We are just hysterical that she has it all sussed. Long may it last.
He is also hysterically excited on his own behalf because it is HIS transfer day, to HIS new school tomorrow.
He is a most bewildered small boy. He is very, very keen to go. He is over the moon that he got into his new school. His favourite thing about it is not that it has a woodland school within the grounds, or their own swimming pool. His favourite thing is that it has kitchens so he can learn to cook. Why he shows no interest in learning to cook at home, but seems delighted about the opportunity to learn to cook at school I do not know.
Ours is not to reason why etc…
He is bewildered because the keenness is mixed in with a not insignificant amount of nerves and a fear that he will get lost forever and never find his way home.
Of all three of my children, he is the most settled, the most rooted, the most sure of himself in terms of a) being the king of the known and unknown universes and b) being universally adored by everyone, all of the time, and what good has it done him?
None at all.
He is rather wimpy, prone to fears and anxieties and the world’s biggest hypochondriac.
His anxiety over school is pouring into hypochondria at the moment. In between coming up every fifteen minutes to tell me how excited he is to be going to his new school he runs up to tell me:
Mama, I have just banged my funny bone with my water bottle. It really hurts.
That’s not your funny bone Oscar, that’s your hip bone.
Oh. Ok. Will I die from it?
Oh. Ok. Why is it called a funny bone?
Because it’s not very funny when you hit it.
Mama. I’ve got this spot.
Yes. You’ve had it for days. Stop scratching it.
But I need to scratch it.
Then it will get bigger.
Will it eat my face off?
Oh. OK…I wish I didn’t have spots. I wish I could just scrape them all off with a big knife. They worry me.
You have one spot. You will live.
Try not to think about puberty. OK?
When am I going to get a cold sore?
I don’t know. I don’t have my cold sore calendar.
I don’t know Oscar. You might not get any.
But if I do?
Then you’ll have a cold sore.
How big do you think a cold sore is?
I don’t know.
OK. Cold sores are nothing to worry about, ok?
Will I die from it?
and on, and on, and on:
Scratches, bruises, eating too much tea, not eating enough tea, sleeping too badly, sleeping too long, this lumpy bit on my arm (elbow), etc.
It’s going to be a long summer.