My team of walking wounded will be back tomorrow night. I got a postcard from my daughter today – written with her left hand. Pathetic. You can hardly read it. She only managed to ski for one day. My son’s friend only ski’d for two. My ex spent two days in bed. Hopeless. Looking forward to seeing them now although we’ve had the most lovely, peaceful week.
I have just been to pick up my son from a “play date” (popular term of the moment). It was one of the girls in his class and he was a bit nervous about it. I don’t know the mother at all. I arrived and she let me in and said it had all been fine and that they had been upstairs for ages. I called him, waited for ages and then went up to get him. The girl was sitting on her bed and my son was nowhere to be seen. Eventually I heard him say “I’m up here”. In a top cupboard above a wardrobe. Getting him down was virtually impossible and he nearly killed me as I took his weight and fell backwards. He was really hot and sweaty. Turned out he’d been stuck up there for most of the time. He was too embarrassed to tell the girl that he was stuck, so instead chose to casually pretend that being up in a small cupboard was precisely where he wanted to be. Poor thing. He was terrified. Won’t be going back there then. The mother had not come up the stairs once to see if everything was OK.
