Navigate our site
First day back at work yesterday – didn’t go quite as well as I’d hoped:- 1. One of my children had nicked my Oyster card which is REALLY annoying when you get to the station without it 2. No seats […]
*Sigh* (not actually sure of the point of the additional ** but it sort of looks better and more meaningful - like in a comic). You would think that by now my kids are old enough to fend for themselves when I am out. But they clearly still feel the need to pretend that they are not. I have had this week off from work to spend time with them, but today I had to go in for various meetings..... SO. I left this morning having put a chicken in the oven in manner of proper mother who is capable of looking after her childrens wellbeing at all times even when not in the house. I left strict instructions for it's removal from oven. Didn't realise I should have gone beyond that. Disaster. Before I'd even left the house the oven was smoking profusely and I smelt of smoke. It was a little worrying to leave the building as all the kids were still in bed and I could barely find the door - even though I'd sorted out the drama and put on the extractor fan, I couldn't be sure that anyone would wake up in time to take the chicken out of the oven two hours later when cooked. You can, however, always rely on my youngest to be the responsible chef. He was up before I left the house and of course took it out in time and left it to cool. When I came home this evening it was still on the side with a couple of chunks taken out of it and all three kids were complaining that they were hungry. Truly it's pathetic. I shouldn't have to feel responsible for the fact that they are rubbish at fending for themselves and if I was my mother I'd spend all day every day telling them that I was married with two children at their age... Apparently, because nobody had the foresight to cover the chicken it was attacked by one or more cats and they then refused to eat it. Hardly surprising, but frankly I just don't know why I bother. That sort of thing doesn't happen in households where the mother is a domestic goddess. It's not fair.
Most children seem to have gone back to school this week. Not mine. Still another week to go! This isn't very easy when trying to juggle work and childcare. Although it's been an easier holiday than most because one is away and my daughter has mostly stayed with my mother. I really am lucky that my work is flexible and part time because otherwise I'd be spending a fortune on childcare. Thankfully my children are all getting old enough for me to make plans as and when things happen. I had my first Pilates class in two weeks to teach yesterday. Consequently I was a little bit rusty. This was not helped by the fact that my mother is sleeping in my bedroom so I had an interesting selection of slightly wrong clothing that I'd taken out of my room the night before. My daughter's too tight underpants. A pair of slightly see through leggings. Odd socks and the wrong make-up. Really not a good look. The second class in the evening was better. I was looking a little less squeezed around the bottom department (yes, I know that swallowing house sized Easter eggs that have failed to digest in my stomach and bottom are also to blame, but daughter's too small pants are working well for me at this stage). I remembered how to teach. It was a lovely mixed class of women. All different sizes and ages. So interesting to teach so many different characters and to see the way they all respond. They were all lovely and very supportive and welcoming as I was covering a class - I apologised at the beginning because I know the man they usually have is well, firstly a man, not me, then French and then GORGEOUS. So. Of course I had to apologise. Mostly I try to stick to the Pilates terms "zip up your stomach" or "draw in your naval " or "set your neutral spine" or other strange terms. This time, with everyone lying on their stomachs I said:- "Don't let your stomach's flob out on the floor - pull them up" and it made them laugh - because of course that is not really a technical term I should be using. Flob. Good grief. I can't believe I said that.