The Axis have been unusually quiet, due to a selection of illnesses incurred during a bank holiday weekend spent mostly outdoors in the rain. However, they perked up quick enough and have obviously decided to spend the last couple of days making up for lost time.
My lovely landlady/neighbour/friend has two sons, aged 16 (the teenager) and 22 (the new graduate). They are the polar opposites of the boys I work with and I'm hoping their polite influence and genteel manners will rub off on my two uncouth ratbags. The 16 year old is a very talented engineer and can whip up a fully-functioning Harrier Jump Jet from a dustbin lid and a bit of string in ten minutes flat. He has an array of fancy remote control toys and the Pie thinks his house is, essentially, heaven on earth. It's very useful to have them next door as recently the Pie's boredom threshold has sunk even lower, with the result that he has taught himself to fart at will - and he stinks. Bunging him next door means I have a few minutes to fumigate the house before the Pie's next onslaught.
On the last sortie the Pie and the Kong discovered a brand new, enormously powerful speedboat. 'Oooooooooooooh,' cooed the Axis, in glorious silent and reverent unison (the kind they do not employ in church). The teenager grinned proudly and offered to take the Axis to the lake to show off the boat's capabilities. So off we all went - the teen, the new grad, their mother, their dog, the Axis, and me.
When we got to the lake it was completely covered in thick, opaque green algae. It looked like a crazy golf course down there. Undeterred, the boys put the boat on the lake and it began to turn amazing tricks, zooming up and down and scaring various wildfowl, until all of a sudden it putt-putted out and would only go in anti-clockwise circles. We all stood there, scratching our heads about how to get it back. No-one noticed Noah climbing the railing on the deck. And I fully understand that, as we will hopefully live round here for a good many years to come, at some point both those boys will probably fall in that lake. But I don't think it's very reasonable for them to attempt it at such a young age...
The Axis are with their father this weekend and so I have been looking forward to spending the morning in bed drinking tea. However, all three of them are downstairs playing some game which seems to involve them growling as loudly as possible and then splitting their sides laughing. Why can't they play this game at Daddio's house? Why is the Kong still downstairs smearing marmalade all over my carpets? Ratbags.
Saturday, 4 September 2010
Sunday, 22 August 2010
Me-Time
I am away from the Axis this weekend, staying with some friends in Glasgow who are mercifully childless and who live in a beautiful flat where alcoholic drinks and Swiss Army knives can be kept inches from the floor with complete impunity. There have been whole meals eaten without screaming. There was the best part of an afternoon spent walking without anyone falling flat over and needing a hosing or producing any other uncleanable messes. There have been many moments of peace and quiet this weekend, which have utterly baffled me. What on earth did I do with myself before the arrival of the Axis?
One of the things I never used to do, but enjoy now, is a good long soak in a bath while the children are somewhere else. Peace, tranquillity, a great big sigh in a tub. Oh, lovely. Although I was very nearly put off the experience altogether by the 2-year-old Pie and his father when I was six months' pregnant with the Kong (who, yes, was called the Kong in utero).
Having had another delightful day of puking and horribleness I was lying in the bath, wincing at the weight of the Kong squirming about in his bag, and was finally beginning to feel a little better. Pie was downstairs with his dad, who still lived with us then, and they were playing some sweet little game...until I heard a splash, a screech, some bad language from Daddio and then the pair of them thundering up the stairs. Not good. Even worse when they burst into the bathroom, the Pie under his dad's arm like a side of beef, covered in mud and yelping. I struggled to sit up, but being heavily pregnant in a small bath I succumbed to the beached whale effect and made my protestations inches from the bubbles. 'What the hell are you doing?' I asked Daddio. 'Get him out of here!' Pie was wriggling out of his clothes, aided roughly by his father. 'THIS BOY...' began Daddio, but words obviously failed him and he finished the sentence by shaking his head in disgust. Stripping the Pie naked, he dumped him unceremoniously in the bath and then sat back, arms folded, still shaking his head. I was furious at my calm being invaded, but this was as naught compared to my feelings about what happened next.
For the wretched Pie, plonked in my lovely bath, stood up, howled once, peed on me, then splashed back down. And I am absolutely certain I heard the rotten unborn Kong laughing in my stomach.
One of the things I never used to do, but enjoy now, is a good long soak in a bath while the children are somewhere else. Peace, tranquillity, a great big sigh in a tub. Oh, lovely. Although I was very nearly put off the experience altogether by the 2-year-old Pie and his father when I was six months' pregnant with the Kong (who, yes, was called the Kong in utero).
Having had another delightful day of puking and horribleness I was lying in the bath, wincing at the weight of the Kong squirming about in his bag, and was finally beginning to feel a little better. Pie was downstairs with his dad, who still lived with us then, and they were playing some sweet little game...until I heard a splash, a screech, some bad language from Daddio and then the pair of them thundering up the stairs. Not good. Even worse when they burst into the bathroom, the Pie under his dad's arm like a side of beef, covered in mud and yelping. I struggled to sit up, but being heavily pregnant in a small bath I succumbed to the beached whale effect and made my protestations inches from the bubbles. 'What the hell are you doing?' I asked Daddio. 'Get him out of here!' Pie was wriggling out of his clothes, aided roughly by his father. 'THIS BOY...' began Daddio, but words obviously failed him and he finished the sentence by shaking his head in disgust. Stripping the Pie naked, he dumped him unceremoniously in the bath and then sat back, arms folded, still shaking his head. I was furious at my calm being invaded, but this was as naught compared to my feelings about what happened next.
For the wretched Pie, plonked in my lovely bath, stood up, howled once, peed on me, then splashed back down. And I am absolutely certain I heard the rotten unborn Kong laughing in my stomach.
Thursday, 19 August 2010
National Mistrust
The Axis and I took a trip to a National Trust garden in Somerset with the Kong's friend, and the Kong's friend's mummy. I got lost on the A358 and so it took ages to get there. The Axis were baying for my blood by the time we arrived; unfortunately, they had to make do with ham sandwiches, which displeased them almightily. I appeased them with chocolate cake and thinly veiled threats.
The place itself, Montacute House, was beautiful; a stunning avenue of topiaried yew, at the top of which is the house, framed by some slightly bizarre fixed maypoles. The Pie obliged the elderly tourists by gambolling in and out of the poles in a very rosy-cheeked way. Kong's friend tried to keep up, finding it hard as he has only just started walking, and Kong sulked in his buggy as he realised that his refusal to walk meant his brother was stealing his friend.
So far, so good. Then the Axis saw two little girls in matching starched outfits whose parents had put a lovely, trailing ribbon in each of their gorgeous pigtails. From too far away, I saw the gleam in not one, not two, but today, just for the special occasion, three pairs of eyes (Kong's friend being the owner of the third pair, obv, and the reinforcement division of the Axis, as he is very sympathetic to their cause of ultimate mayhem) and started to run...ah, too late, too late; off came the ribbons, down came the pigtails, the beautiful white dresses were sullied with hideous muddy handprints as the Kong launched himself at them having crawled through a newly-tilled rosebed, Kong's friend launched his offensive with a hand missile (the remnants of his squished greengage, though if you hadn't known that's what it was, you'd have mistaken it for something of his own production) while the Pie danced around the harrassed family, interrogating them relentlessly - 'What's your name? Where your house? How old you?'. Witnessing the carnage from afar I decided to abort the rescue mission, did an abrupt volte-face and hoped like hell that no-one would think it too unlikely that a portly personage like me would be doing a spot of jogging, dressed in jeans and a khaki dress, in a National Trust garden in the middle of August. Kong's friend's Mummy cursed me as she had been attempting a similar escape, but was nearer, and so had to disentangle the extended Axis from Fifi and Trixabel's now considerably unlovely locks.
After the screaming subsided I crept out from my hiding place and realised I had been completed busted by KF's mum. She got her own back in the house itself, where the Pie excelled himself with his eyelash-fluttering at the older ladies and got nods of approval from several of the old gents, until we went upstairs to the bedrooms and the Axis saw the historic window seats and very fragile Queen Anne four-poster beds. I was busy trying to stop Kong from jumping out of ye olde leade windowe and didn't even notice the Pie climbing the antique bed; I was only alerted by the loudest, sharpest intake of breath I have ever heard emanating from a human to the sight of the Pie preparing to execute his (admittedly perfect) trampolining seat jumps on a relic of England. I grabbed the Pie mid-air, apologising profusely, and the tour guide fixed me with a steely look and said, 'And to think I came in because I thought he was jumping on the FLOOR.' Luckily she didn't notice the Kong dribbling over the 18th century samplers and I managed to boot him out of the room before he could do any more damage.
The rest of the day passed without major incident. As we were preparing to head back to Bristol, KF's mum and I sat on a bench, exhausted, while the boys poked through a nearby rubbish bin looking for discarded chocolate. 'Thank God for bedtime. You're so lucky, only having one,' I said. KF's mum nodded, somewhat absently. I continued. 'Listen, why don't you drop the little monkey off with your husband and then come round to mine for a drink ? I think we deserve a little alcoholic enhancement after today.' KF's mum turned to me. There was a faint look of creeping dread on her face. 'Oh, God,' she said. 'I'd love to. I really would. But...'
'What?'
She looked stricken. 'I'm pregnant. And they think it's twins.'
The place itself, Montacute House, was beautiful; a stunning avenue of topiaried yew, at the top of which is the house, framed by some slightly bizarre fixed maypoles. The Pie obliged the elderly tourists by gambolling in and out of the poles in a very rosy-cheeked way. Kong's friend tried to keep up, finding it hard as he has only just started walking, and Kong sulked in his buggy as he realised that his refusal to walk meant his brother was stealing his friend.
So far, so good. Then the Axis saw two little girls in matching starched outfits whose parents had put a lovely, trailing ribbon in each of their gorgeous pigtails. From too far away, I saw the gleam in not one, not two, but today, just for the special occasion, three pairs of eyes (Kong's friend being the owner of the third pair, obv, and the reinforcement division of the Axis, as he is very sympathetic to their cause of ultimate mayhem) and started to run...ah, too late, too late; off came the ribbons, down came the pigtails, the beautiful white dresses were sullied with hideous muddy handprints as the Kong launched himself at them having crawled through a newly-tilled rosebed, Kong's friend launched his offensive with a hand missile (the remnants of his squished greengage, though if you hadn't known that's what it was, you'd have mistaken it for something of his own production) while the Pie danced around the harrassed family, interrogating them relentlessly - 'What's your name? Where your house? How old you?'. Witnessing the carnage from afar I decided to abort the rescue mission, did an abrupt volte-face and hoped like hell that no-one would think it too unlikely that a portly personage like me would be doing a spot of jogging, dressed in jeans and a khaki dress, in a National Trust garden in the middle of August. Kong's friend's Mummy cursed me as she had been attempting a similar escape, but was nearer, and so had to disentangle the extended Axis from Fifi and Trixabel's now considerably unlovely locks.
After the screaming subsided I crept out from my hiding place and realised I had been completed busted by KF's mum. She got her own back in the house itself, where the Pie excelled himself with his eyelash-fluttering at the older ladies and got nods of approval from several of the old gents, until we went upstairs to the bedrooms and the Axis saw the historic window seats and very fragile Queen Anne four-poster beds. I was busy trying to stop Kong from jumping out of ye olde leade windowe and didn't even notice the Pie climbing the antique bed; I was only alerted by the loudest, sharpest intake of breath I have ever heard emanating from a human to the sight of the Pie preparing to execute his (admittedly perfect) trampolining seat jumps on a relic of England. I grabbed the Pie mid-air, apologising profusely, and the tour guide fixed me with a steely look and said, 'And to think I came in because I thought he was jumping on the FLOOR.' Luckily she didn't notice the Kong dribbling over the 18th century samplers and I managed to boot him out of the room before he could do any more damage.
The rest of the day passed without major incident. As we were preparing to head back to Bristol, KF's mum and I sat on a bench, exhausted, while the boys poked through a nearby rubbish bin looking for discarded chocolate. 'Thank God for bedtime. You're so lucky, only having one,' I said. KF's mum nodded, somewhat absently. I continued. 'Listen, why don't you drop the little monkey off with your husband and then come round to mine for a drink ? I think we deserve a little alcoholic enhancement after today.' KF's mum turned to me. There was a faint look of creeping dread on her face. 'Oh, God,' she said. 'I'd love to. I really would. But...'
'What?'
She looked stricken. 'I'm pregnant. And they think it's twins.'
Saturday, 31 July 2010
Trouserless
The glow-in-the-dark fest continues. Not content with making his brother glow in the dark (see 'Slime'), the Pie was delighted to discover that the banana medicine he has been given for his dodgy ear has turned his urine fluorescent yellow. What really rocked his world, though, was the later discovery that the fluorescent wee wee also glows in the dark. The Pie is extremely proud of this. I'm particularly looking forward to him announcing it at church tomorrow, and offering to show the vicar (water of life, anyone?).
After a night spent on the lash at my work bash I was feeling fragile and indulging in a packet of Scampi Flavour Fries in an attempt to recovery my sanity. Things were starting to look up when I heard the dreaded DING DONG of the doorbell and a lot of yelping. The Pie and the Kong were back from my friend's house. She handed the children over, muttered something about needing a stiff drink, and sped off. She may even have left the engine running, I can't be sure. And I'm pretty certain she didn't have that grey streak in her hair when I dropped them off with her last night.
Within about sixty seconds of the boys being back in the house there was a bowl of pasta in tomato sauce upended on the floor and another of suspiciously-named 'chicken dinner' dripping down through the radiator. Cue much cursing and yet more wiping from me, and howls of rage and delight from the Axis. I desperately shovelled some food in the boys and then shovelled them into the car.
We went to a funfair in Portishead with Rambo and Jambo and their grandchildren (don't ask), and everything was tickety-boo until post-ice cream, the Kong puked (surprise, surprise) and then the Pie, very unusually, didn't quite make it to the toilet. Apparently the antibiotics he is on can sometimes affect their bladder control. The new neighbours are getting used to seeing the Axis in the morning in shoes, trousers, shirts and coats, and then seeing them return in just their pants. Apparently, the less clothes my children are wearing, the better time they've probably had. If I learnt nothing else from my colleagues last night, I learnt that some things never change.
Rambo recounted a story about his grandson, the Pie's Great Friend (PGF). Apparently Rambo had been called to the Headteacher's office because the PGF was in trouble. 'These two BOYS,' thundered Teach, 'have been weeing up the wall and trying to see who could get it higher!' Knowing Rambo, I can just imagine his expression - a mixture of pride and mirth I expect. 'Well,' he said, 'they all do that, don't they?' Teach's frown darkened. 'These are the only two who have been doing it!' Rambo frowned back. 'These are the only two who have been CAUGHT.' Rambo was asked to leave when he asked if the PGF or the other offender had won. PGF later informed him that he had, and demonstrated how. He had been practising by aiming at the sunflowers in his back garden, which were all mysteriously seedless now. But at least they don't glow in the dark, like ours do.
After a night spent on the lash at my work bash I was feeling fragile and indulging in a packet of Scampi Flavour Fries in an attempt to recovery my sanity. Things were starting to look up when I heard the dreaded DING DONG of the doorbell and a lot of yelping. The Pie and the Kong were back from my friend's house. She handed the children over, muttered something about needing a stiff drink, and sped off. She may even have left the engine running, I can't be sure. And I'm pretty certain she didn't have that grey streak in her hair when I dropped them off with her last night.
Within about sixty seconds of the boys being back in the house there was a bowl of pasta in tomato sauce upended on the floor and another of suspiciously-named 'chicken dinner' dripping down through the radiator. Cue much cursing and yet more wiping from me, and howls of rage and delight from the Axis. I desperately shovelled some food in the boys and then shovelled them into the car.
We went to a funfair in Portishead with Rambo and Jambo and their grandchildren (don't ask), and everything was tickety-boo until post-ice cream, the Kong puked (surprise, surprise) and then the Pie, very unusually, didn't quite make it to the toilet. Apparently the antibiotics he is on can sometimes affect their bladder control. The new neighbours are getting used to seeing the Axis in the morning in shoes, trousers, shirts and coats, and then seeing them return in just their pants. Apparently, the less clothes my children are wearing, the better time they've probably had. If I learnt nothing else from my colleagues last night, I learnt that some things never change.
Rambo recounted a story about his grandson, the Pie's Great Friend (PGF). Apparently Rambo had been called to the Headteacher's office because the PGF was in trouble. 'These two BOYS,' thundered Teach, 'have been weeing up the wall and trying to see who could get it higher!' Knowing Rambo, I can just imagine his expression - a mixture of pride and mirth I expect. 'Well,' he said, 'they all do that, don't they?' Teach's frown darkened. 'These are the only two who have been doing it!' Rambo frowned back. 'These are the only two who have been CAUGHT.' Rambo was asked to leave when he asked if the PGF or the other offender had won. PGF later informed him that he had, and demonstrated how. He had been practising by aiming at the sunflowers in his back garden, which were all mysteriously seedless now. But at least they don't glow in the dark, like ours do.
Tuesday, 20 July 2010
Slime
The Pie is a strange child. I bought him some play slime from a craft shop. The idea is that you mould it into monster shapes and put it in a pre-made haunted house. Unsurprisingly, the Pie had other ideas. First, he carried it around with him for a whole day, refusing to be parted from it even at Sunday school - the teacher had brought in some teddy bears for the children to 'look after'. She was not particularly impressed when I told her that Pie would probably eschew Tedward in favour of his box of slime. Sure enough, the box of slime was duly fed, watered, and cuddled all morning. I am not Sunday school's favourite parent. I think they think I'm 'dodgy'.
This morning I came downstairs to find the Pie had scaled the tall bookcase and retrieved the box of slime. Today was a whole new day though - rather than cuddles, the unfortunate slime found itself smeared all over the carpet while the Kong rolled around in it hooting wickedly. I managed to dislodge the Kong from the slime, and the slime from the carpet, but for some reason, the Kong now glows in the dark. I'm fairly sure it's not his natural reactivity.
My lovely neighbour/landlady/friend came back from her hols today. The Pie saw her car in the drive and immediately demanded to go round. I hastily cut some of the more passable flowers in the garden, thrust them into the Pie's eager clutches and took them round. Despite the fact that she'd just got back, both boys batted their (incredibly long and dark) eyelashes at her and somehow they disappeared round her house all afternoon, returning with a Buzz Lightyear doll and tons of overexcitement after I'd had a nap.
The more exciting development round here, however, is that the new people have moved in next door. Mum and Dad seem nice enough; however, for the Pie, the only one who matters is the daughter, who is 10, and who peered over the gate and said 'Hello. I'm your new neighbour. I'm SOOOO glad my new neighbour has a little boy for me to play with. I was SOOOO worried it would be incredibly boring round here.' And with that, she flicked her hair and pranced off inside, oblivious to the Pie's jaw hitting the deck and the Kong's eyes opening a mile wide in astonishment...
This is going to be interesting.
This morning I came downstairs to find the Pie had scaled the tall bookcase and retrieved the box of slime. Today was a whole new day though - rather than cuddles, the unfortunate slime found itself smeared all over the carpet while the Kong rolled around in it hooting wickedly. I managed to dislodge the Kong from the slime, and the slime from the carpet, but for some reason, the Kong now glows in the dark. I'm fairly sure it's not his natural reactivity.
My lovely neighbour/landlady/friend came back from her hols today. The Pie saw her car in the drive and immediately demanded to go round. I hastily cut some of the more passable flowers in the garden, thrust them into the Pie's eager clutches and took them round. Despite the fact that she'd just got back, both boys batted their (incredibly long and dark) eyelashes at her and somehow they disappeared round her house all afternoon, returning with a Buzz Lightyear doll and tons of overexcitement after I'd had a nap.
The more exciting development round here, however, is that the new people have moved in next door. Mum and Dad seem nice enough; however, for the Pie, the only one who matters is the daughter, who is 10, and who peered over the gate and said 'Hello. I'm your new neighbour. I'm SOOOO glad my new neighbour has a little boy for me to play with. I was SOOOO worried it would be incredibly boring round here.' And with that, she flicked her hair and pranced off inside, oblivious to the Pie's jaw hitting the deck and the Kong's eyes opening a mile wide in astonishment...
This is going to be interesting.
Monday, 19 July 2010
Woof!
Yesterday I took the Pie and the Kong to the dog show. That was my first mistake. Having tired of harrassing elderly at church that morning, the Pie's attention turned to the dogs. As we were in south Bristol, I was keen to calm him down a bit. Imagine my surprise when I lost sight of him for a second to see him leaping through hoops on the dog agility course with a large Alsation (possibly named Coco), much to the delight of several Stella-swigging spectators, and to the dismay of the organisers who were running behind demanding to know if he'd paid his £3 entry...
Wretched Pie. When I finally caught up with him towards the perimeter, I reached over, grabbed his pants, and winched him up and over the fence. The bloke with two Rottweilers next to me tutted and said 'Aww! He was about to do the double hoops! No-one's managed that all day!'. I glared at him and tried to convince the Pie that I WAS NOT LAUGHING.
The boys' dad rang later that day to complain about the Kong. I am rather pleased with the Kong at the moment, as he always eats all his dinner and is being extremely chubby and cuddly. Plus, he has charmed the pants off everyone we've met for the past month, including half the church, which, in an area like ours, is most definitely a plus. (Conversely, Pie broke the neighbours' son's Sonic Screwdriver, and sadly, the Child Tax Credit won't stretch to buying another; nor will it pay for a gardener to replace no. 21's prize gladioli or explain what happened to Dr Cates' hospital pager).
It turns out that Daddio (who is skint - ha!) was getting some drawers delivered from John Lewis and shut the Pie and the Kong in the living room while the delivery man hauled them up the stairs. Once the man had gone, Daddio took them to look at the new drawers. The Kong could not contain his excitement at such a treat and scrambled over to the brand new drawers, opened one up and was promptly sick in it...Daddio on the phone: 'I mean, it had been in the house for SIXTY FUCKING SECONDS!'...Go Kong! You loyal boy!
The Kong and the Pie went to Pizza Express again today. I was at my wits' end with them, and my dad had come to visit, which is rarely good. Cue an horrendous mealtime, culminating with the following exchange with me and the waitress:
Me: Is the service included?
Waitress: Yes, it's included.
Me: (indicating the boys and the table and the mess) You should get extra for this.
Waitress: (looking at the boys) YOU should get extra for this.
Tomorrow we are all spending all day IN BED.
Wretched Pie. When I finally caught up with him towards the perimeter, I reached over, grabbed his pants, and winched him up and over the fence. The bloke with two Rottweilers next to me tutted and said 'Aww! He was about to do the double hoops! No-one's managed that all day!'. I glared at him and tried to convince the Pie that I WAS NOT LAUGHING.
The boys' dad rang later that day to complain about the Kong. I am rather pleased with the Kong at the moment, as he always eats all his dinner and is being extremely chubby and cuddly. Plus, he has charmed the pants off everyone we've met for the past month, including half the church, which, in an area like ours, is most definitely a plus. (Conversely, Pie broke the neighbours' son's Sonic Screwdriver, and sadly, the Child Tax Credit won't stretch to buying another; nor will it pay for a gardener to replace no. 21's prize gladioli or explain what happened to Dr Cates' hospital pager).
It turns out that Daddio (who is skint - ha!) was getting some drawers delivered from John Lewis and shut the Pie and the Kong in the living room while the delivery man hauled them up the stairs. Once the man had gone, Daddio took them to look at the new drawers. The Kong could not contain his excitement at such a treat and scrambled over to the brand new drawers, opened one up and was promptly sick in it...Daddio on the phone: 'I mean, it had been in the house for SIXTY FUCKING SECONDS!'...Go Kong! You loyal boy!
The Kong and the Pie went to Pizza Express again today. I was at my wits' end with them, and my dad had come to visit, which is rarely good. Cue an horrendous mealtime, culminating with the following exchange with me and the waitress:
Me: Is the service included?
Waitress: Yes, it's included.
Me: (indicating the boys and the table and the mess) You should get extra for this.
Waitress: (looking at the boys) YOU should get extra for this.
Tomorrow we are all spending all day IN BED.
Saturday, 24 April 2010
The Relate Guide to Starting Again
It says I shouldn't be too angry with my friends that don't get it. That I should smile patiently at those that show little or no understanding. To hell with them, I say. Having had a lovely day with friends who demonstrate empathy and understanding despite never having been through this, I have little patience with those who, being fellow parents, really ought to know better.
My children are fantastic but Leo was sick, big sick, three times today, and Noah whinged all day, pretty much. I miss their father. I remember one divorced woman saying she thought it would be easier if one of them had died. I can't help thinking she may have been right. It's one thing for us not to be together if we couldn't help it, if we were separated by death, but another altogether if we live a few miles apart. Noah doesn't understand. He doesn't know why Daddy has another house now. He cried this morning because his Daddy wasn't here to give him a cuddle. I called Daddy and asked him to speak to him, but I'm not sure that didn't make it worse. It's painful, this feeling that Noah is so young, and already suffers a hurt from which I cannot shield him.
A man I have met is making overtures towards asking me on a date. The thought sickens and terrifies me. Not because of anything personal to do with him, but just the idea of entering into a relationship with another man. At the moment the only people I have to consider are the Pie and the Kong. Is there really room to consider anyone else without them suffering a detriment?
My children are fantastic but Leo was sick, big sick, three times today, and Noah whinged all day, pretty much. I miss their father. I remember one divorced woman saying she thought it would be easier if one of them had died. I can't help thinking she may have been right. It's one thing for us not to be together if we couldn't help it, if we were separated by death, but another altogether if we live a few miles apart. Noah doesn't understand. He doesn't know why Daddy has another house now. He cried this morning because his Daddy wasn't here to give him a cuddle. I called Daddy and asked him to speak to him, but I'm not sure that didn't make it worse. It's painful, this feeling that Noah is so young, and already suffers a hurt from which I cannot shield him.
A man I have met is making overtures towards asking me on a date. The thought sickens and terrifies me. Not because of anything personal to do with him, but just the idea of entering into a relationship with another man. At the moment the only people I have to consider are the Pie and the Kong. Is there really room to consider anyone else without them suffering a detriment?
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