Schedule

Me at work.
The luthier on all school runs plus Mummy pick ups not to mention the small matter of a luthier-y to run.

Three kids at a school with a heavy schedule.
Drama, orchestra. cello, ballet, cricket.
Orchestra and French for me and the luthier.
Not to mention the endless dinners and those gosh-darned Lunchboxes ... peeeyerf!

Squeezing in some friends and fun or we will go crazy.

Phil declared yesterday that he doesn't have time to scratch his nuts.
I said "Yes you do, scratching time is between 6.30am and 6.35am.'
He protested "But that's farting time."
And I told him that some elements of our schedule will just have to be combined or we'll never get everything done.

Hiding out

I am hiding.
It's true.

I said to my daughter and husband 20 minutes ago
'You go, I'll be down in a minute!'
I lied.
Bather-clad, they took their towels and trotted down to my brother's pool to swim with the cousins.

So here I am, a grown woman, hiding from my children in my nephew's bedroom, listening to the splashes and calls of children at play in a pool without me.

I tried to legitimize my hidings by googling, healthy lunch box ideas - see its really for them that I have retreated?
But screw that, I need alone time and quiet.

For me.

Have been reading about mother's guilt and it grates on my nerves.
Never was there a bigger waste of emotion than mother's guilt.
We do want we want, need, have to do. And if you don't like the way its going then change what you can. .
Our kids are ok.
Childhood/motherhood was never perfect.
How could we have idealized it so inappropriately to all of our detriment?

I'm taking five more minutes, before jumping in the pool.
In my experience, it pays to give yourself time out, before jumping in to the thick of it.

Mood

This summer has been incredible. Consistent days of heat and sunshine. This summer, the island has been paradise.

One down side of the heat has been the increase in the fly population. Our living room seems to host at least 6 or 7 of the dirty buggers at any one time. They are grossing me out.

We aren't big fans of fly spray so the Luthier went off and bought one of those electric fly busters. They had sold out of the prefered model which boasts a '2000 watt killing grid', as described on the interwebs, so he came home with the model that uses a light to attract the flying blighters to some green sticky stuff and emits an ultra-sonic repellent noise for insects of the crawling variety. We charged it up with high hopes of sticky, ultra sonic devastation and there was much Smith excitement when the blue light went on. We cruelly sat back to watch the massacre.

For quite a while the flies ignored the WMD, much to our disappointment. So a change of strategy was agreed and we moved it off the kitchen bench, to where the flies were congregating in the kiddy goop on the coffee table. Once again we sat back, watching expectantly.

Nothing.

Well, one fly did crawl on the thing momentarily, but happily buzzed on.

We were about to decide that the device was a complete waste of time and then something did happen, something revolting and unexpected. We gaped, gobsmacked, as the party of flies, all basking in the 'zapper's' blue glow, began to engage enthusiastically in some filthy fly shag fest right there on the coffee table.

So, instead of a highly effective fly demolisher, what we actually purchased, was the insect equivalent of mood lighting and wakka-wakka music for the randy fly swingers party going on in our living room.

So happy we could oblige. Do you think we could get them some little mojitos, a cabana covered grapefruit and a limbo stick to go with that?

Tomorrow we bring out the heavy artillery.