Tired and Cold
I remember once saying to Eddie, "I'm tired and I'm cold. Ask me something else.' To add insult to injury, my side of our dual-control electric blanket is broken. The irony is not lost on me as Eddie eases himself into warmed sheets while I grit my teeth and try not to shriek with cold as the icy duvet cover enfolds me. It is freezing.
What has life held for us these past weeks? I can't write one of these posts without mentioning the kitchen (sadly). In a nutshell, anything that the builder is not responsible for, has been done. So we now have a working kitchen, an oven, underfloor heating and an altogether fabulous space. As far as the extension goes, it's still the battle of the Somme encased in concrete out there.
Being without the ability to communicate, manage or plan are limitations in a builder. His current approach is to send minions round at 8.30am on Saturday mornings, presumably because that's the only time he is prepared to release them from the other - more important, apparently - projects. I've taken to greeting them in my dressing gown, mainly because they've woken me up and I'm checking they're not burglars. If the minions are very unlucky, they not only get Yours Truly in the Snow Leopard (Bet Lynch-esque, fleece, leopard print dressing gown), but they also get greeted by Dolly, who's out in the garden making her ablutions. No sympathy.
Will it be done by Christmas? Who knows.
Work is full-on this week, today's my second 5.30am start and tomorrow will be my third. Then I'm hoping for some time out WFH and getting on with stuff rather than slogging to Bedfont every day. The traffic seems to get worse and worse, no matter when you set off. Eddie spending most of last week in Detroit didn't help, although I wonder whether coming back to chaos (minions, dog, kids, me) with crippling jet lag was actually worse.
The boys do nothing to help, in fact they make everything harder by doing less than nothing, or rather, more than nothing but on a negative sliding scale. How many years will I have to spend asking them to pick their clothes up/clean their teeth/wash their faces? So far I've done this pretty much every day for the past 13 years and I am so fed up with it. Nothing we do or say makes any difference and we are at our wits end.
Dolly is apparently 'out of control.' She isn't. She is just young, large and energetic. Her downfall is what I call The Flurry, when she first greets you - or anyone. Nothing we do seems to encourage her to do this in a less than manic way. We're already worrying about how we'll manage with Grandma over Christmas; one of them is going to have to spend the festive period in the cage....
And last but not least, my little Daisy; maligned, rejected, criticised and generally put down by all, except me. She is such a fragile, timid little thing, who else would every be able to look after her? We've had a new back door put in, so now she doesn't have a cat flap and has to call when she wants to go in or out of the front door. Putting one into the back door is a waste of time and energy, because she will not walk past the dog, and if she tried Dolly would just chase her. The knock on of this, is that she can't eat in the utility room either, because if she tried Dolly would just chase her. She and I are therefore currently sharing a dressing room until I can think of a more practical solution. I let her out when I get home from work, and call her in from her nominated shrub in the front garden when it's bedtime. In turn, Daisy wakes me up at 4.30am, asking to be let out. It's a routine of sorts.
What has life held for us these past weeks? I can't write one of these posts without mentioning the kitchen (sadly). In a nutshell, anything that the builder is not responsible for, has been done. So we now have a working kitchen, an oven, underfloor heating and an altogether fabulous space. As far as the extension goes, it's still the battle of the Somme encased in concrete out there.
Being without the ability to communicate, manage or plan are limitations in a builder. His current approach is to send minions round at 8.30am on Saturday mornings, presumably because that's the only time he is prepared to release them from the other - more important, apparently - projects. I've taken to greeting them in my dressing gown, mainly because they've woken me up and I'm checking they're not burglars. If the minions are very unlucky, they not only get Yours Truly in the Snow Leopard (Bet Lynch-esque, fleece, leopard print dressing gown), but they also get greeted by Dolly, who's out in the garden making her ablutions. No sympathy.
Will it be done by Christmas? Who knows.
Work is full-on this week, today's my second 5.30am start and tomorrow will be my third. Then I'm hoping for some time out WFH and getting on with stuff rather than slogging to Bedfont every day. The traffic seems to get worse and worse, no matter when you set off. Eddie spending most of last week in Detroit didn't help, although I wonder whether coming back to chaos (minions, dog, kids, me) with crippling jet lag was actually worse.
The boys do nothing to help, in fact they make everything harder by doing less than nothing, or rather, more than nothing but on a negative sliding scale. How many years will I have to spend asking them to pick their clothes up/clean their teeth/wash their faces? So far I've done this pretty much every day for the past 13 years and I am so fed up with it. Nothing we do or say makes any difference and we are at our wits end.
Dolly is apparently 'out of control.' She isn't. She is just young, large and energetic. Her downfall is what I call The Flurry, when she first greets you - or anyone. Nothing we do seems to encourage her to do this in a less than manic way. We're already worrying about how we'll manage with Grandma over Christmas; one of them is going to have to spend the festive period in the cage....
And last but not least, my little Daisy; maligned, rejected, criticised and generally put down by all, except me. She is such a fragile, timid little thing, who else would every be able to look after her? We've had a new back door put in, so now she doesn't have a cat flap and has to call when she wants to go in or out of the front door. Putting one into the back door is a waste of time and energy, because she will not walk past the dog, and if she tried Dolly would just chase her. The knock on of this, is that she can't eat in the utility room either, because if she tried Dolly would just chase her. She and I are therefore currently sharing a dressing room until I can think of a more practical solution. I let her out when I get home from work, and call her in from her nominated shrub in the front garden when it's bedtime. In turn, Daisy wakes me up at 4.30am, asking to be let out. It's a routine of sorts.
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