I didn’t want this blog post today to be a moaning one but having just jumped off the merry-go-round of finishing work, collecting baby boy from nursery, collecting daughter from in laws, doing bath-time, bed-time and preparing supper, I want to just sit here and do this blog. But hubby has just arrived coughing like he is being paid to milk his cold, the dogs storm in demanding attention and food and I just want to tell the lot of them to ‘bugger off!’ (or burger which is my child friendly version).
I have just finished reading one of the final chapters of Harry Potter’s The Prisoner of Azkaban to my daughter and I find myself wanting the invisibility cloak. Ah yes, just to sink into the folds of the cloak with a good book, Marmite and honey on toast and a steaming big mug of tea – utter bliss! The only trouble is, just like deciding when to get out of a steaming hot bath, I would find it hard to leave the cloak’s haven and return to the real world.
I am one of the latecomers to Harry Potter and am only discovering them now through reading them to my daughter. I had refused to read them when travelling to work and seeing grown men with weedy white office hands clutching the latest Harry Potter book like they were still in public school. I assumed they were a glorified version of Jill Murphy’s The Worst Witch but no, although set in a magic boarding school, the darker side to Harry Potter is not present in The Worst Witch storyline, its a bit more Enid Blyton.
My hubby has returned with a brand new hoover, as our one died a week ago. Like most men, it was new item therefore he considered it to be a toy (momentarily) and as he was hovering the floor I realised I had forgotten the last time I had actually seen him with a hoover, it had been that long. It didn’t last long though, seemingly satisfied with its suction, it is now an approved member of the domestic appliance fraternity and he probably won’t use it again now, until his truck needs clearing out.
I am less than 7 days away from my big swim for Sport Relief. I will be swimming 100 lengths and my daughter 64. We didn’t manage to squeeze in a practice swim over the weekend, but my body seems to know what’s coming if my sudden insatiable appetite for calories is anything to go by. I just can’t stop myself, as if I am storing it away like a little hamster ready for the big day when I will eat those lengths up like a paddlesteamer (I could have used the more graceful metaphor of a dolphin but I’m afraid that just isn’t my swimming style). My daughter on the other hand is a demon backstroker but finds it tricky to go in a straight line, so I may have to swim alongside her like support crew and take a few blows now and then just to keep her straight……sounds like a good metaphor for motherhood.
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Thanks for reading.
Thanks for reading.