We did it. Just about. But was it worth it? The jury's still out on that one...
No, it's not colonic irrigation I am talking about. Nor plucking a chicken, shoe-shopping with Sophie, combing Emma's hair, or climbing Mount Everest. I speak of one of life's rather simple tasks, which has become something it should not be: a nightmare of gigantic proportions. Yes, you've guessed it: Christmas shopping.
I will not go into the commercial nature that is now Christmas, nor the fact that we are in the midst of a recession, and Ireland is one of the worst-hit countries in Europe, yet spends over €1000 per capita on presents, getting itself even more into debt...
All I want to talk about it the craziness that is Grafton Street, Henry Street, Jervis Street, Dundrum Town Centre - you name it - on the second Saturday in December.
Maybe it was because of the big freeze we had for the last 12 days or so, and when the thaw set in, it we swarmed to the shops in droves, afraid that stocks would deplete before we even entered our first store. All I can say is: Oh My God!
People rushing. People pushing. Grumpy faces everywhere. Children crying. Children standing next to their parents with bored expressions on their faces. Husbands standing next to their wives with pained expressions on their faces. Wives standing next to scores of women at the bargain baskets, with I'm-ready-to-go-into-battle faces, but it was difficult to discern whether it was a) out of pure pain not knowing what to pick, and for whom, but definitely not letting that bargain pass them by; b) due to the pain of having maxed yet another credit card; or c) due to the pain in their right foot as another, pointier, woman's heel dug itself deeper into its rival's foot - who was she to grab that bargain from under her nose!
It was bedlam. And that was just the first shop.
And some shops were obviously trying different things, new things, to lure in the shoppers or evoke that Christmas spirit. But it didn't always work. Take, for example, a well-known store strategically situated at the top of Grafton street. Oh, sod it, you all know which one I mean: Brown Thomas. The window decorations were gorgeous. The special offers were sparkling. And then we looked up, when, after 2 weeks of chaos on our roads, freezing pipes, waterless houses and mass hospitalisations, some bright spark in the marketing department of said store decides to plant a snow machine right above the main double doors, and it starts spouting out some more of the white stuff.
I had to laugh when I heard one young blonde say to her rather efflorescent red-haired friend in the most brilliant Dublin accent:
"Ah, here. As if we hadn't enough of dat - more snow? Are they flamin jokin? The fecking eejits, we'll all run a mile..."
And I decided to keep that smile on my face, turn to John, who was just trying to read the list of presents we still had to get for aunts, cousins, friends and neighbours, whilst being tugged in the direction of a group of young people playing a rather impressive version of "Jingle Bells"...
"Do you know what, John? Let's go grab lunch somewhere and then just get one or two things today... and then go home. What's the point of subjecting ourselves to this when we can do most of our shopping online?"
I know, it might be the end of foot to door retail as we know it. But most mortals I know are unable to withstand the torture of this bedlam without a tantrum. And this is NOT what Christmas is supposed to be about.
I say: Jump in, soak up the atmosphere and get out again before your hurt yourself.
Happy Christmas you all. I'll be on again in a few days...
Amy x
Tuesday, December 14, 2010
Friday, December 10, 2010
Day 34 - The Friday of "No"s
No phone call.
I didn't expect it, not really.
No appointments this afternoon. For a change.
No running to the dentist, or Mary's, or one of the girl's little friends, or the library to bring back overdues, or the shop for last minute forgettables, or the bank, or playing Mummy's taxi for the various extracurricular activities.
No homework.
No late evening work commitments for John.
No cooking - take-out is king.
No rules - well, almost. We do away with the two-hour-max-TV-rule on a Friday.
No clean-up - all dishes, tea cups, you name it, stay firmly on top of the dishwasher today.
No madness. At least not today.
For we are venturing into town tomorrow and Sunday to brave the Christmas rush. It has to be done. Which means I won't be blogging until Sunday night, I will just be too exhausted.
Keep your fingers crossed our feet are not run black and blue with the slush fest that now is Dublin. And that we do not go over our budget that we have set for the Christmas this year.
Brace yourselves... here we come.
I didn't expect it, not really.
No appointments this afternoon. For a change.
No running to the dentist, or Mary's, or one of the girl's little friends, or the library to bring back overdues, or the shop for last minute forgettables, or the bank, or playing Mummy's taxi for the various extracurricular activities.
No homework.
No late evening work commitments for John.
No cooking - take-out is king.
No rules - well, almost. We do away with the two-hour-max-TV-rule on a Friday.
No clean-up - all dishes, tea cups, you name it, stay firmly on top of the dishwasher today.
No madness. At least not today.
For we are venturing into town tomorrow and Sunday to brave the Christmas rush. It has to be done. Which means I won't be blogging until Sunday night, I will just be too exhausted.
Keep your fingers crossed our feet are not run black and blue with the slush fest that now is Dublin. And that we do not go over our budget that we have set for the Christmas this year.
Brace yourselves... here we come.
Thursday, December 9, 2010
Day 33 - The old bird
I rang the agency again today. You know, the one that called me about that other job in the first place, the one that managed to get me that interview. For the job I didn't get. But that's beside the point. My point is, they have a pretty good success rate with me, 1:1 ain't bad.
So I spoke to Anne, my new best friend, and discussed my employment opportunitites, based on the experience I bring to the table. A euphemism for saying, well, let's see if an old bird like you can still cut the mustard.
And as luck would have it, she had this other job spec in, just today. Hot off the press. Fresh from the farmer's garden. And she is going to put me forward for it. She believes I tick pretty much all the boxes - her words, not mine.
So then I rang Mary. Of course she always brings me back down to earth with a rather large bang: "Now Amy, that's great, but you know, you don't have the interview just yet... Just don't hope too hard, you know, in case you don't get it..."
Somewhat deflated we continue our conversation about her wrist, her love of people of the coal, and Rory the Wonderful, whom, she has assured me, she would like to bed. Honestly Mary, he is married with a 2-year old son. Have you no shame??
To which she replies in all honesty: "No."
On my way home, I ring John. He is far more encouraging and it reminds me that in my hour of need (I need to hear something nice) I should really remember that, when all is said and done, my husband is my number one best friend.
So I spoke to Anne, my new best friend, and discussed my employment opportunitites, based on the experience I bring to the table. A euphemism for saying, well, let's see if an old bird like you can still cut the mustard.
And as luck would have it, she had this other job spec in, just today. Hot off the press. Fresh from the farmer's garden. And she is going to put me forward for it. She believes I tick pretty much all the boxes - her words, not mine.
So then I rang Mary. Of course she always brings me back down to earth with a rather large bang: "Now Amy, that's great, but you know, you don't have the interview just yet... Just don't hope too hard, you know, in case you don't get it..."
Somewhat deflated we continue our conversation about her wrist, her love of people of the coal, and Rory the Wonderful, whom, she has assured me, she would like to bed. Honestly Mary, he is married with a 2-year old son. Have you no shame??
To which she replies in all honesty: "No."
On my way home, I ring John. He is far more encouraging and it reminds me that in my hour of need (I need to hear something nice) I should really remember that, when all is said and done, my husband is my number one best friend.
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
Day 32 - Mary had a little fall
I called in to Mary today. She slipped on the ice and sprained her wrist.
She is reluctant to go out now and rang me when I had just dropped off the girls, and of course I went round straight away. Knowing that she would probably not have much in the house, I brought her bread, milk and the essential chocolate biscuits, plus a couple of other bits and pieces.
I was sacrificing the time I had set aside to review those cover letters before I sent them off but I didn't tell her this, of course - she was feeling bad enough as it was. It is when thing like this happen to her that she feels especially alone, and I just want to be there for her. Let's face it, Fiona is far too wrapped up in her own troubles, or at least, she thinks she has troubles, to think of anyone else. And Sharon, though she can talk a lot and be very sympathetic, does not necessarily show her compassion through her actions...
After the school run I called back to Mary with the girls, to cheer her up a bit and get her mind off things. We stayed for about an hour, then I had to run home and make the chicken casserole I had set out to cook all morning while the girls did their homework. Then there was ironing, and bedtime, and countless other tasks that we do every evening...
It is well past ten now and I finally have time to sit down in front of my laptop - sorry, John, that squary thing you see with arms and legs, clackety-clacking away next to you, that's your wife!!! I will talk to you tomorrow, promise!
She is reluctant to go out now and rang me when I had just dropped off the girls, and of course I went round straight away. Knowing that she would probably not have much in the house, I brought her bread, milk and the essential chocolate biscuits, plus a couple of other bits and pieces.
I was sacrificing the time I had set aside to review those cover letters before I sent them off but I didn't tell her this, of course - she was feeling bad enough as it was. It is when thing like this happen to her that she feels especially alone, and I just want to be there for her. Let's face it, Fiona is far too wrapped up in her own troubles, or at least, she thinks she has troubles, to think of anyone else. And Sharon, though she can talk a lot and be very sympathetic, does not necessarily show her compassion through her actions...
After the school run I called back to Mary with the girls, to cheer her up a bit and get her mind off things. We stayed for about an hour, then I had to run home and make the chicken casserole I had set out to cook all morning while the girls did their homework. Then there was ironing, and bedtime, and countless other tasks that we do every evening...
It is well past ten now and I finally have time to sit down in front of my laptop - sorry, John, that squary thing you see with arms and legs, clackety-clacking away next to you, that's your wife!!! I will talk to you tomorrow, promise!
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
Day 31 - Coffee and ice
Why is it that when you feel pretty much trodden on, things seem to get worse by the minute?
When the school reopened a few days ago we were all quite relieved, because, frankly, the children were climbing up the walls at home. But after dropping them to their classrooms this morning - well, just Emma, Sophie likes to go in herself, becuase "no other mums drop their children, you know, Mummy!" - I started questioning their sanity. Because just by the main school gate, just a few steps onto the tarmac, I went flying and landed unceremoniously on my bum. What made it ten times worse was that Sean Cronin, husband of perfectly coiffed Jane whose twins are in senior infants (how does she do it?), stopped with words of sympathy and tried to help me up. How humiliating. I bet that wouldn't happen to gorgeous Jane! I would have left here there...
I hightailed it out of the school yard, almost skidding again in my fake Ugg boots.
Then, when I pulled into Lidl a few minutes later, I took 4 attempts trying to reverse into a small car parking space, giving all of us woman drivers a terrrible name altogether. I was shaking by the time I got parked up, that impatient git behind me in his 4x4 honked me twice, I was SO embarrassed. I actually gave him the finger, but under the steering wheel so he couldn't see me... Then, in the shop, I was almost finished when I did what John refers to as a "lazy man's load", taking a run down 2-3 aisles and heaping the goods into my arms. Of course the 2 kg pack of flour which was on top decided not to stay where I had placed it and fell with a loud plop on the floor, bursting open and covering me and a little old man in plain flour. I even got his walking stick, he was not impressed. I was so apologetic but I don't think I managed to appease the beast.
I legged it home and sat in front of my laptop with 3 cups of strong coffee, which I usually don't drink very often, until I had calmed down. Of course minutes later I was wired to the moon, my body just isn't used to all of that caffeine. I speed-read 5 job sites and wrote 4 cover letters in half an hour. Luckily I didn't send them off, I reckoned I couldn't trust myself, and sure enough, reading back over them, "Hey, Mrs Agent" was not going to go down very well, and neither would "...so, c'mere, I think I would be pretty perf for the job, why dontcha call me..."
But at least I found some interesting-sounding ones. Applications on ice till tomorrow. How on earth am I supposed to sleep tonight??? Damn the little coffee bean!
When the school reopened a few days ago we were all quite relieved, because, frankly, the children were climbing up the walls at home. But after dropping them to their classrooms this morning - well, just Emma, Sophie likes to go in herself, becuase "no other mums drop their children, you know, Mummy!" - I started questioning their sanity. Because just by the main school gate, just a few steps onto the tarmac, I went flying and landed unceremoniously on my bum. What made it ten times worse was that Sean Cronin, husband of perfectly coiffed Jane whose twins are in senior infants (how does she do it?), stopped with words of sympathy and tried to help me up. How humiliating. I bet that wouldn't happen to gorgeous Jane! I would have left here there...
I hightailed it out of the school yard, almost skidding again in my fake Ugg boots.
Then, when I pulled into Lidl a few minutes later, I took 4 attempts trying to reverse into a small car parking space, giving all of us woman drivers a terrrible name altogether. I was shaking by the time I got parked up, that impatient git behind me in his 4x4 honked me twice, I was SO embarrassed. I actually gave him the finger, but under the steering wheel so he couldn't see me... Then, in the shop, I was almost finished when I did what John refers to as a "lazy man's load", taking a run down 2-3 aisles and heaping the goods into my arms. Of course the 2 kg pack of flour which was on top decided not to stay where I had placed it and fell with a loud plop on the floor, bursting open and covering me and a little old man in plain flour. I even got his walking stick, he was not impressed. I was so apologetic but I don't think I managed to appease the beast.
I legged it home and sat in front of my laptop with 3 cups of strong coffee, which I usually don't drink very often, until I had calmed down. Of course minutes later I was wired to the moon, my body just isn't used to all of that caffeine. I speed-read 5 job sites and wrote 4 cover letters in half an hour. Luckily I didn't send them off, I reckoned I couldn't trust myself, and sure enough, reading back over them, "Hey, Mrs Agent" was not going to go down very well, and neither would "...so, c'mere, I think I would be pretty perf for the job, why dontcha call me..."
But at least I found some interesting-sounding ones. Applications on ice till tomorrow. How on earth am I supposed to sleep tonight??? Damn the little coffee bean!
Monday, December 6, 2010
Day 30 - Paaah!
I didn't get it. No, I am not joking. I got the call and was informed that "the role had been filled by an internal candidate... But thank you for your interest." Paaaah!!!
The call was brief, polite, yet short, snappy. No need to waste time talking to someone who wasn't a suitable candidate.
I was gutted when I hung up the phone.
Gutted!
Then angry.
How dare they? How dare they put me through this, invite me for interview, take me down the route of "maybe they'll like me, if I have gotten this far, there is a good chance..." - and then it turns out that for them, they were just going through the motions! I was one of their quota, one of those that had to be interviewed to get a credible number of possible candidates... only to rule them all out and go with the one option they had identified they wanted all along...
HEY, PEOPLE, THIS IS MY LIFE YOU ARE PLAYING WITH!!! M Y L I F E !!!
But anger very quickly turned to self-doubt.
Maybe I just wasn't good enough. Maybe "filled internally" is the new way of saying: "Sorry, but you're crap."
Or "Your experience really isn't up to scratch, there are younger, more funky, technologically advanced, more up to date young-uns out there that could do your job for half the cost... (and they're probably far prettier, too!)"
Maybe I should look at another career, maybe my time as PA has come and gone...
And I try to shake off the gnawing self-doubt and turn it into self-belief. Amy, look at what you have achieved! Look at how far you have come! You had a great career. You gave it up. On purpose. To look after the girls, be there for them. You have two beautiful children. You have a loving husband, who is pretty great, if you ignore any DIY or tile-choosing prowesses. You have a lovely house. You have a cat who is almost not neurotic. Well, maybe just a little bit. You are creative, funny, and hey, did I mention you are writing a great blog? OK, so the last bit is made up. How do I know if it's great? Though, then again, it is nice to see the diverse countries my blog is currently being read in. Maybe I should start a new career. As a blog-doctor.
But back to my job. Or lack of. I was in tears when I rang John. I blubbed and sniffed and cried and shouted and whispered. And wailed. And all within a minute and a half. And then:
"Who is this? Mum, is that you?"
When he finally realised it was me he was great (he was only joking of course, he knew the minute he saw our home number come up!). I know, I can go ultra-sonic when I start bawling. I sound like a completely different person (though NOT a bit like his Mum!). I think it was his way of getting me to calm down. I was too sad to be cranky with him though...
He consoled me and I felt better after.
But I did not have the motivation to start looking again.
When the girls got home we dug out a board game. And it was lovely. I decided that this is a good way to drown your sorrows, let Ludo relieve your pain.
Tomorrow is another day. Tomorrow, I will find a job.
The call was brief, polite, yet short, snappy. No need to waste time talking to someone who wasn't a suitable candidate.
I was gutted when I hung up the phone.
Gutted!
Then angry.
How dare they? How dare they put me through this, invite me for interview, take me down the route of "maybe they'll like me, if I have gotten this far, there is a good chance..." - and then it turns out that for them, they were just going through the motions! I was one of their quota, one of those that had to be interviewed to get a credible number of possible candidates... only to rule them all out and go with the one option they had identified they wanted all along...
HEY, PEOPLE, THIS IS MY LIFE YOU ARE PLAYING WITH!!! M Y L I F E !!!
But anger very quickly turned to self-doubt.
Maybe I just wasn't good enough. Maybe "filled internally" is the new way of saying: "Sorry, but you're crap."
Or "Your experience really isn't up to scratch, there are younger, more funky, technologically advanced, more up to date young-uns out there that could do your job for half the cost... (and they're probably far prettier, too!)"
Maybe I should look at another career, maybe my time as PA has come and gone...
And I try to shake off the gnawing self-doubt and turn it into self-belief. Amy, look at what you have achieved! Look at how far you have come! You had a great career. You gave it up. On purpose. To look after the girls, be there for them. You have two beautiful children. You have a loving husband, who is pretty great, if you ignore any DIY or tile-choosing prowesses. You have a lovely house. You have a cat who is almost not neurotic. Well, maybe just a little bit. You are creative, funny, and hey, did I mention you are writing a great blog? OK, so the last bit is made up. How do I know if it's great? Though, then again, it is nice to see the diverse countries my blog is currently being read in. Maybe I should start a new career. As a blog-doctor.
But back to my job. Or lack of. I was in tears when I rang John. I blubbed and sniffed and cried and shouted and whispered. And wailed. And all within a minute and a half. And then:
"Who is this? Mum, is that you?"
When he finally realised it was me he was great (he was only joking of course, he knew the minute he saw our home number come up!). I know, I can go ultra-sonic when I start bawling. I sound like a completely different person (though NOT a bit like his Mum!). I think it was his way of getting me to calm down. I was too sad to be cranky with him though...
He consoled me and I felt better after.
But I did not have the motivation to start looking again.
When the girls got home we dug out a board game. And it was lovely. I decided that this is a good way to drown your sorrows, let Ludo relieve your pain.
Tomorrow is another day. Tomorrow, I will find a job.
Day 29 - The Cabbage Factor
Kids' parties always leave me exhausted.
But happy.
Emma seemed to be having a good time, played for an hour and a half, ate most of her nuggets and chips, with a little help from Mummy, and scoffed half her party bag on the way home, until I saw what was going on and stopped her. She was on a merry little sugar high all evening but luckily fell into bed without too many objections and was asleep before 8.
Sophie had a great day with Daddy, by all accounts. They barricaded us into the living room as they unloaded the car, filled with, well, cabbages, as Sophie tried to convince me. But of course Emma and I didn't buy the vegetarian cover-up, we believe they were carrying a trunkful of, well, presies of the Christmas variety. But of course we didn't let on.
After a home-cooked meal and the excitement of the X-Factor (Mary Byrne is out, who would have thought? Well, to be honest, me, I think of all the acts left she was the weakest, though she did have the Irish vote on these and yonder shores. I do love her story and the success she has found. But - and Sharon will kill me for this, she being an avid Mary-fan - I believe her range is limited and many of her performances are based on belting out the tunes...Give me Rebecca any day. But I digress...) Sophie wasn't long after Emma to fall asleep, and we won't be long after her...
I have decided that tomorrow will be a good day, when good things will happen.
As my dear mother always says, a good positive attitude will get you far!
But happy.
Emma seemed to be having a good time, played for an hour and a half, ate most of her nuggets and chips, with a little help from Mummy, and scoffed half her party bag on the way home, until I saw what was going on and stopped her. She was on a merry little sugar high all evening but luckily fell into bed without too many objections and was asleep before 8.
Sophie had a great day with Daddy, by all accounts. They barricaded us into the living room as they unloaded the car, filled with, well, cabbages, as Sophie tried to convince me. But of course Emma and I didn't buy the vegetarian cover-up, we believe they were carrying a trunkful of, well, presies of the Christmas variety. But of course we didn't let on.
After a home-cooked meal and the excitement of the X-Factor (Mary Byrne is out, who would have thought? Well, to be honest, me, I think of all the acts left she was the weakest, though she did have the Irish vote on these and yonder shores. I do love her story and the success she has found. But - and Sharon will kill me for this, she being an avid Mary-fan - I believe her range is limited and many of her performances are based on belting out the tunes...Give me Rebecca any day. But I digress...) Sophie wasn't long after Emma to fall asleep, and we won't be long after her...
I have decided that tomorrow will be a good day, when good things will happen.
As my dear mother always says, a good positive attitude will get you far!
Saturday, December 4, 2010
Day 28 - Parties and Bolognaise
Another Saturday. The phone has been charged although I know I won't get a call today, well, not about the interview anyway. Another present has been wrapped though we're not too sure if we will be able to get to Sophie's friend's party this afternoon, the weather is still pretty dicey. Another 3 washes have been put on, the uniforms need to ready for the weeks ahead.
Another Saturday.
I do love the weekend. But it does mean that I have to wait another 48 hours until things might move again.
But I will not obsess. I will not think about the "what if"s and the "maybe"s.
I will spend the day devoted to my family and will be there for them today. I will not switch on my laptop until after the XFactor is over tonight.
John went shopping with Emma while Sophie and I went to the party. Of course she is at an age where I could really leave her there for the two hours, I know her Mum well enough by now. But I decided that I would endure the terrible hardship that is slurping coffee and catching up with all the gossip for a while (and then later I can call in some brownie points with John, à la "I just spent two full hours at a children's birthday party, cos I know how much you hate them, I always pull the short straw on that one, you know... I could really do with a drink, darling, will you get me one, please please please???"
Of course I need to remind myself that John does not spend copious hours in our "new" shower while I'm out - for me, the novelty has not yet worn off, but John could not be any more interested in our new tiles than he would be watching the washing machine do a full cycle. Instead, while we were out, he put away all the shopping that he and Emma had acquired - and he stuck to the list, apart from the treat that Emma insisted on, and by the sounds of it, thoroughly deserved as well. When we arrived back, Sophie pretty much green in the face from her 5 cups of fizzy orange, 3 nuggets, 25 chips, 2 bags of jellies and half a bar of chocolate, dinner was ready and the table set - and despite my consumption of 3 buckets of tea, I pretended to be hungry as a bear (and not a sparrow) and tucked into my bolognaise. I mean, I had to show my gratitude, didn't I.
Fiona is always in awe when she hears about John's culinary departures. I suppose I am used to it by now, but when I think about it, there are not too many hubbies that I know who can hold their own in the kitchen and actually enjoy cooking. He may not know one end of a hammer from another ("Is that a big 4x4?"), may not be familiar with the various types of adhesive required for effective tiling, but he knows the merits of adding sugar to a bolognaise to avoid acidity, and how to cook the pasta perfectly al dente.
I love Saturdays.
Another Saturday.
I do love the weekend. But it does mean that I have to wait another 48 hours until things might move again.
But I will not obsess. I will not think about the "what if"s and the "maybe"s.
I will spend the day devoted to my family and will be there for them today. I will not switch on my laptop until after the XFactor is over tonight.
John went shopping with Emma while Sophie and I went to the party. Of course she is at an age where I could really leave her there for the two hours, I know her Mum well enough by now. But I decided that I would endure the terrible hardship that is slurping coffee and catching up with all the gossip for a while (and then later I can call in some brownie points with John, à la "I just spent two full hours at a children's birthday party, cos I know how much you hate them, I always pull the short straw on that one, you know... I could really do with a drink, darling, will you get me one, please please please???"
Of course I need to remind myself that John does not spend copious hours in our "new" shower while I'm out - for me, the novelty has not yet worn off, but John could not be any more interested in our new tiles than he would be watching the washing machine do a full cycle. Instead, while we were out, he put away all the shopping that he and Emma had acquired - and he stuck to the list, apart from the treat that Emma insisted on, and by the sounds of it, thoroughly deserved as well. When we arrived back, Sophie pretty much green in the face from her 5 cups of fizzy orange, 3 nuggets, 25 chips, 2 bags of jellies and half a bar of chocolate, dinner was ready and the table set - and despite my consumption of 3 buckets of tea, I pretended to be hungry as a bear (and not a sparrow) and tucked into my bolognaise. I mean, I had to show my gratitude, didn't I.
Fiona is always in awe when she hears about John's culinary departures. I suppose I am used to it by now, but when I think about it, there are not too many hubbies that I know who can hold their own in the kitchen and actually enjoy cooking. He may not know one end of a hammer from another ("Is that a big 4x4?"), may not be familiar with the various types of adhesive required for effective tiling, but he knows the merits of adding sugar to a bolognaise to avoid acidity, and how to cook the pasta perfectly al dente.
I love Saturdays.
Thursday, December 2, 2010
Day 27 - Fed up
I shake it.
I turn it upside down.
I roll it from side to side.
I knock it against the side of the kitchen counter.
I tap it on the floor.
I shake it again.
No, it's not my child I am talking about.
Nor my left foot.
It's my phone. It's not ringing! And it is frustrating me. I should have heard by now, and I haven't. And that's not a good sign.
I hope tomorrow will be a day where it will not stop ringing. I even switched it off and on again 3 times, to make sure it was working.
WHY IS NOBODY CALLING ME TODAY??? Not even a text message. Well, I did get an email from Dad. At least someone still loves me.
And why, oh why, is everything still covered in that white mess outside? Someone switch off the snow. I've had enough and Ireland is clearly NOT READY.
Rant over. I feel better now. Just needed to get it out of my system. Right, I am off to bed. Tomorrow is another day.
I turn it upside down.
I roll it from side to side.
I knock it against the side of the kitchen counter.
I tap it on the floor.
I shake it again.
No, it's not my child I am talking about.
Nor my left foot.
It's my phone. It's not ringing! And it is frustrating me. I should have heard by now, and I haven't. And that's not a good sign.
I hope tomorrow will be a day where it will not stop ringing. I even switched it off and on again 3 times, to make sure it was working.
WHY IS NOBODY CALLING ME TODAY??? Not even a text message. Well, I did get an email from Dad. At least someone still loves me.
And why, oh why, is everything still covered in that white mess outside? Someone switch off the snow. I've had enough and Ireland is clearly NOT READY.
Rant over. I feel better now. Just needed to get it out of my system. Right, I am off to bed. Tomorrow is another day.
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
Day 26 - Snowed in...
I am still feeling drained. John says I should be proud of myself that I got to this stage. And I am. But somehow I have the feeling this is as far as it will go. Well, I won't say any more, I don't want to jinx things. So back to the mundane for now.
Had the car booked in for a service today. Just as I was wondering how I would get out of the driveway and up the small hill at the top of the road the garage rang me - the two mechanics had been unable to make it in to work, and the receptionist had only gone in herself to cancel appointments. So was it okay if we rescheduled? Oh, yes, indeed, that suited me down to the ground. With the school closed and the driveway all iced up we haven't been out of the house, apart from my exciting excursion (I know, I'm mentioning it again!) yesterday, and it would hardly have been fun having the girls in tow whilst waiting for the car to be done.
Luckily I got some essentials on the way home yesterday and today we are battoning down the hatches - the fire is lit 24/7 and we have enough provisions in the freezer to last at least a week. Everyone I know is sitting it out, mainly at home, only very few, including John, make it in every morning... because he walks to work. It takes him a little longer than usual but he doesn't mind, he loves to walk anyway. Funny, it is one of my least favourite pasttimes. Give me a horse or even a donkey and I will do the distance 3 times over. But a lovely walk in a green leafy forest is the next worst thing to waking up in a pool of sweat after a 3-hour nightmare. Well, perhaps not quite as bad as being mauled by a lion. But close.
Anyway, it is all irrelevant in this arctic spell, as they are calling it, there is hardly a leafy forest in sight - nor a lion, for that matter. I saw a cyclist fly past me yesterday and I literally shook my head at him (or her, it was so mummified I could not make out what it was) - cycling in the snow, s/he must have been - wait for it - cyco!
We are fed up with watching DVDs for now, so we have resorted to arts and crafts and are making a calendar for granny and grandad. So far we have 4 different snow scenes. We'd better close our eyes and try and think of spring or the calendar will contain no seasons whatsoever. Watch this space...
Had the car booked in for a service today. Just as I was wondering how I would get out of the driveway and up the small hill at the top of the road the garage rang me - the two mechanics had been unable to make it in to work, and the receptionist had only gone in herself to cancel appointments. So was it okay if we rescheduled? Oh, yes, indeed, that suited me down to the ground. With the school closed and the driveway all iced up we haven't been out of the house, apart from my exciting excursion (I know, I'm mentioning it again!) yesterday, and it would hardly have been fun having the girls in tow whilst waiting for the car to be done.
Luckily I got some essentials on the way home yesterday and today we are battoning down the hatches - the fire is lit 24/7 and we have enough provisions in the freezer to last at least a week. Everyone I know is sitting it out, mainly at home, only very few, including John, make it in every morning... because he walks to work. It takes him a little longer than usual but he doesn't mind, he loves to walk anyway. Funny, it is one of my least favourite pasttimes. Give me a horse or even a donkey and I will do the distance 3 times over. But a lovely walk in a green leafy forest is the next worst thing to waking up in a pool of sweat after a 3-hour nightmare. Well, perhaps not quite as bad as being mauled by a lion. But close.
Anyway, it is all irrelevant in this arctic spell, as they are calling it, there is hardly a leafy forest in sight - nor a lion, for that matter. I saw a cyclist fly past me yesterday and I literally shook my head at him (or her, it was so mummified I could not make out what it was) - cycling in the snow, s/he must have been - wait for it - cyco!
We are fed up with watching DVDs for now, so we have resorted to arts and crafts and are making a calendar for granny and grandad. So far we have 4 different snow scenes. We'd better close our eyes and try and think of spring or the calendar will contain no seasons whatsoever. Watch this space...
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
Day 25 - D-Day - The Interview
I braved the elements and allowed myself extra time. I was NOT going to be late for this, my first and very important, and possibly life-changing, interview, despite all the snow, ice and general chaos on the streets of Dublin.
I got there with 20 minutes to spare and as the receptionist handed me my visitor badge I suddenly got very, very, VERY nervous. It has been years since I have been interviewed, and I had a strong feeling that I had gotten out of practice.
And so it was. I was rusty at the start, got verbal diaorrhea when she questioned me about the gaps on my CV, and again, when I was asked about various different types of software I had used. Not that I had lied on my CV. But it has been so long since I have used any of these programs I got very unsure halfway through the interview about whether I actually had the right experience.
But then I called myself to order, and tried not to show my inner turmoil. I soldiered on and had a few questions prepared for the end as well, Mary reckons that is always a good technique.
And my knees were shaking when I left the building an hour and 5 minutes later. But I did it! I did it! I had my first interview, time for lunch with Sharon after that, and made my way home as the snow began to fall harder and in bigger flakes.
I feel drained but happy. Even if I didn't get it, it is an achievement in itself to have gotten to this stage. John and I will raise a humble half-glass (don't want to celebrate so we don't jinx my luck) of Baileys. And it is going down rather well...
I got there with 20 minutes to spare and as the receptionist handed me my visitor badge I suddenly got very, very, VERY nervous. It has been years since I have been interviewed, and I had a strong feeling that I had gotten out of practice.
And so it was. I was rusty at the start, got verbal diaorrhea when she questioned me about the gaps on my CV, and again, when I was asked about various different types of software I had used. Not that I had lied on my CV. But it has been so long since I have used any of these programs I got very unsure halfway through the interview about whether I actually had the right experience.
But then I called myself to order, and tried not to show my inner turmoil. I soldiered on and had a few questions prepared for the end as well, Mary reckons that is always a good technique.
And my knees were shaking when I left the building an hour and 5 minutes later. But I did it! I did it! I had my first interview, time for lunch with Sharon after that, and made my way home as the snow began to fall harder and in bigger flakes.
I feel drained but happy. Even if I didn't get it, it is an achievement in itself to have gotten to this stage. John and I will raise a humble half-glass (don't want to celebrate so we don't jinx my luck) of Baileys. And it is going down rather well...
Monday, November 29, 2010
Day 24 - Pets anonymous
Right. Fiona is getting a piglet, Mary a rabbit and Sharon a fish. No, we are not opening a pet farm. and no, I didn't get a 50% discount voucher for Pets-R-Us. And it's not because they are particularly smelly (well, maybe the tiniest bit!), or love to, well, errr, multiply, or are unfeeling (and have a short-term memory). No, my dear people, I speak of Christmas gifts, of the charitable variety. We have all agreed, at our last coffee morning, that we will not spend more than €15 on each other this year. Fiona, having announced in the same breath that she had just booked herself in for a facial ("One every week till Christmas, girls, it's the only way to de-stress!"), had the audacity to try it on: "Ah, sure, girls, seeing as it's a recession and all that, will we just do away with presies this year altogether?"
Somehow she made us all feel like the poor relation, so I dug my heels in à la "screw you, babe, I know I don't have a job but I can easily afford presents for you all! EASILY, you hear, EASILY [scrape scrape]". And Mary followed suit, Sharon fell in with whatever the majority said, as usual.
But Fiona did have a point, really.
I don't have a job.
And I can't really afford it.
But I do have an interview.
So, I am preparing, preparing, preparing.
I can explain all the gaps on my CV.
I can answer all the "Where do you see yourself in...?" questions.
I can talk around all the "What was the most challenging project...?" questions.
But I am nervous as hell. Cos a lot rides on this. Oh God, so much rides on it.
Wish me luck. It's tomorrow!
Somehow she made us all feel like the poor relation, so I dug my heels in à la "screw you, babe, I know I don't have a job but I can easily afford presents for you all! EASILY, you hear, EASILY [scrape scrape]". And Mary followed suit, Sharon fell in with whatever the majority said, as usual.
But Fiona did have a point, really.
I don't have a job.
And I can't really afford it.
But I do have an interview.
So, I am preparing, preparing, preparing.
I can explain all the gaps on my CV.
I can answer all the "Where do you see yourself in...?" questions.
I can talk around all the "What was the most challenging project...?" questions.
But I am nervous as hell. Cos a lot rides on this. Oh God, so much rides on it.
Wish me luck. It's tomorrow!
Sunday, November 28, 2010
Day 23 - On the tiles
Ok, so none of us were up early. But ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh, I was the first (and only) in the "new" shower, and it was fab! Just like having a brand new bathroom. Funnily enough, the girls wanted to continue their game of fairies, pirates and teachers (yes, all in one!). Strangely, John wanted to stay in bed and catch up on some long overdue sleep after the mad hours he did last week. Well, I thought we'd be fighting each other off the shower gel and swiping each other's hair potions. How wrong I was! I guess children, men and women DO have different priorities, after all!
Of course I spent the first 45 minutes cleaning the dust off the tiles, the floor, the top of the cabinet... It was as if it had snowed in our bathroom as well. And then I rewarded myself with an extra long shower - oh, I love it, I love it, I love it! And did I mention that I love it? Worth every penny, dare I say - sure we can always go to John's parents' cottage in Cork again this year, who needs an expensive holiday abroad anyway?
Of course I spent the first 45 minutes cleaning the dust off the tiles, the floor, the top of the cabinet... It was as if it had snowed in our bathroom as well. And then I rewarded myself with an extra long shower - oh, I love it, I love it, I love it! And did I mention that I love it? Worth every penny, dare I say - sure we can always go to John's parents' cottage in Cork again this year, who needs an expensive holiday abroad anyway?
Saturday, November 27, 2010
Day 22 - An early start
I love the weekends! Especially this morning, the girls didn't wake until 8:30, the ground and roof was covered in a white dusting as it had snowed overnight, and as we were looking out the window, a snow flurry started. It was magical! We stared and chatted for the longest time, and then - OH CRAP! It is 8:43 and Rory is coming at 9 o'clock!
Neither of us are dressed, John is still in bed and we haven't had breakfast yet. On top of all that, the place looks like a tip, I had great intentions last night to get up at 7 and straighten things out. And now, here we are, 17, now 16 minutes away, and nothing has been done.
I know, I shouldn't let things get on top of me. John says no-one else will even notice, least of all another man. But the point is, that doesn't make me feel any better. Because I see it.
But there's no point crying over flung underwear. We sort out the landing in a flash and the quick solution is to just close all the doors, apart from, obviously, the bathroom door. Then we scoot down to the kitchen, and for some reason we all manage to have a decently-sized breakfast. And of course I remember now what I always forget in the panic of the moment: why am I rushing around like the proverbial blue-bottomed fly, when people in this country are never on time?
At 9:23 the bell finally rings and at least I am fed and less grumpy. Though I am a little cross with RtW. It bugs me when people aren't punctual, even RtW. But I swollow the smart remark and he gets to work.
And 6 1/2 hours later we have our bathroom back! It is plain and it's simple but it looks great. We have to leave it all dry for the night but tomorrow, I have a feeling there will be a rush on our "new" bathroom early in the morning - even if it is Sunday! Can't wait!
Neither of us are dressed, John is still in bed and we haven't had breakfast yet. On top of all that, the place looks like a tip, I had great intentions last night to get up at 7 and straighten things out. And now, here we are, 17, now 16 minutes away, and nothing has been done.
I know, I shouldn't let things get on top of me. John says no-one else will even notice, least of all another man. But the point is, that doesn't make me feel any better. Because I see it.
But there's no point crying over flung underwear. We sort out the landing in a flash and the quick solution is to just close all the doors, apart from, obviously, the bathroom door. Then we scoot down to the kitchen, and for some reason we all manage to have a decently-sized breakfast. And of course I remember now what I always forget in the panic of the moment: why am I rushing around like the proverbial blue-bottomed fly, when people in this country are never on time?
At 9:23 the bell finally rings and at least I am fed and less grumpy. Though I am a little cross with RtW. It bugs me when people aren't punctual, even RtW. But I swollow the smart remark and he gets to work.
And 6 1/2 hours later we have our bathroom back! It is plain and it's simple but it looks great. We have to leave it all dry for the night but tomorrow, I have a feeling there will be a rush on our "new" bathroom early in the morning - even if it is Sunday! Can't wait!
Day 21 -
Well, I was wrong. It doesn't cost as much as a 1-week holiday for a family of four to do our tiling. Thank goodness, I hear you sigh. Well, I wish I could share your relief. Because it actually costs TWICE as much as a 1-week holiday (a 2-week holiday, if you will) for the four or us, I almost fell out of my shoes!
But, deep breath, I know that Rory is honest as the day is long and is not overcharging us. And I know how much the materials cost, because after Rory told me about the tiles, I took a trip to the local tilery (I think they should call them that!) first thing this morning, and got the necessary tiles, grout, adhesive, and those long yokes that you need for the edges, they were the cheapest of the lot. I closed my eyes when I stuck in my card into the chip and pin machine, I didn't want to see the amount though the shop assistant had just told me how much it would come to. It was too much. It was more than we could afford right now. It was painful. John and I had done the sums the night before and had worked out what we could afford. This was beyond that limit. Not by much. But nevertheless beyond it. Hence the closing of eyes.
A friendly young man from said tilery carried the bags and boxes of tiles out to the car, apparently the load was too small to deliver. It didn't look too small to me, but to avoid a delivery charge I consented. Forgetting, of course, that offloading would be required by yours truly at the other end. And so I have spent the lat 25 minutes heaving and hauling things out of the car, in the door, through several rooms, across the house and up the stairs. And down again, deep breaths, then up again. A better workout I have not had in a very long time.
Tomorrow RtW cometh to start on the tiling. Off to do the school run. Roll on the weekend!
But, deep breath, I know that Rory is honest as the day is long and is not overcharging us. And I know how much the materials cost, because after Rory told me about the tiles, I took a trip to the local tilery (I think they should call them that!) first thing this morning, and got the necessary tiles, grout, adhesive, and those long yokes that you need for the edges, they were the cheapest of the lot. I closed my eyes when I stuck in my card into the chip and pin machine, I didn't want to see the amount though the shop assistant had just told me how much it would come to. It was too much. It was more than we could afford right now. It was painful. John and I had done the sums the night before and had worked out what we could afford. This was beyond that limit. Not by much. But nevertheless beyond it. Hence the closing of eyes.
A friendly young man from said tilery carried the bags and boxes of tiles out to the car, apparently the load was too small to deliver. It didn't look too small to me, but to avoid a delivery charge I consented. Forgetting, of course, that offloading would be required by yours truly at the other end. And so I have spent the lat 25 minutes heaving and hauling things out of the car, in the door, through several rooms, across the house and up the stairs. And down again, deep breaths, then up again. A better workout I have not had in a very long time.
Tomorrow RtW cometh to start on the tiling. Off to do the school run. Roll on the weekend!
Thursday, November 25, 2010
Day 20 - The phone rings...
When we awoke this morning, it was Christmas!
Well, not really of course. But suddenly, it has started to feel like Christmas. The car was iced over. The ground was crunchy underfoot. Our breath emitted wisps of steam that slowly rose into the freezing air, even the cats were too cold to come out this morning. It is time for thermal underwear, and of course, scarves (around our necks, of course!) and ski pants. Under our tights.
The girls were so excited when they saw the thin layer of white frost over absolutely everything this morning. We wrapped up warmly, and when I collected them from school I had to laugh - Emma shot out the door and into my arms, gloves, hat and jacket forgotten on the clothes rack, I had to send her back in for them.
And then, when I switched on the radio, they played the first Christmas song I have heard this year (if you don't count January, during the post-Christmas-blues).
When the girls (and John) were out the door, I tidied up and made myself that cup of tea that I always make, when I grab those few minutes of peace after the morning rush, and before the mad running and racing that usually makes up my day.
And it got me thinking, there are only 30 days left till Christmas. Most companies won't be hiring, or hiring won't really get back into full flight, until after Christmas. But then, I decided, I was not going to let that stop me. I did not, as I usually do, have my slice of toast and write out my list of ToDo's for the day. I went straight over to my laptop, toast in hand, crumbs on keyboard, and decided to munch n' surf. And I found 2 more interesting jobs, so I wrote cover letters, customised my CV, and was done by 10:15! Then I decided, passive won't do it, why not rekindle those applications I have already submitted.
So I dug out job descriptions, cover letters, contact details and phone numbers and got calling. And yes, one agency had been considering my application, and, listen to this - I have an interview! Next week! I can't believe my luck.
I will NOT sit back and wait for jobs to come to me any longer - I will be proactive till all eternity, and seek out the jobs I really really want. Now, granted, the one I am being interviewed for isn't exactly what I was looking for, but it really fits with what I did before, PA to director in a large software company. But hey, I will give it all that I've got, and it might be the right one for me.
Then Rory rang and he found a tile that actually has the same dimensions as in the year 2000 (we thought they were extinct!). It is not an expensive tile, and I will take some time later to jot down all the figures... I dread to think that with materials and labour, it will all cost more than a week's holiday for a family of four...
A good day all round!
Well, not really of course. But suddenly, it has started to feel like Christmas. The car was iced over. The ground was crunchy underfoot. Our breath emitted wisps of steam that slowly rose into the freezing air, even the cats were too cold to come out this morning. It is time for thermal underwear, and of course, scarves (around our necks, of course!) and ski pants. Under our tights.
The girls were so excited when they saw the thin layer of white frost over absolutely everything this morning. We wrapped up warmly, and when I collected them from school I had to laugh - Emma shot out the door and into my arms, gloves, hat and jacket forgotten on the clothes rack, I had to send her back in for them.
And then, when I switched on the radio, they played the first Christmas song I have heard this year (if you don't count January, during the post-Christmas-blues).
When the girls (and John) were out the door, I tidied up and made myself that cup of tea that I always make, when I grab those few minutes of peace after the morning rush, and before the mad running and racing that usually makes up my day.
And it got me thinking, there are only 30 days left till Christmas. Most companies won't be hiring, or hiring won't really get back into full flight, until after Christmas. But then, I decided, I was not going to let that stop me. I did not, as I usually do, have my slice of toast and write out my list of ToDo's for the day. I went straight over to my laptop, toast in hand, crumbs on keyboard, and decided to munch n' surf. And I found 2 more interesting jobs, so I wrote cover letters, customised my CV, and was done by 10:15! Then I decided, passive won't do it, why not rekindle those applications I have already submitted.
So I dug out job descriptions, cover letters, contact details and phone numbers and got calling. And yes, one agency had been considering my application, and, listen to this - I have an interview! Next week! I can't believe my luck.
I will NOT sit back and wait for jobs to come to me any longer - I will be proactive till all eternity, and seek out the jobs I really really want. Now, granted, the one I am being interviewed for isn't exactly what I was looking for, but it really fits with what I did before, PA to director in a large software company. But hey, I will give it all that I've got, and it might be the right one for me.
Then Rory rang and he found a tile that actually has the same dimensions as in the year 2000 (we thought they were extinct!). It is not an expensive tile, and I will take some time later to jot down all the figures... I dread to think that with materials and labour, it will all cost more than a week's holiday for a family of four...
A good day all round!
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
Day 19 - Experience and Hot Looks
This is a dark day in Irish politics. And this is a dark day in Irish financial history. As the famous Irish four-year plan is unveiled, the mood is subdued. We have to take it in, try and digest what it will mean for us. And the budget hasn't even hit us yet.
I am worried. I am tired. I am tired of being worried. And I feel old and weary. Now more than ever, the job market will be flooded with willing and able young ones, begging, pleading for a job. How I am going to compete against all that fresh blood, modern, hip and probably a whole pile more qualified than little old moi?
But halt! Before I slide into the oblivion of sadness, I know what I can do to cheer myself up. And everyone else who is reading this blog.
It is not "old" I should be calling myself. It is experienced. World savvy. Wise. One of those who knows that sage is not just a herb.
So, here it is, then: 10 ways you know you are ... brimming with experience! Cos we all know that when you're going for a job, it's experience that counts above all else!
1. The wind is blowing across the school yard. A funky young Mum is breezing towards you in a short skirt that would also qualify as a scarf. You don't think: "What a hip and yummy Mummy, her little one must be all brains and all beauty. You smile wryly to yourself and think: "Jaysus, she must be blue with the cold."
2. You look at the receptionist at the dentist and think: "I'm sure I babysat her mother."
3. Your idea of a great night out is a great night in.
4. You spend hours watching TV in the evening and find it hard to remember what you watched at the end of the night.
5. In fact, you find it hard to remember anything much these days and smile a lot, blissful in your ignorance.
6. You think 69 is a nice, friendly, symmetrical number and with a K at the end, would make a very decent annual salary.
7. You go on holidays and rather than frying in the sun and increasing your cancer cell count, you tidy and wash incessantly, and make a plan about how you will straighten out the house which was left in a state when you departed. Because good planning is half the battle.
8. You think that Twitter is a misspelt maniacal giggle.
9. Your first thought each day is how many layers you need to put on to stay warm, buy a pasta measure so you don't spend €1000 annually on food you just throw out, and invest €69.95 in a new sewing machine, even though you can't sew, and vow to make all the children's Halloween costumes from now on.
10. The next day in the school yard, you bring ski pants, a box of lemsip and some warm socks for the young one who wore the scarf the day before and advise her of the benefits of hot drinks over hot looks...
I am worried. I am tired. I am tired of being worried. And I feel old and weary. Now more than ever, the job market will be flooded with willing and able young ones, begging, pleading for a job. How I am going to compete against all that fresh blood, modern, hip and probably a whole pile more qualified than little old moi?
But halt! Before I slide into the oblivion of sadness, I know what I can do to cheer myself up. And everyone else who is reading this blog.
It is not "old" I should be calling myself. It is experienced. World savvy. Wise. One of those who knows that sage is not just a herb.
So, here it is, then: 10 ways you know you are ... brimming with experience! Cos we all know that when you're going for a job, it's experience that counts above all else!
1. The wind is blowing across the school yard. A funky young Mum is breezing towards you in a short skirt that would also qualify as a scarf. You don't think: "What a hip and yummy Mummy, her little one must be all brains and all beauty. You smile wryly to yourself and think: "Jaysus, she must be blue with the cold."
2. You look at the receptionist at the dentist and think: "I'm sure I babysat her mother."
3. Your idea of a great night out is a great night in.
4. You spend hours watching TV in the evening and find it hard to remember what you watched at the end of the night.
5. In fact, you find it hard to remember anything much these days and smile a lot, blissful in your ignorance.
6. You think 69 is a nice, friendly, symmetrical number and with a K at the end, would make a very decent annual salary.
7. You go on holidays and rather than frying in the sun and increasing your cancer cell count, you tidy and wash incessantly, and make a plan about how you will straighten out the house which was left in a state when you departed. Because good planning is half the battle.
8. You think that Twitter is a misspelt maniacal giggle.
9. Your first thought each day is how many layers you need to put on to stay warm, buy a pasta measure so you don't spend €1000 annually on food you just throw out, and invest €69.95 in a new sewing machine, even though you can't sew, and vow to make all the children's Halloween costumes from now on.
10. The next day in the school yard, you bring ski pants, a box of lemsip and some warm socks for the young one who wore the scarf the day before and advise her of the benefits of hot drinks over hot looks...
Monday, November 22, 2010
Day 18 - False Alarm
I got a call today!
And it wasn't Mary, nor Fiona, nor Sharon. Nor Mum. Nor, of course, John, we speak at least twice a day anyway so a call from him would be nothing unusual. Nor Mrs Hodgins to ask me to check on her cats again.
Oh, and it wasn't Rory the Wonderful either. Nor the phone company, looking for their money! Though they will probably ring any day now. If they can still get through, before they disconnect us.
No, it was an agency. Was this Amy O'Neill speaking, and had I sent in my CV in relation to a PA job in North Dublin? And, after a brief review of my CV, with my hopes rising and rising (while the pasta bubbles and boils and starts morphing into each other), so, was I fluent in French?
Ehhh, no.
And sadly, that was the end of the call. French had been a prerequisite. And she had gathered that Leaving Cert French actually meant native level fluency. Honestly. you think, in the current climate, they had their pick of agency applicants...
Ah well. What harm. At least I got a call. Onwards and upwards. I'd better pay that phone bill tomorrow. Only 4 days till our (John's!) pay day.
And it wasn't Mary, nor Fiona, nor Sharon. Nor Mum. Nor, of course, John, we speak at least twice a day anyway so a call from him would be nothing unusual. Nor Mrs Hodgins to ask me to check on her cats again.
Oh, and it wasn't Rory the Wonderful either. Nor the phone company, looking for their money! Though they will probably ring any day now. If they can still get through, before they disconnect us.
No, it was an agency. Was this Amy O'Neill speaking, and had I sent in my CV in relation to a PA job in North Dublin? And, after a brief review of my CV, with my hopes rising and rising (while the pasta bubbles and boils and starts morphing into each other), so, was I fluent in French?
Ehhh, no.
And sadly, that was the end of the call. French had been a prerequisite. And she had gathered that Leaving Cert French actually meant native level fluency. Honestly. you think, in the current climate, they had their pick of agency applicants...
Ah well. What harm. At least I got a call. Onwards and upwards. I'd better pay that phone bill tomorrow. Only 4 days till our (John's!) pay day.
Sunday, November 21, 2010
Day 17 - Gooey Gloop
"Mummy, we're going to do a surprise! Don't come in!"
I know I should be worried, I think as I continue ironing and promise not to enter the kitchen, or the living room, which have been declared no-go-zones. I hear objects falling, giggles, minor disagreements which I decide not to interrupt and let them play them out by themselves, then I hear more giggles, and then, for a long time, nothing much at all, just the occasional opening of doors and two reminders to "Stay where you are, Mummy, remember, you promised!"
I decide that I really cannot do any more ironing, when we are approaching the 45-minute mark - this is the longest surprise in history. Just one last shirt, I vow, and then I hear the microwave. Repeatedly. Oh-oh. What ARE they up to? I flake through the last shirt, unplug the iron with such haste I knock over the water jug (hardly anything left in it so I get away with giving it a quick wipe with my sock - which is still on my right foot, so I don't even need to bend down).
I did feel much better when I woke up this morning. Now, the surprise drawing on far too long, and the image of burning fingers and aluminium containers in the microwave have made me feel somewhat weak again. I knock at the door.
"No! Mummy! We're not ready yet!" Sophie is very forceful, all I can see is her little head at the other side of the door, with a stern look on her face. I smell vanilla and hear the microwave again.
Emma joins her sister at the door. After a few minutes I manage to negotiate my way into the kitchen. It is, of course, a God-awful mess! I say nothing as they show me their concoctions. Sophie has mixed together bread, water and bowlfuls of sugar into one gloopy soup and is proudly stirring it.
"It looks pretty disgusting, Mummy, but it tastes brilliant. Here, try it!"
I force a smile as I take a spoon of the sickly-sweet gooey gloop. "Hmmm! That's lovely!"
The microwave has finished another spin. Chef Emma, cheeks rosey, is scooping spoonfuls of yellow, well, I don't know what, into bun cases. She has run out of paper ones and is about to move on to the aluminium ones. Just in time, I think to myself.
Sophie gives me a running commentary. Even she is smiling.
"Well, eh, yes, Mummy, that is, eh, flour, water, yellow food colouring and heaps of vanilla, mixed with sugar.She forgot the eggs!" she finishes with a giggle.
"It's almost ready, Mummy, let me finish them, they are almost hard!" Emma is determined that she will finish "baking" her "buns" that are congealing to a shrivelled mess in their cases after their hard core treatment.
I use all my powers of persuasion that the dogs surely would LOVE these for dessert, and convince the girls that for human buns, it may be best to also include eggs and butter, and a regulated amount of sugar and vanilla... The three of us take less than ten minutes to whip together a real batch of dough and while they start on the snack they made (cheese sandwiches and 5 bowls of different treats) I get the buns into the oven and clean up some of the room that used to be my kitchen.
Soon, the scent of home-made buns laced with vanilla wafts through the kitchen once again. But this time I know what is in them. I smile and relax. I am feelling better today. And this just made my day.
I know I should be worried, I think as I continue ironing and promise not to enter the kitchen, or the living room, which have been declared no-go-zones. I hear objects falling, giggles, minor disagreements which I decide not to interrupt and let them play them out by themselves, then I hear more giggles, and then, for a long time, nothing much at all, just the occasional opening of doors and two reminders to "Stay where you are, Mummy, remember, you promised!"
I decide that I really cannot do any more ironing, when we are approaching the 45-minute mark - this is the longest surprise in history. Just one last shirt, I vow, and then I hear the microwave. Repeatedly. Oh-oh. What ARE they up to? I flake through the last shirt, unplug the iron with such haste I knock over the water jug (hardly anything left in it so I get away with giving it a quick wipe with my sock - which is still on my right foot, so I don't even need to bend down).
I did feel much better when I woke up this morning. Now, the surprise drawing on far too long, and the image of burning fingers and aluminium containers in the microwave have made me feel somewhat weak again. I knock at the door.
"No! Mummy! We're not ready yet!" Sophie is very forceful, all I can see is her little head at the other side of the door, with a stern look on her face. I smell vanilla and hear the microwave again.
Emma joins her sister at the door. After a few minutes I manage to negotiate my way into the kitchen. It is, of course, a God-awful mess! I say nothing as they show me their concoctions. Sophie has mixed together bread, water and bowlfuls of sugar into one gloopy soup and is proudly stirring it.
"It looks pretty disgusting, Mummy, but it tastes brilliant. Here, try it!"
I force a smile as I take a spoon of the sickly-sweet gooey gloop. "Hmmm! That's lovely!"
The microwave has finished another spin. Chef Emma, cheeks rosey, is scooping spoonfuls of yellow, well, I don't know what, into bun cases. She has run out of paper ones and is about to move on to the aluminium ones. Just in time, I think to myself.
Sophie gives me a running commentary. Even she is smiling.
"Well, eh, yes, Mummy, that is, eh, flour, water, yellow food colouring and heaps of vanilla, mixed with sugar.She forgot the eggs!" she finishes with a giggle.
"It's almost ready, Mummy, let me finish them, they are almost hard!" Emma is determined that she will finish "baking" her "buns" that are congealing to a shrivelled mess in their cases after their hard core treatment.
I use all my powers of persuasion that the dogs surely would LOVE these for dessert, and convince the girls that for human buns, it may be best to also include eggs and butter, and a regulated amount of sugar and vanilla... The three of us take less than ten minutes to whip together a real batch of dough and while they start on the snack they made (cheese sandwiches and 5 bowls of different treats) I get the buns into the oven and clean up some of the room that used to be my kitchen.
Soon, the scent of home-made buns laced with vanilla wafts through the kitchen once again. But this time I know what is in them. I smile and relax. I am feelling better today. And this just made my day.
Saturday, November 20, 2010
Day 16 - Just four spoonfuls of sugar...
John has redeemed himself somewhat from the tile saga. Not that I was still sore about it. Well... maybe a little.
He arrived home with a bag of goodies today (after cooking, taking the girls shopping and cleaning up the kitchen): 2 nets of oranges, 1 net of lemons, lozenges in three flavours, a small bottle of whiskey for the hot toddy he has just made me, and my favourite chocolate bar: Cadbury's Golden Crisp! What a flu survival pack, I am sorted for the week.
I am still feeling like I have been pounded by a sixteen-ton Mama who mistook me for pizza dough, then dragged down the street by a bunch of crazed huskies, then swollowed, chewed up and spat out by a disgusted blue whale. Whatever it is, it is not going away and I am feeling like that thing on the end of your shoe, warmed up. What is so frustrating is that every time I try to do anything, I get up, get started, and then get so exhausted I have to sit down again. Even simple things like emptying out the dryer or setting the table are a major chore. So I sit down, a lot, and nothing gets done. And then I get cranky. The girls have been so sweet, they decided to squeeze me some oranges today, it took them about 25 minutes and I won't go into how sticky the table was afterwards, but I was so touched. Of course they put four heaped spoons of sugar into it ("You did that with the lemon drink, Mummy!") but I said nothing and drank it all down like a good patient.
So anyway, I have decided life's too short to be cranky, and sick for that matter, I am going to ingest serious amounts of VitC, drink copious quantities of whiskey and honey, fall into bed half-comatose and spring up at six o'clock tomorrow morning, flu gone, and full of energy.
Here's hoping...
He arrived home with a bag of goodies today (after cooking, taking the girls shopping and cleaning up the kitchen): 2 nets of oranges, 1 net of lemons, lozenges in three flavours, a small bottle of whiskey for the hot toddy he has just made me, and my favourite chocolate bar: Cadbury's Golden Crisp! What a flu survival pack, I am sorted for the week.
I am still feeling like I have been pounded by a sixteen-ton Mama who mistook me for pizza dough, then dragged down the street by a bunch of crazed huskies, then swollowed, chewed up and spat out by a disgusted blue whale. Whatever it is, it is not going away and I am feeling like that thing on the end of your shoe, warmed up. What is so frustrating is that every time I try to do anything, I get up, get started, and then get so exhausted I have to sit down again. Even simple things like emptying out the dryer or setting the table are a major chore. So I sit down, a lot, and nothing gets done. And then I get cranky. The girls have been so sweet, they decided to squeeze me some oranges today, it took them about 25 minutes and I won't go into how sticky the table was afterwards, but I was so touched. Of course they put four heaped spoons of sugar into it ("You did that with the lemon drink, Mummy!") but I said nothing and drank it all down like a good patient.
So anyway, I have decided life's too short to be cranky, and sick for that matter, I am going to ingest serious amounts of VitC, drink copious quantities of whiskey and honey, fall into bed half-comatose and spring up at six o'clock tomorrow morning, flu gone, and full of energy.
Here's hoping...
Friday, November 19, 2010
Day 15 - Oranges and kiwis
RtW rings me first thing.
"Hey, Amy, how'sitgoin'? How r tings? Am just finishing off a job here, is it ok if I call round about lunchtime?"
And I say something I thought I would NEVER say to him:
"Hey Rory, how are things? D'you know, I was in bed by 9 o'clock last night and then I woke up this morning with a raging sore throat so it's probably best if you stay away for a while [what am I doing??? Am I mad???], I don't want to give you whatever I have, you know... I'm all aches and pains and I think I'd better go back to bed... [that's the second time you've mentioned bed now, Amy, he might get the wrong idea, let it go...]"
"Oh, sorry to hear that, Amy [he sounds really sorry, too, he's such a nice guy], you get yourself well, sure give me a shout when you're better and I'll call round then."
"OK, Rory, thanks a mill, and sorry again [why am I apologising for being sick?]. Talk soon."
When I hang up the phone I drag myself over to the counter and plug in the kettle. Why does it feel so heavy this morning, and I only half-filled it. Before I get too comfortable I'd better drop in Emma's school bag, it's just one of those mornings and I forgot to bring it along. It's a wonder I didn't forget the child, the way I am feeling.
Emma gives me a huge hug and says "Thank you Mummy." She makes me melt and I feel all glowy inside. I close the door and drive home, at half my usual pace. There is no sense rushing today, I will just get done what I can.
Back in the door and I decide not to tackle the washing. I don't think I can lift the basket. Somehow going back to bed is all I feel like doing. But somehow I just can't, and I also find it difficult to plop myself down in front of the telly and watch morning TV. I feel that while I am at home, I should really be doing something, and I can't sit down when the house is a mess anyway. I decide to ring Mum while I am having my cup of tea, contemplating my next move.
"Hi love. Oh, you sound terrible. [Thanks, Mum. Way to make me feel better!] You should just sit down now love and leave everything, yes, I know you find that impossible! But you need to rest, have you had breakfast yet?"
Can she see into my kitchen, my clean plate is sitting in front of me, waiting to be filled.
"Ehh, no, not yet..."
"See now, love, that's what you need, a bit of food, lots of vitamin C, do you have any oranges, or kiwis..."
And so she prattles on, and I know everything she is going to say before she even says it, but nevertheless, I feel a bit better when I hang up a phone, and decide that, after my kiwi and my glass of juice, I will take the day as it comes after that.
As long as no agency calls me today. Somehow I don't think I would give my best performance...
"Hey, Amy, how'sitgoin'? How r tings? Am just finishing off a job here, is it ok if I call round about lunchtime?"
And I say something I thought I would NEVER say to him:
"Hey Rory, how are things? D'you know, I was in bed by 9 o'clock last night and then I woke up this morning with a raging sore throat so it's probably best if you stay away for a while [what am I doing??? Am I mad???], I don't want to give you whatever I have, you know... I'm all aches and pains and I think I'd better go back to bed... [that's the second time you've mentioned bed now, Amy, he might get the wrong idea, let it go...]"
"Oh, sorry to hear that, Amy [he sounds really sorry, too, he's such a nice guy], you get yourself well, sure give me a shout when you're better and I'll call round then."
"OK, Rory, thanks a mill, and sorry again [why am I apologising for being sick?]. Talk soon."
When I hang up the phone I drag myself over to the counter and plug in the kettle. Why does it feel so heavy this morning, and I only half-filled it. Before I get too comfortable I'd better drop in Emma's school bag, it's just one of those mornings and I forgot to bring it along. It's a wonder I didn't forget the child, the way I am feeling.
Emma gives me a huge hug and says "Thank you Mummy." She makes me melt and I feel all glowy inside. I close the door and drive home, at half my usual pace. There is no sense rushing today, I will just get done what I can.
Back in the door and I decide not to tackle the washing. I don't think I can lift the basket. Somehow going back to bed is all I feel like doing. But somehow I just can't, and I also find it difficult to plop myself down in front of the telly and watch morning TV. I feel that while I am at home, I should really be doing something, and I can't sit down when the house is a mess anyway. I decide to ring Mum while I am having my cup of tea, contemplating my next move.
"Hi love. Oh, you sound terrible. [Thanks, Mum. Way to make me feel better!] You should just sit down now love and leave everything, yes, I know you find that impossible! But you need to rest, have you had breakfast yet?"
Can she see into my kitchen, my clean plate is sitting in front of me, waiting to be filled.
"Ehh, no, not yet..."
"See now, love, that's what you need, a bit of food, lots of vitamin C, do you have any oranges, or kiwis..."
And so she prattles on, and I know everything she is going to say before she even says it, but nevertheless, I feel a bit better when I hang up a phone, and decide that, after my kiwi and my glass of juice, I will take the day as it comes after that.
As long as no agency calls me today. Somehow I don't think I would give my best performance...
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
Day 14 - A Dead Day
When I switched on the news yesterday I had to sit down. Not one but two tragedies at the hands of two sick men, and four little girls and two women are now dead.
I can't stop thinking about it. It puts everything else in perspective.
So, I have no job. So, our country's in a terrible state and it will take years to get us out of it. So, John and I row over insignificant things - like those socks of his that he religiously flings at the laundry basket every night, that miss their target every time, and that get walked over, forgotten, the following morning. So, we can't use our second bathroom cos we can't find the right tiles, boo flipping hoo. So, Fiona has a filthy mouth and should appreciate her husband more. So, Mary is reeling from being abandoned by her crap-weasel of a husband... So?
These little girls that I heard about, read about, were getting ready for their day, for school, having breakfast, getting dressed, just like our two little girls. Except that yesterday was going to be the last day that they ever got ready. For anything. And now they are dead. I can feel the tears well up every time I think about it.
I hugged my girls extra long when they got home from school.
And anything else just doesn't matter today.
I can't stop thinking about it. It puts everything else in perspective.
So, I have no job. So, our country's in a terrible state and it will take years to get us out of it. So, John and I row over insignificant things - like those socks of his that he religiously flings at the laundry basket every night, that miss their target every time, and that get walked over, forgotten, the following morning. So, we can't use our second bathroom cos we can't find the right tiles, boo flipping hoo. So, Fiona has a filthy mouth and should appreciate her husband more. So, Mary is reeling from being abandoned by her crap-weasel of a husband... So?
These little girls that I heard about, read about, were getting ready for their day, for school, having breakfast, getting dressed, just like our two little girls. Except that yesterday was going to be the last day that they ever got ready. For anything. And now they are dead. I can feel the tears well up every time I think about it.
I hugged my girls extra long when they got home from school.
And anything else just doesn't matter today.
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
Day 13 - Coffee moaning
Went to Fiona's for a coffee today. Almost cancelled on account of the guilty conscience, I feel like I am skiving off school when I take the morning "off" these days. Of course, so I need to remind myself, I also got the girls ready for school, packed lunch boxes, found John's driver's licence, fed the cats, put on a wash and stuck the chicken casserole in the oven, and all before 10:30 o'clock in the morning. So, really, by my cousin Bill's standards, who barely knows how to chop an onion, I have already done a week's work.
But I can't shake that gnawing feeling that I should be doing something more worth while with my morning. I don't have a job yet, after all.
Well, meeting your friends is worth while, my inner ME tells me. How wise I am. Yes, I will go to Fiona's, and meet Mary, Sharon and whoever else is able to turn up. We haven't met in over a month and a meeting is well overdue.
As per usual, Fiona has outdone herself and has put us all to shame. She has picked up fresh scones and rolls in the shop, as well as baking what my girls call Fairy buns (though they would have turned their heads away in disgust if they'd seen that they were not adorned with pink icing and smothered in multi-coloured sprinkles. The buns, not the coffee morning girls, of course). Fiona also opened my favourite peach jam, whipped up some fresh cream, made tea, coffee and - her piece de resistance, smoothies with her new smoothie maker. We are all delighted and secretly fearful of hosting the next coffee morning, it will probably be another four weeks before any of us dares to follow this fantastic spread.
As usual, Fiona is moaning about her husband, who was tasked with hanging the front gate by a fire-breathing Fiona - she is all smiles and baked good with us, but I have heard her spit bullets at poor Ronan when I arrived early visiting her one day and the front window was open... She definitely has a darker side.
Anyway, said gate does not look too healthy, it is coming off the hinges, and drags along the ground when you close it. I had first hand experience with it earlier when I was tasked with stopping Bobby the hapless lab from chasing cars ("Last one in closes the f*ing gate, Ame's!").
"So, Ame's [why does she insist on calling me that? All the baked buns in the world don't justify that! Henceforth, you shall be known as... Finn's!]... You saw it when you came in, didn't you [doesn't pause for nod in agreement] he was at it for the afternoon, and then he goes and leaves it there, hanging off the posts or whatever they're called, and sits on his fat you-know-what and switches on the football. Says it was this really important match between his beloved Man U and whoever they were playing. And five minutes later Bobby gets out on the road chasing Old Molly McGuire's Fiesta, you know, that battered old thing she tries to drive, and she almost crashes just cos his f*ing gate won't close and can't keep the dog in. Useless, I tell you... Who's for more coffee?"
It does bug me when she goes on about him. Their feud is so public, if he's so crap, then why doesn't she divorce him, sell the gate, eat all her cakes and move in with Bobby?
On the other end of the spectrum, there's Mary, harping on about the coal man, whom, I am pretty sure, she politely tipped 20 quid and sent on his way, and didn't, as she claims, invite him in for a coffee and three post-coital cigarettes.
Somehow I am not in the mood this morning. As soon as I can I high-tail it out of there. "Gotta go and make lunch, my sister's calling round at two and I've nothing cooked..." Bare-faced lie. But I can't help thinking that they either have husbands who have pretty good jobs, or failing that, have steady jobs themselves, and their husband-bashing bun-hugging worries won't pay my mortgage any time soon.
I should have gone with my gut instinct and stayed in front of the laptop, and not listened to the voices in my head. Begone, inner ME, I'll deal with you tomorrow!
But I can't shake that gnawing feeling that I should be doing something more worth while with my morning. I don't have a job yet, after all.
Well, meeting your friends is worth while, my inner ME tells me. How wise I am. Yes, I will go to Fiona's, and meet Mary, Sharon and whoever else is able to turn up. We haven't met in over a month and a meeting is well overdue.
As per usual, Fiona has outdone herself and has put us all to shame. She has picked up fresh scones and rolls in the shop, as well as baking what my girls call Fairy buns (though they would have turned their heads away in disgust if they'd seen that they were not adorned with pink icing and smothered in multi-coloured sprinkles. The buns, not the coffee morning girls, of course). Fiona also opened my favourite peach jam, whipped up some fresh cream, made tea, coffee and - her piece de resistance, smoothies with her new smoothie maker. We are all delighted and secretly fearful of hosting the next coffee morning, it will probably be another four weeks before any of us dares to follow this fantastic spread.
As usual, Fiona is moaning about her husband, who was tasked with hanging the front gate by a fire-breathing Fiona - she is all smiles and baked good with us, but I have heard her spit bullets at poor Ronan when I arrived early visiting her one day and the front window was open... She definitely has a darker side.
Anyway, said gate does not look too healthy, it is coming off the hinges, and drags along the ground when you close it. I had first hand experience with it earlier when I was tasked with stopping Bobby the hapless lab from chasing cars ("Last one in closes the f*ing gate, Ame's!").
"So, Ame's [why does she insist on calling me that? All the baked buns in the world don't justify that! Henceforth, you shall be known as... Finn's!]... You saw it when you came in, didn't you [doesn't pause for nod in agreement] he was at it for the afternoon, and then he goes and leaves it there, hanging off the posts or whatever they're called, and sits on his fat you-know-what and switches on the football. Says it was this really important match between his beloved Man U and whoever they were playing. And five minutes later Bobby gets out on the road chasing Old Molly McGuire's Fiesta, you know, that battered old thing she tries to drive, and she almost crashes just cos his f*ing gate won't close and can't keep the dog in. Useless, I tell you... Who's for more coffee?"
It does bug me when she goes on about him. Their feud is so public, if he's so crap, then why doesn't she divorce him, sell the gate, eat all her cakes and move in with Bobby?
On the other end of the spectrum, there's Mary, harping on about the coal man, whom, I am pretty sure, she politely tipped 20 quid and sent on his way, and didn't, as she claims, invite him in for a coffee and three post-coital cigarettes.
Somehow I am not in the mood this morning. As soon as I can I high-tail it out of there. "Gotta go and make lunch, my sister's calling round at two and I've nothing cooked..." Bare-faced lie. But I can't help thinking that they either have husbands who have pretty good jobs, or failing that, have steady jobs themselves, and their husband-bashing bun-hugging worries won't pay my mortgage any time soon.
I should have gone with my gut instinct and stayed in front of the laptop, and not listened to the voices in my head. Begone, inner ME, I'll deal with you tomorrow!
Monday, November 15, 2010
Day 12 - An ode to the humble Mum
The phone is not ringing
So I am not singing
The way I usually do.
My handset's vibrating
But it's quite frustrating
Cos each time it does I get blue.
Because it's not ringing,
The reminders are stinging
My conscience that says, now go, do!
Apply for those roles
And patch up those holes
That can be found on your CV.
You're really too old
So stop reaching for gold
Find a job that pays for your tea.
Look lower not higher
But don't be a liar
These days jobs don't grow on trees.
Now go be a winner
Do homework, get thinner,
Do all the jobs that Mums just do.
Dont' grumble, don't grouse
Or you might lose the house
Multitask and forget all about you.
Patch sore knees, bake cakes
Construct paper snakes
On a good day even make the dog bark.
Wash up, iron and hoover
Be the world and its mover
A working Mum is a walk in the park!
So I am not singing
The way I usually do.
My handset's vibrating
But it's quite frustrating
Cos each time it does I get blue.
Because it's not ringing,
The reminders are stinging
My conscience that says, now go, do!
Apply for those roles
And patch up those holes
That can be found on your CV.
You're really too old
So stop reaching for gold
Find a job that pays for your tea.
Look lower not higher
But don't be a liar
These days jobs don't grow on trees.
Now go be a winner
Do homework, get thinner,
Do all the jobs that Mums just do.
Dont' grumble, don't grouse
Or you might lose the house
Multitask and forget all about you.
Patch sore knees, bake cakes
Construct paper snakes
On a good day even make the dog bark.
Wash up, iron and hoover
Be the world and its mover
A working Mum is a walk in the park!
Sunday, November 14, 2010
Day 11 - 333 Part 2
Sophie is back in school again. Emma is flying as usual. Once I have dropped the girls off I decide to ignore the chaotic counter top and tip of a table. It's down to business and it's before 9:30 a.m. Armed with my laptop, a plate of toast and peach jam and strong cup of coffee I take to the job sites. There are a few new postings out there and I decide to tackle them head on. I customise my cover letter. I tweak my CV. I tailor my experience based on each new role I apply for. By 11 o'clock I have applied to 3 jobs and found 3 more promising ones. I am on a roll (or should I say, on a piece of toast!). I decide to be more brash in my approach, more brazen in my tone. I need to sound more confident, I need to prove that after such a long break I've still got what it takes!
To complete the treble, I also call up 3 recruitment agencies. One of them I sent a CV to last week. Two are new. For the first one, I get a land.
"Oh, yeah, ehmm, that position is no longer available, it's been filled... [and after a pause] Sorry about that!" Ya right. Well, can you not update your flaming website then, lazy Larrietta? Do you have any idea how many hours I slaved over that CV and letter, to get it just right? Of course I bite my polite Irish tongue and say (cleverly):
"Oh."
And after a pause:
"And do you have anything similar at present?"
"Tell you what, I'll look through our data base and if anything comes up I will let you know."
Promising. NOT. She didn't even take my number. As I insist and repeat it to her I have the distinctive feeling she is clicking her nails off the receiver and not writing it down. OK, she has it on the CV, but what if it was a different number I wanted to give her? She gave me no more attention than the man on the moon usually does.
But onwards and upwards. We will not let that cow in her little ivory agency demotivate us.
I dial another number straight away, must not give up now.
The second lady sounds more sympathetic to my cause, she takes my number, repeats it back, also takes an email address and urges me to send on my CV. Decidedly more promising.
The third agency is busy, I leave a message. I repeat my number twice, speak it onto the machine slowly. You never know.
And so I wait. Wonderful Rory is out for the week. The washing is piling up. The girls aren't home for another 2 1/2 hours. I'd better get to that ironing and start on the lunch... Humpfff. Sometimes I hate the monotony that is housework. I keep my phone on vibrate as I hoover the day away...
To complete the treble, I also call up 3 recruitment agencies. One of them I sent a CV to last week. Two are new. For the first one, I get a land.
"Oh, yeah, ehmm, that position is no longer available, it's been filled... [and after a pause] Sorry about that!" Ya right. Well, can you not update your flaming website then, lazy Larrietta? Do you have any idea how many hours I slaved over that CV and letter, to get it just right? Of course I bite my polite Irish tongue and say (cleverly):
"Oh."
And after a pause:
"And do you have anything similar at present?"
"Tell you what, I'll look through our data base and if anything comes up I will let you know."
Promising. NOT. She didn't even take my number. As I insist and repeat it to her I have the distinctive feeling she is clicking her nails off the receiver and not writing it down. OK, she has it on the CV, but what if it was a different number I wanted to give her? She gave me no more attention than the man on the moon usually does.
But onwards and upwards. We will not let that cow in her little ivory agency demotivate us.
I dial another number straight away, must not give up now.
The second lady sounds more sympathetic to my cause, she takes my number, repeats it back, also takes an email address and urges me to send on my CV. Decidedly more promising.
The third agency is busy, I leave a message. I repeat my number twice, speak it onto the machine slowly. You never know.
And so I wait. Wonderful Rory is out for the week. The washing is piling up. The girls aren't home for another 2 1/2 hours. I'd better get to that ironing and start on the lunch... Humpfff. Sometimes I hate the monotony that is housework. I keep my phone on vibrate as I hoover the day away...
Saturday, November 13, 2010
Day 10 - Downer!
What a downer of a day!
It all started when Sophie fell in school, I have to admit I got all excited when the phone rang but then I dropped when I saw the school number come up. When they ring that means something has happened! Especially when it's only just after 10:30 in the morning. And sure enough, my little girl tripped over one of the boys' feet (Who is he? Where was he? What was he doing? If he tripped her up on purpose I'm going round to his house..." John broke into a rant when I rang him and would have been half-way down to school if I hadn't assured him I had just come from there). It was an accident, the teacher on duty in the yard assured me. Sophie's head was swollen at the front like half a golf ball and I put ice on it as soon as we got home. I kept her talking for half an hour and she did not seem in any way concussed thank goodness! Halfway through the ice-pack-holding the phone rings again.
Not now, I think, I am a little distracted here, ring me back later about that fabulous job!
But no, wrong again, this time it's Wonderful Rory. Who is not feeling quite so wonderful today.
"I don't know, Amy, had a dodgy curry or something, throwing up all night... I feel awful. 'Course Sharon had that stomach bug during the week, now if I caught that, that would be just dreadful altogether... I'm so sorry Amy..." And he aplogised profusely. And I really do believe him, he told me before that he is glad of even the smallest of jobs these days, people just aren't spending the money at the moment. So I console him and nothing at all's a problem and get better soon Rory, won'tcha.
But deep down I think, crap, that means we have to go another few days without the good shower and have to make do with the small pokey one where I keep bumping my elbows. Ah well, it will have to do. I suppose we are lucky we have 2 bathrooms, Carmel down the road has 3 small kids and they only have one bathroom between them. How do they do it?
Sophie's swelling has gone down and I can count myself lucky I don't have to face a trip to the hospital. We collect Emma and still no call from any of the agencies. I am starting to think that 3 applications are probably not enough, I resolve to send out a few more CVs this evening. I end up cooking dinner and washing the floor in the kitchen (Emma climbed into the fridge looking for the mayonnaise and pulled down a full jar of jam, luckily not on top of herself) and watching Sophie as she watches telly for the afternoon (her swollen head is almost back to normal) and in the end I am so tired that I lie down when the girls go to bed, and John wakes me at midnight, wondering if I am going to sleep in my jeans again...
I hope everyone is better tomorrow. For Sophie's sake. And Rory's. And for the sake of my sanity...
It all started when Sophie fell in school, I have to admit I got all excited when the phone rang but then I dropped when I saw the school number come up. When they ring that means something has happened! Especially when it's only just after 10:30 in the morning. And sure enough, my little girl tripped over one of the boys' feet (Who is he? Where was he? What was he doing? If he tripped her up on purpose I'm going round to his house..." John broke into a rant when I rang him and would have been half-way down to school if I hadn't assured him I had just come from there). It was an accident, the teacher on duty in the yard assured me. Sophie's head was swollen at the front like half a golf ball and I put ice on it as soon as we got home. I kept her talking for half an hour and she did not seem in any way concussed thank goodness! Halfway through the ice-pack-holding the phone rings again.
Not now, I think, I am a little distracted here, ring me back later about that fabulous job!
But no, wrong again, this time it's Wonderful Rory. Who is not feeling quite so wonderful today.
"I don't know, Amy, had a dodgy curry or something, throwing up all night... I feel awful. 'Course Sharon had that stomach bug during the week, now if I caught that, that would be just dreadful altogether... I'm so sorry Amy..." And he aplogised profusely. And I really do believe him, he told me before that he is glad of even the smallest of jobs these days, people just aren't spending the money at the moment. So I console him and nothing at all's a problem and get better soon Rory, won'tcha.
But deep down I think, crap, that means we have to go another few days without the good shower and have to make do with the small pokey one where I keep bumping my elbows. Ah well, it will have to do. I suppose we are lucky we have 2 bathrooms, Carmel down the road has 3 small kids and they only have one bathroom between them. How do they do it?
Sophie's swelling has gone down and I can count myself lucky I don't have to face a trip to the hospital. We collect Emma and still no call from any of the agencies. I am starting to think that 3 applications are probably not enough, I resolve to send out a few more CVs this evening. I end up cooking dinner and washing the floor in the kitchen (Emma climbed into the fridge looking for the mayonnaise and pulled down a full jar of jam, luckily not on top of herself) and watching Sophie as she watches telly for the afternoon (her swollen head is almost back to normal) and in the end I am so tired that I lie down when the girls go to bed, and John wakes me at midnight, wondering if I am going to sleep in my jeans again...
I hope everyone is better tomorrow. For Sophie's sake. And Rory's. And for the sake of my sanity...
Friday, November 12, 2010
Day 9 - Mary had a little coal
I spent the morning ironing shirts. Not my favourite past time. Though I have gotten quicker over the years, I have to admit I have little competitions with myself and try and best my most fantastic time of 4:03 minutes. I know, I know, the dull tales of a bored housewife...
Then I head over to Mary's for lunch, she just had a delivery of coal and rang to tell me all about the cute guy whom she got to carry all ten bags as far as the coal chute the other end of the garden for her.
"He was soooo gorgeous, you should have seen those muscles..."
Poor Mary, ever since her husband left her a year and a half ago ("...and ten days, Amy, and ten days, the bastard!") she has turned into a raging nymphomaniac. We all know that this, of course, is all just a front and is to compensate for her definite lack of man, she was besotted with that husband of hers and he didn't deserve her. She only found out a few months ago that her dreamy "Dec" had actually bedded three different women in their four-year marriage.
So when her 999-come-quick-I secretly-took-a-pic-of-his-buns-of-steel call came I rushed out the door cos I knew she was lonely and just needed a shoulder.
Oh crikey, did I switch the iron off? Why do I always do this to myself? I decide that I have and uneasily finish my tea.
After an hour in Mary's I need to get back, the tile people are calling with our new tiles. They are plain and they are boring and they are white but they are the right size. The tiles, not the people, obviously.
They are late, of course. The people, this time. Why, oh why, was I rushing?) At least I now know that I had unplugged the iron.
Rory the wonderful is calling tomorrow to reinstate our favourite shower. I can't wait!
Then I head over to Mary's for lunch, she just had a delivery of coal and rang to tell me all about the cute guy whom she got to carry all ten bags as far as the coal chute the other end of the garden for her.
"He was soooo gorgeous, you should have seen those muscles..."
Poor Mary, ever since her husband left her a year and a half ago ("...and ten days, Amy, and ten days, the bastard!") she has turned into a raging nymphomaniac. We all know that this, of course, is all just a front and is to compensate for her definite lack of man, she was besotted with that husband of hers and he didn't deserve her. She only found out a few months ago that her dreamy "Dec" had actually bedded three different women in their four-year marriage.
So when her 999-come-quick-I secretly-took-a-pic-of-his-buns-of-steel call came I rushed out the door cos I knew she was lonely and just needed a shoulder.
Oh crikey, did I switch the iron off? Why do I always do this to myself? I decide that I have and uneasily finish my tea.
After an hour in Mary's I need to get back, the tile people are calling with our new tiles. They are plain and they are boring and they are white but they are the right size. The tiles, not the people, obviously.
They are late, of course. The people, this time. Why, oh why, was I rushing?) At least I now know that I had unplugged the iron.
Rory the wonderful is calling tomorrow to reinstate our favourite shower. I can't wait!
Thursday, November 11, 2010
Day 8 - 3 3 3
I perused several job sites. I found 3 pretty good-sounding jobs. I wrote 3 exquisite - or so I thought! - cover letters and sent off 3 applications!
Oh, it feels great! I have been humming what my fellow human beings would only describe as an atrociously annoying tune all morning. "I want to break free" by Queen. Except I can only remember the first part and there are lots of "La lala Laaaa laaaaaaaaaaaaa"s to fill in the blanks. Just as well most of our neighbours in this estate work most days (though I have to say, there seem to be a whole lot more cars around these last few months). The kitchen window faces into the back garden and there is only one house kind of overlooking us from that side, and as far as I know the couple who live there (O'Regan is their name, I think) are pretty much always out, I never see a light on. Not that I am watching. But one would notice, wouldn't one!
I pull down my blind 3/4 way, just to be safe, and then dance from pot on the stove to sink to drawer, then to the table and back to bubbling pot. When I have tired of the Laaa Laaaas (there is only so much of that I can take, myself!) I flick on the radio again and belt along to whatever is playing. It is only well into the third song that I realise my back window off the utility room has been open all this time. With a bit of luck no-one heard me!
Lunch is made and I still haven't had a call. Granted, it has only been 38 minutes, but I have kept my mobile in my pocket, just in case the agencies are queueing up to contact me, and it hasn't rung. Maybe it has switched itself off. I pull it out of my pocket. I didn't hear the message come in, it is from John:
C'mere, what are we doing about those tiles?
Arrghhhh! Just when my day was going so well! I go upstairs. I look at the mess that is our bathroom. I want to cry. With the door permanently closed, I had almost forgotten about it. Sniff. I need to get them sorted. I pick up one of the few tiles that has made it off the wall alive and brush off some of the black gunk. Yuck! It got on my finger and I shudder. What kind of evil stuff is this? I hear mould can be very bad for your health, so I race into the other bathroom and scrub it off.
I sit into the car. I have an hour before Emma's finished school. That means I can't go very far. There is a small tile shop just ten minutes from our house, I didn't think it was worth a look because the larger showrooms all have the better selection, and this place looks like the same display has been in the window for the last 4 years! Well, needs must, and time is tight - I will try anything at this stage. I throw the tile on the front seat, jump into the car (petrol is low!) and get on the road. I hope I will find some very reasonable, fantastically modern, funky tiles that match the rest of the bathroom seamlessly! So we can get this damn bathroom SORTED!
Oh, it feels great! I have been humming what my fellow human beings would only describe as an atrociously annoying tune all morning. "I want to break free" by Queen. Except I can only remember the first part and there are lots of "La lala Laaaa laaaaaaaaaaaaa"s to fill in the blanks. Just as well most of our neighbours in this estate work most days (though I have to say, there seem to be a whole lot more cars around these last few months). The kitchen window faces into the back garden and there is only one house kind of overlooking us from that side, and as far as I know the couple who live there (O'Regan is their name, I think) are pretty much always out, I never see a light on. Not that I am watching. But one would notice, wouldn't one!
I pull down my blind 3/4 way, just to be safe, and then dance from pot on the stove to sink to drawer, then to the table and back to bubbling pot. When I have tired of the Laaa Laaaas (there is only so much of that I can take, myself!) I flick on the radio again and belt along to whatever is playing. It is only well into the third song that I realise my back window off the utility room has been open all this time. With a bit of luck no-one heard me!
Lunch is made and I still haven't had a call. Granted, it has only been 38 minutes, but I have kept my mobile in my pocket, just in case the agencies are queueing up to contact me, and it hasn't rung. Maybe it has switched itself off. I pull it out of my pocket. I didn't hear the message come in, it is from John:
C'mere, what are we doing about those tiles?
Arrghhhh! Just when my day was going so well! I go upstairs. I look at the mess that is our bathroom. I want to cry. With the door permanently closed, I had almost forgotten about it. Sniff. I need to get them sorted. I pick up one of the few tiles that has made it off the wall alive and brush off some of the black gunk. Yuck! It got on my finger and I shudder. What kind of evil stuff is this? I hear mould can be very bad for your health, so I race into the other bathroom and scrub it off.
I sit into the car. I have an hour before Emma's finished school. That means I can't go very far. There is a small tile shop just ten minutes from our house, I didn't think it was worth a look because the larger showrooms all have the better selection, and this place looks like the same display has been in the window for the last 4 years! Well, needs must, and time is tight - I will try anything at this stage. I throw the tile on the front seat, jump into the car (petrol is low!) and get on the road. I hope I will find some very reasonable, fantastically modern, funky tiles that match the rest of the bathroom seamlessly! So we can get this damn bathroom SORTED!
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
Day 7 - A good day... almost!
Girls dropped to school. Fresh warm scone bought on the way home. Must stop skipping breakfast during the mad getting-girls-dressed-fed-watered-and-out-the-door-rush that is our morning. Then again, if it means warm baked goods once in a while I won't complain...
Kitchen table cleared, apart from said scone and the obligatory cup of tea. 2nd load of washing on, kitchen floor swept (how does Emma manage to get more of her cereal down her top and on the floor than into her mouth) and tea caddy refilled. Scone wolfed down (what a shame, it's gone too quickly!) - and it's not 10:30 yet.
A good start to the day.
Sophie had a cold this morning and it was touch and go for a while whether I would send her into school. She seemed sprightly enough though so sent her on her way with a spoon of Calpol. Teacher is under strict instructions to call me if her condition deteriorates. She'd better ring me if Sophie's nose starts running again!
The laptop has been patiently waiting while I finish my cup of tea and finally I get a good run at it. By 12:30 I have a very reasonable, very much up to date CV. Eureka!
1.5 hours before Emma has to be collected. Sophie is taking the bus home today (bar a much anticipated call from the school) so she will be home about 3:30. So things will be busy from 2 o'clock, best to power through lunch while I am, eh, on a roll (pardon the pun!). I fix myself a cup-of-soup (don't say anything, I know the nutritional value is less than that of sawdust!), and, well, a roll and get straight back into it.
Next stop: the job sites. The question is, with the 8-year gap on my CV, am I even hirable? I decide to ignore that numbing feeling. Is the role of a Personal Assistant so different these days?
Kitchen table cleared, apart from said scone and the obligatory cup of tea. 2nd load of washing on, kitchen floor swept (how does Emma manage to get more of her cereal down her top and on the floor than into her mouth) and tea caddy refilled. Scone wolfed down (what a shame, it's gone too quickly!) - and it's not 10:30 yet.
A good start to the day.
Sophie had a cold this morning and it was touch and go for a while whether I would send her into school. She seemed sprightly enough though so sent her on her way with a spoon of Calpol. Teacher is under strict instructions to call me if her condition deteriorates. She'd better ring me if Sophie's nose starts running again!
The laptop has been patiently waiting while I finish my cup of tea and finally I get a good run at it. By 12:30 I have a very reasonable, very much up to date CV. Eureka!
1.5 hours before Emma has to be collected. Sophie is taking the bus home today (bar a much anticipated call from the school) so she will be home about 3:30. So things will be busy from 2 o'clock, best to power through lunch while I am, eh, on a roll (pardon the pun!). I fix myself a cup-of-soup (don't say anything, I know the nutritional value is less than that of sawdust!), and, well, a roll and get straight back into it.
Next stop: the job sites. The question is, with the 8-year gap on my CV, am I even hirable? I decide to ignore that numbing feeling. Is the role of a Personal Assistant so different these days?
Monday, November 8, 2010
Day 6 - The Meaty Bits
Monday is a day of action. Or so I tell myself.
As soon as I have packed the girls off to school I run and do the shopping, just like a man would:
I take the list that I wrote at the breakfast table (and don't forget it, the way I usually do), grab my 1 Euro coin for the trolley (usually impossible to find in the depths of my wallet), my recyclable shopping bags (well, my man doesn't usually remember these so I have one up on him there) and I purposefully steer the trolley through the shopping aisles, not veering left or right for those dangerous impulse buys that double the price of a weekly shop. No, I show amazing self-restraint and reach the check-out with just three additional but fundamentally essential (!) items in my basket:
kitchen cleaner (forgot to put it on the list), a packet of biscuits (vital to have in the press, just in case!) and, ehemm, a large bar of dark chocolate to reward myself for not straying from the list. Too much.
I am home before 10:20 which must be a new record and decide I can save precious time by only putting away the perishables, and only clearing off the half of the kitchen table where I will be sitting - which basically consists of moving all the used plates and bowls and boxes of cornflakes onto the right hand side, giving the surface a quick wipe and - switching on my laptop! It is 10:35, I am not doing too badly.
While my computer is starting up I switch on the kettle to boil water for my tea, stick down two slices of toast with the other hand and shove the dishwasher door closed with my left knee. My yoga teacher would be so proud!
Cup of tea in hand I have to close my eyes as I pass the overflowing counter. My free left hand is twitching to clear some of the mess away but I resist. If I succumb to it it will set me back another half hour at least and I will never get going. I mean, look at me. Day 6 into my blog and I have to admit that enhancing my hobbies on my CV can hardly be classified as "But I am applying! Honest! To all kinds of jobs!" - which has been my mantra since last week.
I'd better get a move on or it will be Christmas.
***
4 hours later..
It is not as simple as I thought. There are dates to check, career breaks to justify and wording to fine-tune. I have spent 2 hours solid at it this morning, with hardly an interruption - if you don't count a very brief (well, twenty minutes isn't that long...) conversation I had with Mary when she rang me to tell me about Steve, the guy she had met in O'Mahony's last night. Oh, we did talk about my job applications actually, she reminded me to put those Salsa lessons on my CV as well, apparently they make me look versatile and classy. Well, Mary, dear, I need all the help I can get at this stage so I have added them in.
Picking up where I left off tomorrow. Progress: middling to ... well, fairly sluggish. I will do better tomorrow.
As soon as I have packed the girls off to school I run and do the shopping, just like a man would:
I take the list that I wrote at the breakfast table (and don't forget it, the way I usually do), grab my 1 Euro coin for the trolley (usually impossible to find in the depths of my wallet), my recyclable shopping bags (well, my man doesn't usually remember these so I have one up on him there) and I purposefully steer the trolley through the shopping aisles, not veering left or right for those dangerous impulse buys that double the price of a weekly shop. No, I show amazing self-restraint and reach the check-out with just three additional but fundamentally essential (!) items in my basket:
kitchen cleaner (forgot to put it on the list), a packet of biscuits (vital to have in the press, just in case!) and, ehemm, a large bar of dark chocolate to reward myself for not straying from the list. Too much.
I am home before 10:20 which must be a new record and decide I can save precious time by only putting away the perishables, and only clearing off the half of the kitchen table where I will be sitting - which basically consists of moving all the used plates and bowls and boxes of cornflakes onto the right hand side, giving the surface a quick wipe and - switching on my laptop! It is 10:35, I am not doing too badly.
While my computer is starting up I switch on the kettle to boil water for my tea, stick down two slices of toast with the other hand and shove the dishwasher door closed with my left knee. My yoga teacher would be so proud!
Cup of tea in hand I have to close my eyes as I pass the overflowing counter. My free left hand is twitching to clear some of the mess away but I resist. If I succumb to it it will set me back another half hour at least and I will never get going. I mean, look at me. Day 6 into my blog and I have to admit that enhancing my hobbies on my CV can hardly be classified as "But I am applying! Honest! To all kinds of jobs!" - which has been my mantra since last week.
I'd better get a move on or it will be Christmas.
***
4 hours later..
It is not as simple as I thought. There are dates to check, career breaks to justify and wording to fine-tune. I have spent 2 hours solid at it this morning, with hardly an interruption - if you don't count a very brief (well, twenty minutes isn't that long...) conversation I had with Mary when she rang me to tell me about Steve, the guy she had met in O'Mahony's last night. Oh, we did talk about my job applications actually, she reminded me to put those Salsa lessons on my CV as well, apparently they make me look versatile and classy. Well, Mary, dear, I need all the help I can get at this stage so I have added them in.
Picking up where I left off tomorrow. Progress: middling to ... well, fairly sluggish. I will do better tomorrow.
Sunday, November 7, 2010
Day 5 - Sod the tiles... for today
As it's Sunday, today has been a day of lazy long breakfasts, followed by endless tidying, a birthday party, a roast chicken - and very few tiles.
We avoided mentioning those obnoxious wall coverings to avoid another row. It's just not worth rowing over inanimate objects. Most of the time.
I took a quick scoot upstairs with the girls to show them the mess that used to be our bathroom. I know Emma would be fascinated by it all, she just LOVES a good mess. And sure enough:
Mummy, what is all that blackness on the walls? Why is there mud on the walls? Did you put it there?
Eh, no, love.
What is it? How did it get there?
And Sophie chimes in:
It smells funny in here.
Before I can stop her, Emma has hopped into the now shower-door-less enclosure and is rubbing her fingers across the walls. Why oh why did I not cut her nails this morning?
No, sweetie, don't...
Too late, she has already rubbed her hands halfway across her face whilst wiping her runny nose with her hand. A black streak graces her left cheek, very close, too close to her mouth.
Oh Emma...!
Sophie has left the room in disgust. Like her Daddy, she has little interest in bathroom leaks.
I put Emma under the tap and manage to get most of the muck off. I cut her nails and then it's time to find a suitable dress - at the tender age of five, she actually picks out her own clothes, and her sister's sometimes, and does a fairly good job of it.
The problem is, it usually takes at least 38 minutes.
I hurry her along, we still have a present to wrap and a card to write. Only 17 minutes late, we run out the door. And on my way there I ask myself the usual question, will I stay or will I go? It's hard to gauge, when they are so young, and when you barely know the child, let alone the parents. I honestly never know whether to hang around for the 2 or so hours and drink buckets of tea, talking about the weather and little Johnny's bladder control problem, or drop and go, a bit like your dry-cleaning.
I can do that with Sophie, of course, she actually pushes me out the door.
OK, Mummy, thank you, no, don't get out of the car... See you!
HUG (hesitantly), KISS (reluctantly), RUN.
Cheek!
With Emma, up to now, she has wanted me to stay. But today, when I see that there are already over 20 children there, AND all their parents, I want to leg it out of there, backwards. But for Emma's sake I don't.
I drink 4 1/2 buckets of tea. I talk about the weather and little Johnny's bladder control problem. I use Emma as an excuse to finally find the bathroom. Mums don't usually go in other Mums houses. It's a sort of unspoken rule. But after 4 1/2 buckets that rule gets broken.
After our torturous afternoon we open the door to the smell of a glorious roast chicken. Thank you, John, all is forgiven!
I actually get to switch on my laptop when the kids are in bed. The clean-up can wait.
My CV needs serious work. My marital status is still single, for goodness sake. No wonder, when we found out about Sophie everything happened in a bit of a rush, and sure, I haven't worked since.
I update my marital status and my hobbies. I can't face the meatier stuff on a full stomach. I will tackle work experience tomorrow. Anyway, I have got more important things on my mind. XFactor is on in five minutes...
We avoided mentioning those obnoxious wall coverings to avoid another row. It's just not worth rowing over inanimate objects. Most of the time.
I took a quick scoot upstairs with the girls to show them the mess that used to be our bathroom. I know Emma would be fascinated by it all, she just LOVES a good mess. And sure enough:
Mummy, what is all that blackness on the walls? Why is there mud on the walls? Did you put it there?
Eh, no, love.
What is it? How did it get there?
And Sophie chimes in:
It smells funny in here.
Before I can stop her, Emma has hopped into the now shower-door-less enclosure and is rubbing her fingers across the walls. Why oh why did I not cut her nails this morning?
No, sweetie, don't...
Too late, she has already rubbed her hands halfway across her face whilst wiping her runny nose with her hand. A black streak graces her left cheek, very close, too close to her mouth.
Oh Emma...!
Sophie has left the room in disgust. Like her Daddy, she has little interest in bathroom leaks.
I put Emma under the tap and manage to get most of the muck off. I cut her nails and then it's time to find a suitable dress - at the tender age of five, she actually picks out her own clothes, and her sister's sometimes, and does a fairly good job of it.
The problem is, it usually takes at least 38 minutes.
I hurry her along, we still have a present to wrap and a card to write. Only 17 minutes late, we run out the door. And on my way there I ask myself the usual question, will I stay or will I go? It's hard to gauge, when they are so young, and when you barely know the child, let alone the parents. I honestly never know whether to hang around for the 2 or so hours and drink buckets of tea, talking about the weather and little Johnny's bladder control problem, or drop and go, a bit like your dry-cleaning.
I can do that with Sophie, of course, she actually pushes me out the door.
OK, Mummy, thank you, no, don't get out of the car... See you!
HUG (hesitantly), KISS (reluctantly), RUN.
Cheek!
With Emma, up to now, she has wanted me to stay. But today, when I see that there are already over 20 children there, AND all their parents, I want to leg it out of there, backwards. But for Emma's sake I don't.
I drink 4 1/2 buckets of tea. I talk about the weather and little Johnny's bladder control problem. I use Emma as an excuse to finally find the bathroom. Mums don't usually go in other Mums houses. It's a sort of unspoken rule. But after 4 1/2 buckets that rule gets broken.
After our torturous afternoon we open the door to the smell of a glorious roast chicken. Thank you, John, all is forgiven!
I actually get to switch on my laptop when the kids are in bed. The clean-up can wait.
My CV needs serious work. My marital status is still single, for goodness sake. No wonder, when we found out about Sophie everything happened in a bit of a rush, and sure, I haven't worked since.
I update my marital status and my hobbies. I can't face the meatier stuff on a full stomach. I will tackle work experience tomorrow. Anyway, I have got more important things on my mind. XFactor is on in five minutes...
Saturday, November 6, 2010
Day 4 - Back to the Drawing board
The conundrum: what will we do with those flipping tiles? I want my shower back. But it can't be too expensive. And I don't want to do a patched job and have it look all wrong, it would bug me every time I hop in the shower. And that is at least once every day.
We can't get a tile that matches the current monstrosities that so desperately want to be in the category that calls themselves a tile.
We can't get a tile that will clash with the other tiles on the wall.
We can't get a tile with the wrong shape, size or depth.
We can't get a tile.
What the hell are we supposed to do, without ripping down all the old tiles and replacing them all with gold-plated, marble-clad specimens? The children's college fund is at serious risk!
So I call John.
What do you think we should do, John?
I don't know, it's up to you.
Up to me? Why the hell is it up to me, John? Don't you live here? Don't you shower here? Don't you spend as long in the bathroom as your average teenage Twilight follower?
Well, look, you're much better at these things than I am...
Am I???
Well, you are, you are much better at matching colours and things like that...
This is about more than colours, John!!!
Why don't you just try and find a tile that matches, you know, approximately?
HAVE YOU HEARD A THING I HAVE BEEN SAYING, JOHN???
It's hopeless. I will sort it. He knows I will. I know I will. Why did I even bother ringing him, my humour is more foul than it was 10 minutes ago.
OK. Deep breath.
I call Rory. He agrees with me.
If only all men were this agreeable!
We won't be able to match the tiles. We won't even get close. And even if we do, there will still be a colour discrepancy. It will look gank. We will have to rip down all the tiles but we will find a cheap plain tile to replace them, it is only a shower enclosure after all. If we pick up one of the colours that is in the rest of the bathroom, and make sure there is nothing else going on (no singing, dancing, thrice embossed, magic tile that is a portal to another parallel universe) then we will be fine.
We will need ten square yards now. Not eight. But if we find a reasonsable tile it won't be expensive.
I hang up the phone and feel much better. Rory rocks. The way I am feeling right now I would rather he shared my (!) bathroom...
We had fish fingers for the second day in a row today. It's the stuff with Omega 3 and I threw in not one but two vegetables (baked beans count, don't they?). Tomorrow I will cook a proper dinner. I will!
With all this stuff going on, how am I ever going to find a job?
We can't get a tile that matches the current monstrosities that so desperately want to be in the category that calls themselves a tile.
We can't get a tile that will clash with the other tiles on the wall.
We can't get a tile with the wrong shape, size or depth.
We can't get a tile.
What the hell are we supposed to do, without ripping down all the old tiles and replacing them all with gold-plated, marble-clad specimens? The children's college fund is at serious risk!
So I call John.
What do you think we should do, John?
I don't know, it's up to you.
Up to me? Why the hell is it up to me, John? Don't you live here? Don't you shower here? Don't you spend as long in the bathroom as your average teenage Twilight follower?
Well, look, you're much better at these things than I am...
Am I???
Well, you are, you are much better at matching colours and things like that...
This is about more than colours, John!!!
Why don't you just try and find a tile that matches, you know, approximately?
HAVE YOU HEARD A THING I HAVE BEEN SAYING, JOHN???
It's hopeless. I will sort it. He knows I will. I know I will. Why did I even bother ringing him, my humour is more foul than it was 10 minutes ago.
OK. Deep breath.
I call Rory. He agrees with me.
If only all men were this agreeable!
We won't be able to match the tiles. We won't even get close. And even if we do, there will still be a colour discrepancy. It will look gank. We will have to rip down all the tiles but we will find a cheap plain tile to replace them, it is only a shower enclosure after all. If we pick up one of the colours that is in the rest of the bathroom, and make sure there is nothing else going on (no singing, dancing, thrice embossed, magic tile that is a portal to another parallel universe) then we will be fine.
We will need ten square yards now. Not eight. But if we find a reasonsable tile it won't be expensive.
I hang up the phone and feel much better. Rory rocks. The way I am feeling right now I would rather he shared my (!) bathroom...
We had fish fingers for the second day in a row today. It's the stuff with Omega 3 and I threw in not one but two vegetables (baked beans count, don't they?). Tomorrow I will cook a proper dinner. I will!
With all this stuff going on, how am I ever going to find a job?
Day 3 - The whole eight (square) yards
Hark! I now know that there are standard and flexible types of adhesive.
I now know that the adhesive of the quick set variety is not the preferred one used by tilers.
I now know that grout comes in a variety of different colours, not just white (why would you want grey grout? Apart from the alliteration, why would you want to put something between your tiles that already makes them look dirty before you have even started???).
And I now know that it is near impossible to match a) the colour, b) the surface, c) the depth and d) the precise size of a tile that was around ten years ago. Trapsing through 4 (!) different tile shops today (riveting stuff!) I now know an awful lot more about tiles and their habits than I ever dreamed of, or ever wanted to know - but I have still not been able to match our - what I thought to be - standard sized, and only vaguely offensively embossed bathroom tile - and eight square yards of them.
Back to the drawing board tomorrow - and the CV resteth for another day in its drawer...
I now know that the adhesive of the quick set variety is not the preferred one used by tilers.
I now know that grout comes in a variety of different colours, not just white (why would you want grey grout? Apart from the alliteration, why would you want to put something between your tiles that already makes them look dirty before you have even started???).
And I now know that it is near impossible to match a) the colour, b) the surface, c) the depth and d) the precise size of a tile that was around ten years ago. Trapsing through 4 (!) different tile shops today (riveting stuff!) I now know an awful lot more about tiles and their habits than I ever dreamed of, or ever wanted to know - but I have still not been able to match our - what I thought to be - standard sized, and only vaguely offensively embossed bathroom tile - and eight square yards of them.
Back to the drawing board tomorrow - and the CV resteth for another day in its drawer...
Thursday, November 4, 2010
Day 2 - Getting myself motivated
Just when I thought I was ready to take on , well, ME, and my past, present and future in all its glory, at least professionally - yes, my CV! - via my tried and trusted laptop I see it. Drip, drip, drip, there it is, a small puddle forming on the ceiling of the downstairs bathroom. And directly above it: the upstairs bathroom.
Upon closer investigation by 1-800-call-Rory, my friend and handy-man, who comes to my rescue at least once a month it is official: the sealant has come away a corner betweeen the tiles and the shower tray and water has been quietly seeping behind it, probably for weeks, if not months, rendering the chip board that the tiles are now barely sticking to, black and brittle. Upon careful prodding (by Rory, not me - though I know someone who would love to give him a good old prodding some time - Mary, if you're reading this, there's no point denying it, we all know! ) some of the tiles just fall away, then some more. The black chip board is as sodden as wet card board. I groan at the thought of the inconvenience and the cost of it all. Now more than ever I am going to need to get a job. We barely have anything left over at the end of a month, let alone anything extra for eventualities such as these. God only knows how long our shower has been like this, and I don't even want to think about the damage between the floor boards and the ceiling below.
When I hang up the phone I can barely hear myself think as the hammering upstairs continues. Tiles crash to the ground, breaking, no doubt, into tiny sharp pieces, making dents on the bathroom floor. Which is timber, amplifiying the noise multi-fold. Aargh!
I need to get out of the house and clear my head. Today was going to be the day when I brought my CV up to date, and tomorrow I was going to start going through job sites. Now, a major set-back. I need to get an idea of how many tiles we need to replace, and then try and find the identical tile somewhere, so that the job will be as cheap as possible.
Try matching a ridiculously-embossed, bizzarly-patterned, off-grey tile purchased, cheaply, no doubt, more than 12 years ago. Needle in a haystack, anyone?
Upon closer investigation by 1-800-call-Rory, my friend and handy-man, who comes to my rescue at least once a month it is official: the sealant has come away a corner betweeen the tiles and the shower tray and water has been quietly seeping behind it, probably for weeks, if not months, rendering the chip board that the tiles are now barely sticking to, black and brittle. Upon careful prodding (by Rory, not me - though I know someone who would love to give him a good old prodding some time - Mary, if you're reading this, there's no point denying it, we all know! ) some of the tiles just fall away, then some more. The black chip board is as sodden as wet card board. I groan at the thought of the inconvenience and the cost of it all. Now more than ever I am going to need to get a job. We barely have anything left over at the end of a month, let alone anything extra for eventualities such as these. God only knows how long our shower has been like this, and I don't even want to think about the damage between the floor boards and the ceiling below.
When I hang up the phone I can barely hear myself think as the hammering upstairs continues. Tiles crash to the ground, breaking, no doubt, into tiny sharp pieces, making dents on the bathroom floor. Which is timber, amplifiying the noise multi-fold. Aargh!
I need to get out of the house and clear my head. Today was going to be the day when I brought my CV up to date, and tomorrow I was going to start going through job sites. Now, a major set-back. I need to get an idea of how many tiles we need to replace, and then try and find the identical tile somewhere, so that the job will be as cheap as possible.
Try matching a ridiculously-embossed, bizzarly-patterned, off-grey tile purchased, cheaply, no doubt, more than 12 years ago. Needle in a haystack, anyone?
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
Day 1 - Throwing down the gauntlet
The girls are at school, the dinner is in the oven. I know, it is soooo housewife. But I am a modern woman (yes, really!) and at the moment, this is my reality. He works, I cook, clean, wash, drop, collect, iron, hoover, do homework, go shopping, have the occasional coffee morning - all while listening to day-time radio. But now all that's about to change.
Well, it is a recession and things have gotten tight. Time to start thinking about the unthinkable. I need a job! It's not so much that I WANT one. It's just that, even with John's pretty decent salary, it is just not enough. And though I never ever thought I would be in that oh-so-stereotypical role of being a stay-at-home Mum, once I became a Mum, that's what I knew I was going to be, for a while. And though I never ever thought I would be one of those women who goes back to work full-time, leaving her little ones to be raised by a child minder, I now know that this is what I am going to do, for a while. Not, because I want to. But because we need to.
Cos we are almost broke.
Almost 2 weeks into every month, or, if you prefer, 2 weeks before the next pay day, it happens. On a regular basis. The credit card is maxed. You wonder how far you can stretch the petrol tank before filling up again. You let the phone, electricity and oil bills slide into oblivion, we all know the reminders will come in a few days' time anyway, buying us serious time.
But every month we slip a little deeper into the red. So, against my better judgement, the time is now rife. I have to do it. I have to look for a job.
So, here's my blog, documenting my new departure. Wish me luck. I may just need it.
Well, it is a recession and things have gotten tight. Time to start thinking about the unthinkable. I need a job! It's not so much that I WANT one. It's just that, even with John's pretty decent salary, it is just not enough. And though I never ever thought I would be in that oh-so-stereotypical role of being a stay-at-home Mum, once I became a Mum, that's what I knew I was going to be, for a while. And though I never ever thought I would be one of those women who goes back to work full-time, leaving her little ones to be raised by a child minder, I now know that this is what I am going to do, for a while. Not, because I want to. But because we need to.
Cos we are almost broke.
Almost 2 weeks into every month, or, if you prefer, 2 weeks before the next pay day, it happens. On a regular basis. The credit card is maxed. You wonder how far you can stretch the petrol tank before filling up again. You let the phone, electricity and oil bills slide into oblivion, we all know the reminders will come in a few days' time anyway, buying us serious time.
But every month we slip a little deeper into the red. So, against my better judgement, the time is now rife. I have to do it. I have to look for a job.
So, here's my blog, documenting my new departure. Wish me luck. I may just need it.
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