The Silence of the Frogs
Sunday is normally my day of rest.
I go to work, but only for 7 hours. I'm so busy there ordinarily; I exist in the moments of those and have no time to think. Thinking is exhausting and all too often painful. Well today D. was back in. In the immediate aftermath of his resignation it seemed he was in every other day, but I hadn't seen him for weeks. Not only was he in but he made a point of stopping for a chat which was utterly distracting. If, one day, I do have a verrrrrrrrrry big boat ... well every big boat needs a cabin boy, doesn't it.
Sunday being my day of rest I'm home by 4:15pm. The house is then empty because Sunday is the day the Fat Bastard takes the Infant across to London to visit his mother. I have the house to myself for three or so heavenly hours. I get to watch the repeat of the week's episode of Lost in peace.
Not this week, oh no. The Infant has picked up some bug or other and is feeling poorly, but not half as bad as me. Anything she picks up she immediately passes to me and I'm always twice as ill with it as she is. But I can't have a couple of days of school, can I. Oh no.
The worst thing about these bugs is that they never amount to much. They just malinger in the most unpleasant way, at the back of my throat most of the time. I feel lousy without any particularly spectacular and obvious symptoms so I just get on with it. This is probably the most conventionally maternal thing I do.
Which is my way of pre-empting the post of millions of mothers who do exactly the same thing, over and over again, and are shouting a big fat "so what" in unison. See I do know .... nothing special.
I was greeted at the door by news that he's 'started' to dismantle he pool.
Which is his way of explaining a frame that is now in pieces and scattered all over the garden, a bit here, and a bit there and a bit some place else, while the plastic liner is laid out, nearly emptied of water and a charmless shade of green where the water once was.
He's so proud of what he accomplished today, and by my calculations it took him all of half an hour. Half-a-fucking-hour. Oh, and he proudly listed out what he fed the ailing Infant today: A bowl of rice crispies and two bacon rolls cooked on the Trangio. Fruit? Vegetables? Jesus Christ!
The man is an imbecile.
She had home made pizza tonight. That was my way of getting some fresh tomato, fresh pepper, fresh onion, good ham and good cheese into here on a home made dough base. She had fresh strawberries and cream to follow. Home made Pizza is my way of conning her into consuming most of the major food groups in a balanced way at one sitting.
While I was cleaning up afterwards the Fat Bastard announced his other accomplishment of the day which was the extermination of a future army of amphibians.
Since we weren't using the pool a frog couple had co-opted it ... she spread her eggs, he did his thing and in due course a million baby frogs-to-be hatched out.
And now they're dead, because the Fat Bastard pulled the plug. And he's so proud of himself and I'm left regretting the premature demise of the swimming pool. Ironic or what?
I go to work, but only for 7 hours. I'm so busy there ordinarily; I exist in the moments of those and have no time to think. Thinking is exhausting and all too often painful. Well today D. was back in. In the immediate aftermath of his resignation it seemed he was in every other day, but I hadn't seen him for weeks. Not only was he in but he made a point of stopping for a chat which was utterly distracting. If, one day, I do have a verrrrrrrrrry big boat ... well every big boat needs a cabin boy, doesn't it.
Sunday being my day of rest I'm home by 4:15pm. The house is then empty because Sunday is the day the Fat Bastard takes the Infant across to London to visit his mother. I have the house to myself for three or so heavenly hours. I get to watch the repeat of the week's episode of Lost in peace.
Not this week, oh no. The Infant has picked up some bug or other and is feeling poorly, but not half as bad as me. Anything she picks up she immediately passes to me and I'm always twice as ill with it as she is. But I can't have a couple of days of school, can I. Oh no.
The worst thing about these bugs is that they never amount to much. They just malinger in the most unpleasant way, at the back of my throat most of the time. I feel lousy without any particularly spectacular and obvious symptoms so I just get on with it. This is probably the most conventionally maternal thing I do.
Which is my way of pre-empting the post of millions of mothers who do exactly the same thing, over and over again, and are shouting a big fat "so what" in unison. See I do know .... nothing special.
I was greeted at the door by news that he's 'started' to dismantle he pool.
Which is his way of explaining a frame that is now in pieces and scattered all over the garden, a bit here, and a bit there and a bit some place else, while the plastic liner is laid out, nearly emptied of water and a charmless shade of green where the water once was.
He's so proud of what he accomplished today, and by my calculations it took him all of half an hour. Half-a-fucking-hour. Oh, and he proudly listed out what he fed the ailing Infant today: A bowl of rice crispies and two bacon rolls cooked on the Trangio. Fruit? Vegetables? Jesus Christ!
The man is an imbecile.
She had home made pizza tonight. That was my way of getting some fresh tomato, fresh pepper, fresh onion, good ham and good cheese into here on a home made dough base. She had fresh strawberries and cream to follow. Home made Pizza is my way of conning her into consuming most of the major food groups in a balanced way at one sitting.
While I was cleaning up afterwards the Fat Bastard announced his other accomplishment of the day which was the extermination of a future army of amphibians.
Since we weren't using the pool a frog couple had co-opted it ... she spread her eggs, he did his thing and in due course a million baby frogs-to-be hatched out.
And now they're dead, because the Fat Bastard pulled the plug. And he's so proud of himself and I'm left regretting the premature demise of the swimming pool. Ironic or what?
posted by Enyo @ 10:46 pm
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