The Meeee-jah (sweetie)

So here I am over at Mumfidential, spouting off about having three children.  (Incidentally, they changed it slightly to make it seem as if I chose to have three children, and thus am in some way responsible for the havoc that is now my life, as opposed to be entirely irresponsible  [and strangely, as a result, entirely responsible for said havoc]).   Also, look at how FABULOUS I* look!   Both the Boy and the Baby are pretty happy with how they’ve turned out too.  (The Girl -  not so much.)

In other media news: an amusing tale.   Almost two years ago – HOW?? – when we were packing up to move here, we had removal people doing the move for us.  It’s all a total blur now, but I do have a very vivid memory of being cornered in the kitchen by the packers, me frantically wiping down surfaces and dishes and throwing out perfectly good food (blissfully unaware that that lump of cheese would cost about $400 here), them grabbing and packing and rolling their eyes. 

Anyway - backtracking slightly - I had lugged around a parcel of paintings since 2001.  I’m not kidding;  I dragged these fucking things back from Vietnam – beautiful, huge oil paintings, unframed, rolled up.  At some point I cleverly unrolled them and packed them flat in large cardboard packing, stuck them under a bed, and promptly forgot about them. They’d resurface every time we moved (5 times in total between getting them and arriving here) and every time I’d think:  when I’m a grown-up, I’m going to get those framed. Anyway, the removal men arrived to move us to Singapore, and when we got to the room where the cardboard package was, I pointed it out and specifically – and prophetically, as it transpired – said: Don’t throw that out.    They promptly threw it out, the Man rescued it, and said, again (but louder):  DON’T THROW THAT OUT. 

They threw it out again. Properly.

There followed two years (almost) of arguing with the removal folk.  They offered us a paltry amount in compensation, we scorned them, and then we lost the train of thought and let the matter go.

Until last night.  Last night I got an email from my best friend’s sister asking if she could interview me for an article she’s doing for The Sunday Times (THE SUNDAY TIMES FFS), about our international move.  I said yes, and then a lightbulb went off in my head.

One cunning email to the movers later, a reference to not wishing to cause them embarrassment – and puff!  The Case of the Missing Artwork has been resolved.  To celebrate, the Man and I are going to dump our kids and go out art shopping tmrw.  Which just goes to show that the Media has its uses after all.  (Also – buy the Sunday Times next weekend.)

Can I mention the cats?  Here, watch this.  It’s the funniest thing I have seen in ages (with apologies for sending you to the Daily Mail site.  DO NOT LINGER).  (Also:  oh God, I have entered the internet realm  of cat videos.  What’s next?  Slippers?)

* It should go without saying that that is not me.  That, in fact, is not a woman who has ever had any children, let alone three.  Look at her shiny plump skin!  Her sparkling eyes!  Her fresh radiance!  NONE of that speaks of arse-wiping or under-the-breath-muttering or wiping porridge out of your hair at 4pm.