Broken Bones, Broken Spirits.

Yesterday was panning out quite nicely – I had packed all the children off to school and done some admin and a tiny bit of exercise, and finally sorted my phone contract AND bought self a new phone, and my day’s To Do list was looking trim and healthy.   So there I was sitting on my bed,  muttering nonononono to the phone who had recorded the Baby’s fingerprints instead of mine when the Boy bounded in from the school bus and in a quiet, mollified voice, said:  “Mum, I got sent to the headmistress’s office today.”  When I asked why, he whispered, in a tiny voice, through tears and gritted teeth: “For breaking someone’s leg.”*  Which, let me tell you, is guaranteed to totally take the shine out of anyone’s day. (Not least the kid in the cast.)

In other, non-playground-hi-jinx, news, this is what I Have Done since we last spoke:

Been to Borneo. Which was lovely, etc, but not the wild adventure I had been hoping for.  Possibly because we got on a plane, got on a bus, and got into a big international hotel, which we shared with about 4,000 other holiday-makers.  All of whom decided to go check the Orang Utans out on the same day as we did.   Which were, needless to say, very cute, but as the kids pointed out, you get a better view of them at the zoo in Singapore.  (Note to anyone transiting through Changi – take the later outgoing flight and get yourselves up to the zoo.  It is FABULOUS.  If you go early enough in the morning you can even have breakfast with an Orang Utan.  Which I promise, is a waaaaaay better option than trekking to Borneo and having a crappy breakfast buffet with 4,000 Chinese New Year tourists.)

Totally and utterly ignored Valentine’s day.  No flowers or Champagne in this house.  (HUMPH.)

Possibly found a house to live in.  Because it is bereft of sweeping gilded staircases, solid-gold chandeliers and sunken indoor fish-ponds, our agent  is aghast and cannot fathom what we are thinking.  (We’re thinking:  bedrooms upstairs, living area downstairs, pool where it belongs in the garden.)

Reached the half-way point with my braces.  I am inordinately proud of self for this teeth-straightening achievement;  it is the best of all possible achievements, in that, other than turn up at appointments, pay my bills, and try not to drool in public, I need make no effort whatsoever. 

Reached the breaking point with my cats.  Would it hurt if I pulled their fucking claws off with a plier? Would it kill them? Because if so, hand me the pliers. Alternatively, I’ll just humiliate them until they run away:

Lost the Baby in the big kids’ school.  This was enormously traumatic, not only for me, but also for the poor man who having helped me search, was rewarded by the new-found Baby glaring at him and announcing “ME NO LIKE YOUR FACE”.

Had some friends over for gossip and food last night, one of whom I don’t know that well (or at all, really.  But I have a bit of a middle-aged lady-crush on her - she’s funny and smart and interesting, so naturally I’m hoping I will become all of the above just by hanging around her.) So there I was trying to be cool and funny and smart and interesting (or at least, trying to speak without spitting on her) while, unbeknownst to any of us, the FUCKING CATS had plundered her bag, removed her gorgeous cardi, and brought it into their disgusting lair for a session of molestation. We found it, purely by accident, as she was leaving, a snagged ball of hair and shredded toilet paper.(As we say in Dublin: Scar-leh**.)

And that’s really about it.  Admittedly, not an enormous amount of activity for a three-week period, but emotionally, it’s been a bit of a packed agenda.  I’m hoping for a calmer rest-of-Feb.  (And with that, both the children and the cats have started to snigger. Bastards.)

(*Turns out it’s not broken;  I think the Boy likes to be dramatic.  Fuck knows where he got that from.)

(** “Scarlet”.  Red in the face with shame and mortification, and bilious hatred towards all living feline things.)