This morning, I had to be on an early train to London. Molly Cat is never happy when I am rushed in the morning, because I don't have time to give her much attention. On top of that, I had had some friends round last night, and she is a VERY jealous cat. For the last week she has been in a very funny mood: prickly and scratchy and refusing to eat any of the wet food. She was also a little off colour early yesterday evening (before the guests arrived) and I think she may have a hair ball.
All this background is to explain why, when this evening I arrived home to a loving Molly, who purred like a train every time I stroked her and who kept very close to me as I went about the business of changing etc., I was very pleasantly surprised. We had a cuddle, then I decided I really must get on with changing from work clothes to home 'Friday evening slouch' clothes.
This is when things started to go wrong. I moved to what is loosely termed the dressing room: there is, of course, no space to dress and barely space to open the cupboards since, like virtually every other available space, I have had it covered in book shelves. (Aside: why is there NEVER enough book space, no matter how many shelves you put up?). However, there is a closet, which I duly opened to get out one of my more reprehensible pullovers. As I was taking it down from the hanger, I took an incautious step backwards. I had forgotten that my tool box had migrated to just behind me. And sadly, I had not noticed that Molly was standing immediately behind me, tight up against the toolbox.
I think I must really have hurt her. She took off like greased lightening and, for the first time in months, hid under my desk. It took me half an hour to coax her out, and another half hour before she agreed to play with her favourite toy.
Eventually, however, she was cheerfully chasing the feathered object at the end of the pole and I was happy. Until I stupidly waved it too close to her water fountain. Chasing it, she landed four square in the water fountain, spraying water everywhere and giving herself a great fright. I compounded my crimes by laughing. She is now sulkily sitting in her hammock over the radiator.
I'm hoping she'll come round tomorrow morning.
Friday 30 November 2012
Monday 12 November 2012
How do Single Parents Cope?
I have a lot of godchildren. I normally claim 10, but depending on how you count them, it is anywhere between seven and 16. The differences depend upon whether I was actually at the font, whether there was a font at all or just a request to be a 'special adult' (of various names), and whether the request was slightly retrospective.
My latest godson is 14 months old. He is adorable, bright, full of energy, and totally exhausting - which is all as it should be. I love him dearly and enjoy nothing more than greeting him, his parents, and his baby brother to my place for supper. Such an event happened last Thursday.
There was a confluence of two slightly unfortunate events that evening. On the following day, Friday, I had a very important meeting in London which meant I had to leave home at 07.30. I realise this is normal for most people, but I am not good in the morning. I explained I HAD to be asleep by 10, so they needed to leave by quarter to the hour.
On this evening, however, we had agreed that the Dad would cook a rather special meal. As it turned out, this was slightly more complicated, and took rather longer, than I had bargained for. This resulted in him being engrossed in the cooking for a lot of the evening, leaving Mum and me to look after the children. Two adults; two children under two: surely no problem?
If you are thinking that, you have never tried it. As we swapped babies, we managed to allow Godson to pull a candle to the floor, showering glass everywhere. That took a little time to clear up, and Dad had to be dragged from the cooking to help. An accidental jolt knocked something off the wall. There were tears before bedtime as attempts were made to quieten things. They left far later than I had hoped, and with poor Mum looking miserable and guilty, for which there was no need.
So, how did I fare? Naturally, I was fine. I slept like a log (who invented the 'slept like a baby' rubbish?), awoke refreshed, made my train with masses of time to spare, and had a really good day in London. However, on the train back I was reflecting: how do single parents cope? And what should we be doing to support them more than we do?
My latest godson is 14 months old. He is adorable, bright, full of energy, and totally exhausting - which is all as it should be. I love him dearly and enjoy nothing more than greeting him, his parents, and his baby brother to my place for supper. Such an event happened last Thursday.
There was a confluence of two slightly unfortunate events that evening. On the following day, Friday, I had a very important meeting in London which meant I had to leave home at 07.30. I realise this is normal for most people, but I am not good in the morning. I explained I HAD to be asleep by 10, so they needed to leave by quarter to the hour.
On this evening, however, we had agreed that the Dad would cook a rather special meal. As it turned out, this was slightly more complicated, and took rather longer, than I had bargained for. This resulted in him being engrossed in the cooking for a lot of the evening, leaving Mum and me to look after the children. Two adults; two children under two: surely no problem?
If you are thinking that, you have never tried it. As we swapped babies, we managed to allow Godson to pull a candle to the floor, showering glass everywhere. That took a little time to clear up, and Dad had to be dragged from the cooking to help. An accidental jolt knocked something off the wall. There were tears before bedtime as attempts were made to quieten things. They left far later than I had hoped, and with poor Mum looking miserable and guilty, for which there was no need.
So, how did I fare? Naturally, I was fine. I slept like a log (who invented the 'slept like a baby' rubbish?), awoke refreshed, made my train with masses of time to spare, and had a really good day in London. However, on the train back I was reflecting: how do single parents cope? And what should we be doing to support them more than we do?
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