We managed to wake up and drink a whole cup of coffee before Ritalin Boy became conscious this morning.
He likes his bed underneath my desk, and I am quite sure that if I were five I would like it as well. It has a very snug feeling about it. Number One Daughter offered to sleep on the floor next to him in case he felt lonely, but he refused with determined conviction. I will be sorry when he gets too big for it, it is quite nice to have children scattered about all over the place, like being the poor lady who was obliged to live in a shoe
He joined us in our bed with Number One Daughter, and we had a second cup of coffee, and he had an ice lolly. We were aware that this was a hazardous undertaking, but he was very careful about sticky, and actually it was hardly messy at all, although he does think it is funny to hide the sticks in unexpected places. I found this one in the washing machine later when I was getting the washing out to hang it up.
We had a walk around the Library Gardens to empty the dogs, and Ritalin Boy ate a couple more ice lollies for breakfast, which made Number One Daughter grumpy, but which he seemed to feel would do the job nicely. Then Numbers One and Two Daughters went to the gym and after a short while I remembered Netflix, and peace descended on the household again.
We had got some serious organising to do because of the confusion caused by visitors and quilts that hadn’t dried yet, and by having had too much to drink last night and then forgetting the washing up. Also we have got to work hard this weekend because of having spent all of our money on the camper van.
We have got the added happiness of a trip to Oliver’s school tomorrow, because it is Speech Day and Sports Day. This is lovely, and I am really very excited indeed, but we have got to look respectable and also take a picnic, which is no small undertaking, I can tell you.
Of course there is not a single chance that we will be up early enough tomorrow to get a picnic ready in the morning, so I thought I would do it today, and spent a messy but contented couple of hours making mayonnaise and sandwiches, and packing strawberries and sausages and crisps and pizza.
Ritalin Boy had some pizza and another couple of ice lollies, and then he had got to go. We were sorry to see the back of one another, but he thought he would like to come back soon, and his mother said grimly that she was quite sure it could be arranged.
When they had all gone we went back to bed in a hopeful attempt to get some sleep in the bank before working all night tonight and then driving over to Yorkshire in the morning. We slept for ages and didn’t at all want to get up for work, but of course we had to.
I had bought a copy of Mr Tumpy on eBay to give to Ritalin Boy, but it didn’t arrive until after he had gone, so I took it to work and read it myself, which was an absolute joy, and made me laugh until I cried.
Mr. Tumpy’s caravan gets cross with people and runs away or follows people that it likes, and occasionally sits at the side of the road and goes to sleep and can’t be persuaded to move, an experience with which we are uncomfortably familiar.
I was amused to see how completely unacceptable the story is to modern eyes, Mr. Tumpy is pleased when Josie comes to visit because he needs somebody to do some washing and cooking and cleaning, and the names of the three identical triplet golliwogs are so unsayable that I can’t even tell you what they are.
Despite its terrible unsuitability I loved every page, and read it twice, not long now and our own lovely van will be on the road, trundling along bumpily with Mark feeling glad that I am there in case any washing or cooking or cleaning needs to be done.
I shall post it to Ritalin Boy.
Number One Daughter can decide for herself what she would like to do about its secret messages of oppression.
