How much dirty washing can you accumulate in fortnight?

Let me tell you:

School uniform, PE kit, work clothes, casual clothes, riding kit, swimming kits, Brownie uniform, four sets of bedding, two sets of towels, bedding from spare room, guest towels and several tea towels.

We are now drowning in dirty washing.

New machine comes tomorrow.

Just pray it doesn't rain so I can get it all dry!

Butlins for the Middle Classes

This year, as Chancellor of the Working Mum House Exchequer, I announced that we couldn't afford a holiday abroad as well as replacing my car. So we decided we'd give Centre Parcs a go. A few of my colleagues have been, enjoyed it and said it would be great for daughter.

"Butlins for the Middle Classes" one of my colleagues said.

Well, I enjoyed family holidays at Butlins when I was young and I've nearly reached the middle classes (I know what pesto and focaccia is and I love Boden, does that count?)

So we booked our lodge.

A nice one because this is our main holiday.

Then I saw the price of bike hire, so I bought myself a bike.

And a cycle carrier for the car.

Then I booked a few activities: archery, a riding lesson for daughter, a banquet night.

Then husband found the "Book Activities" button and booked Laser Quest, Quad Biking and Aerial Ropes Course.

As retaliation I booked a massage at the Spa.

And I'm not cooking on my summer holiday, so I booked some restaurants.

Just got the credit card bill.

Ooops!


(Should've gone abroad)

Not Fretting

Sunday.

Day of rest.

Well, thanks to a broken washing machine, it is.

No washing, drying, folding or ironing for me today!

Unfortunately, a broken washing machine also means that the Working Mum household are heading for slobsville. I've hand washed daughter's school dresses, but anything else will have to wait until I can get a new machine at half term. So no clean PE kit, towels or bedding.

See, that's a thing about working full time, you can't deal with stuff that goes wrong until the next time you are off work. Sure, I could order a new machine on t'internet, but when could I take delivery?

So, I'm not fretting about it.

Nor am I fretting about that toothache I've got, but can't get to the dentist until half term.

Nor am I fretting about the up and coming Speech Day at school where daughter has to attend school 11 am - 12 noon and I have attend from 1 pm - 6 pm and thus don't have enough time in between the two to deliver daughter somewhere that can look after her 'til 6.30pm.

Nor am I fretting about daughter's Sports Day, which this year is on the same afternoon as my school Sports Day (and it's the same school), so I am unlikely to be allowed time off to cheer her on even though she'll be on the next field!

No, I'm not fretting, honest!

Flying Solo

Finally, my exam classes have gone on study leave.

Over the last three weeks I have marked 194 past papers for them.

I've helped, cajoled, pushed and encouraged them for long enough.

They're on their own now.

(Apart from when they come back into school to ask me for help, of course)

Over the past year, every time I've taken cakes into school my year 11 pupils have asked if they were for them and I had to disappoint them.

So, this time, I baked cakes for them.

I made lemon and lilac butterflies to symbolise their growing wings and flying off on their own.

I think the symbolism was lost on them.

They did enjoy the cakes, though.

Pot of Gold

As Kelloggsville so rightly pointed out, daughter becoming seven also means the move from Rainbows to Brownies.

How did that happen?!

One minute I'm taking her to Rainbows for the first time, attending her Promise Party and sewing badges onto her tabard, now we're discarding the tabard in favour of a sash, jogging bottoms, t-shirt and hoodie!

She's talked about Brownies for the last few months and about how grown up it's going to be, the adventures she's going to have and going away to Brownie camp. She was so ready.

So last Monday was her last ever Rainbow meeting:

where she got her "Pot of Gold" badge (at the end of the Rainbows, get it?). I promptly sewed it onto her Brownie sash and on Thursday she started Brownies:

How grown up does she look in her Brownie uniform?

Another of life's little milestones.

Good time to ask for that Mini Cooper I want?

For the first time in my husband's lifetime:



How good a mood will he be in when he gets back from Wembley later?

About being seven

Yesterday daughter declared that it is no fun being seven and she wished she was six again.

Why?

Well, when daughter turned 7 last month we instigated some new rules:

1. Use knife and fork properly
2. Tigger to stay in bedroom (to prevent thumb sucking)
3. No getting up again after being put to bed (it was starting to become a habit)

It seems that these rules are not acceptable to her.

I did point out that other things changed when she turned seven:

1. Her pocket money went up to 70p per week (it's always ten times her age)
2. Her bed time increased to 7.45pm
3. She can choose her school snack (from a prescribed list)
   

She said she'd rather give up those three and not have to do the first three!

Time to bully off!

We've only been back at school for two weeks, okay seven working days, and I'm already drowning in a sea of marking. I have four exam classes who are all working through past exam papers at a great rate of knots and a quick turn around is necessary to give them useful feedback. Hence I have been busy every night at the kitchen table.

No TV, no computer, just exam papers, pots of tea and lots of chocolate.

Except on Thursday when I went back to school in the evening for information about daughter moving from infants to juniors in September.

Who knew she was going to need a dentist fitted mouthguard, fitted shin pads, long hockey socks, a gym skirt, cycling shorts, a micofibre suit and three, yes, three sports bags!!?

It seems the difference between year 2 and year 3 is the physical education. Dance, gymnastics, netball, hockey, swimming, athletics and tennis.

My worst nightmare!

Luckily my daughter has not yet realised her physical limitations (she hasn't cottoned on to the fact that she has inherited my sporting genes) and is quite looking forward to playing hockey.

Unfortunately she has now declared that she wants to play ice hockey and wants me to take her ice skating as well.

Help!

Three Thousand Three Hundred and Thirty Three

For a while now, on the advice of my speech therapist mum, I have been encouraging daughter to pronounce her "th's" properly. My mum says that this is the age they need to develop the "th" sound and if she doesn't it could be a problem to correct it later.

So, she has been trying really hard to pronounce words like "three", "the" and "then".

I've even heard her practising to herself:

"three thousand three hundred and thirty three"!

However, I felt she'd gone a bit too far last week when she asked me if the Royal Wedding was on Thriday!