During the day I compose, in my head, long and witty blog posts. And then come evening and peace and quiet when the little ones are finally in bed and I can sit down to write ... and I find my brain resembling mush and the best I can dredge up is, "Today ... uh ... stuff happened. Or not. Actually ... not much happened."
Recently the mush-brain has extended earlier and earlier until all day long I sound like an imbecile. Ask Helen, one of the moms from school, just ask her what I sounded like babbling like a fool on the phone the other day when all she'd asked was if Daniel could come and play. I was confused. I couldn't remember what was on that day. Then I remembered ... it was a playdate! At Helen's house! That she'd mentioned a week or so earlier and I hadn't written down! Der, I am such an idiot. When I got off the phone Grant was looking at me strangely and asked what was wrong with me.
ANYway, part of what has been causing mush-brain has been adjusting to Grant's new training schedule. Oh, I'm sorry, did I say "schedule"? My mistake. That would imply that some sort of routine was involved, when in reality he's in Skelmersdale! Then he's in Hutton! Then he's staying over at Hutton! Then he isn't! Then he's getting a lift! Then he's taking the car! Then he has to leave the house at 7am! Then he leaves at 2pm! Aaaargh!
This week, though, has been so much easier, made so by the single fact that Daniel is on half-term break so there is no school commute to deal with. I don't mind the school run when I have the car, which is two weeks out of every three. But that third week, when we have to get the bus, is a nightmare. You see, we need to get on a bus sometime between 8am and 8:40am, so that we make it to school by the time it starts at 8:55am. But the buses that come along during that window just don't stop. At all. "Sorry, full up!" waves the sadistic driver as he sails his vehicle past us and we stamp our feet in frustration. We end up getting the 8:51 bus, which gets us to school late, which means Daniel gets another tardy mark against his name, which is just peachy when we're busy applying to a new school. Looks really good on his record, you know?
Also, even when we have the car, we've now been informed by the school that we are not allowed to park in the parking lot across the road as the leisure centre (who owns the lot) has complained. Even though we were told we could park there. Anyway, we are now only allowed to drop off our kids there. Like I'm going to let my 5 year old bail out and cross the road and take himself to school on his own. Luckily for me one of his schoolmates lives around the corner from us and his mom (who usually gets the bus) is quite happy to get a lift to school with us and then walk the boys over. And then on the bus-commuting weeks we take turns dropping off and picking up the boys (when it's my turn I can leave Noah with her.) Not having Noah along for the ride does make the trip a whole lot easier, but it doesn't make the buses stop, unfortunately.
Anyway, this week Grant is partly in Hutton (residential some of the time) and partly in Manchester (bus takes them from Hutton) where he is going through riot training, which is really hard physically. Of course, he is loving it despite the chafing of the body armour and the sweating under tons of gear and having rocks and burning things thrown at him (I am not making this up!) And since I have the car and no school run and the sun has been shining and Grant cleaned the house this morning while I worked, before he left at about 1:45pm, I am feeling quite relaxed and cheery.
I'm really looking forward to our move. Moving home is like having a baby. This period running up to Moving Day is like being pregnant - the anticipation and planning feels familiar, although it is more stressful than gestation (okay, scratch that, my pregnancy with Noah was hideous and I bawled the whole way through, consoling myself with custard doughnuts and cream cakes, which is how I ended up at Weight Watchers.) And then The Moving Day, ugh it's like going through labour (except longer! and more stressful! and more expensive!) and of course the aftermath and settling in period and unpacking is reminiscent of the days following birth and the chaos of having a newborn at home. But it's all very exciting and I can't wait for the big day to come, even though it will be painful and stressful and chaotic. I just want to be in our new home, unpacking , organising, and eventually decorating a little.
At the moment we are waiting for a copy of the covenants of the leasehold (everything in St Anne's is sold leasehold.) The survey is scheduled for 5 November, and I'm quite hopeful that it won't turn up anything scary. Then we can finally book the removal company and get some boxes and bubble wrap from them and I can start packing! I am absolutely itching to begin. It's bite-sized organising, one box at a time! What's not to love? Actually, it will just help me to feel like I'm doing something other than waiting.
In the meantime I made a little calendar featuring 12 weeks, with some blocks marked off in blue (half term), some in pink (my mom's visit), some in green (my dad's visit) and of course birthdays and Christmas, etc. I've stuck it on the fridge. Grant said, "Oh, that's nice, is that for Daniel?" and I was all sheepish, "Um, no, actually it's for me." It helps me to see the weeks laid out and to physically mark them off each day. You know, because I am five.
Daniel told me this morning, "We need to draw the cross on today."
Me: "NO! Not yet!"
D (looking at me strangely): "Why?"
Me: "Because today isn't over yet." And then I had to explain that it's my little treat, drawing that cross through the day at the end of the evening when all is done.
I'm sure he rolled his eyes at me behind my back.
