Monday, February 12, 2007

So long. Farewell.

That went well. The rented house looks like a shipwreck. Clothes, books, toys and bedding are strewn across each and every room while in the hallway, plastic binbags breed like something from a low-budget sci-fi movie. I keep thinking: "Socks for school tomorrow" and realise I have no idea where they are. Then I think: "Knife, I need a knife for the bread". No idea either. I may send the boys to school wearing saucepans on their feet.

Then, it all got much worse because my husband left to catch the train for London. He is away for three weeks on a work deadline. Just before he left, the children wanted a hug so he went upstairs to kiss them goodbye. This gave me the chance to pour and swallow the remains of a bottle of chablis in the kitchen and burst into tears. I had just got my act together and he came down again to tell me he had screwed the tops of the children's wardrobes on so they would not come down and kill them but I had to ring the TV repair man tomorrow because the TV is not working. I stopped crying at the thought of three weeks with three children and no TV. But by the time we said goodbye, I was already snuffling away again. As he headed into the night with his smart trolley-dolly suitcase on wheels, I closed the heavy wooden door behind him and went back to the kitchen to pour another glass of whatever I could find. Cooking oil probably. I was just about holding it together till I heard the siren wail of my six-year-old from the top of the stairs. Two minutes later and my husband cracked open the door to slide in a stray children's car seat; he glanced up the staircase to find a sobbing six-year-old dressed in a robots' sleepsuit with his legs wrapped round his crying mother. "We'll be fine. Go and get your train. Hurry up or you'll miss it." I waved him away. As the door closed heavily behind him again, my four-year-old came out of the bedroom. He kelt down and kissed me: "I love you mummy," he said and lay next to us on his tummy as I patted his brother's back and rocked him gently back and forth. "Shush now," I whispered. "Shush. We'll be fine."


Tea & Margaritas in My Garden said...

I do hope things turn out better for you there. It would be quite an adjustment after leaving so much culture in the city, I can understand very much. Sounds like some of that is still a must and would be good for you! Some balance of both. You`re actually most likely living part of my dream though, minus the three wee ones clinging to one`s legs, monotonous boredom and the husband having to leave off to London for work that is. You have an interesting blog and I`ll be back :)


Anonymous said...

I was thinking of being sympathetic at you losing your hubby for a few weeks.

But I can't help thinking you will cope better without him over the next three weeks.

I hope he sends you a Valentine's card - you don't half deserve it.

Philipa said...

Oh dear me, poor you.

Poor poor you.

Guess who said...

The positive thing, which suggests the world is in balance, is that your misery has inspired some brilliant writing we can all enjoy.

Ron said...

My favorite quote: "This, too, shall pass." And so it shall. God bless in the meanwhile.

Winchester whisperer said...

Look on the bright side: if you'd been living in London you'd never have found the house or van keys again. Your computer's working so you can start on The Novel and you can start to sort out the house in a way which is most convenient for you. Definitely ask your new friends to give you a hand and all will be ship-shape by the time Hubby returns. Chin up, my dear!

Anonymous said...

Your comment about marking things in blue, to recreate things in your new pad reminded me of this ace story.

The Museum of Welsh Life in St. Fagan's is fantastic. Perhaps they should have one for Northumberland, with all the old buildings transported there and the numbered bricks re-assembled in a historic 'theme park.

Being a Carmarthenshire chap, I am not convinced by the story that they are only celebrating the safe arrival of the church in its new location. We are creatures of habit, and I suspect if it had been their local pub that had been moved they would be hiring a minibus each friday to take them to 'their' pub even though it was now 100 miles away.

In your case, perhaps your house could feature in twenty years time in that great city museum in York which has various interiors showing 'how we used to live'...

Anonymous said...

From one 'urban chick' to another..


wife in the north said...

re winchester whisperer; it's up. Promise.
re anon: I am not sure I should adopt Roxy, you heard how I felt about Trixabelle...

Newmania said...
This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.
sally said...

This brought tears to my eyes.....just remember us girlies are much stronger than we think !!
BTW i love your blog and is now a must read for me....

sophie said...

such a long silence, is everything okay?

Desperate for more.


Dana said...

I'm having a bad day. It snowed so much today that the 4 wheel drive got stuck in the driveway. I had specifically abandoned the Miata in my mother's garage this year and stolen her Subaru so I wouldn't get stuck.

I got stuck anyway.

I'm really, REALLY, going to feel sorry for all the people who live on the coast when global warming turns their village into a pond, but I am NOT going to miss snow very much.

I hate, hate, HATE snow. I hate getting angry at the snow. I hate having wet floors, wet jeans, wet shoes, and I really hate paying people forty dollars to clear the driveway.

Now, does your life sound so bad? I didn't think so.

Anonymous said...

We left London for Derbyshire. I left my job and went to live in Derbyshire. I had just one baby at the time (I now have three large children). I used to plan entire days around a trip to the post office in the village - we could take in the bakery, that shop which sold things you'd never want and possibly, on a good day and if it didn't rain, the path which went round the back of the GPs surgery. When the Health Visitor came to visit me she asked me if I ever cried, 'Oh yes' I told her brightly, confidently, 'I cry every day'. I have to say though, despite this veil of tears, I was extraordinarily game. I took up gardening. I attended miserable mother and baby groups in the damp church hall. I invited friends up to stay - and they came - but they never bought their own towels which began to annoy me, laundry-wise. You know what we did? We moved away, to a city. Am now confident and certain that I need to hear the sound of high heels on the pavement outside in the middle of the night, drunks shouting and I like to look out my window in the morning at grey rain-splattered pavements. A friend said 'But it was so beautiful there, how could you?' Because, I don't think peaks and hills and rain are all that beautiful, I think a city road at 5.00 in the morning is beautiful.
Do you really have to stay? Really, really, really?

Tim Sokell said...

Yeah 'Tea & Margaritas...' culture in the city indeed. Bring your own GUN though eh?

Daisy Turnip said...

It sounds like you're suffering from a case of PMT everyday!! I sympathise greatly.

Chin up - you sound like a spunky kind of woman. You’ve had big changes - the move, the house development, loss of friends and much of this you’re having to deal with on your own. Who wouldn't be down?

Personally, I would feel the need to bludgeon HITS (under the circumstances, what a lousy acronym!!) – but, I think it’s best that you aren’t bitter, are dealing with it and are trying to move on without any form of violence towards him. On this very fact alone, you’ve impressed me! : )

On the upside - you'll settle, you'll make new friends, the house will get done - one by one all of these things will get resolved and ‘lil Ms Spunky will return will a capital S!!

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