The rest is silence

Bliss.

Yesterday the firemen phoned back and set up an appointment for 3.15 today. Perfect timing; home time for both girls so no chance whatsoever of me forgetting to be at home. Always useful.

A domestically busy day today - new cleaner, so a couple of hours of frantic tidying so she could see the floors I needed her to mop, and find the toilets beyond the towels. As I gathered up the tattered remains of a Charlie and Lola magazine, and stuffed it behind the toaster, I found myself surveying the kitchen scene and thinking, with a sense of satisfaction "that's not too bad". Which begs the question, at what point did "it isn't terrible" become the housekeeping standard to which I aspire?

A phone call, and I went to meet our newest cleaner at the bus stop. Having left a nicely pleasantly scented not terrible house behind me, it was somewhat disappointing to step back into a house reeking with the acrid odour of feline urine. Gotcha's got the hang of things now, but Grolly prefers to look at the litter tray and pee elsewhere whilst staring closely at it - presumably to check it doesn't move, I'm not quite sure on the finer points of her logic.

I cleaned the wee, apologised to the cleaner, and introduced her to the delights of our cleaning cupboard. Last month's cleaner requested a new mop and endless disposable wipes. This new cleaner prefers our old dusters and the more natural cleaning fluids in our range. If we keep swapping cleaners at this rate, and if they keep requesting alternative cleaning products, it is entirely possible that by the New Year I'll be building a shed just to store the supplies. I suppose we could leave the supplies in the house and move into the shed; there'd be less to clean and it would probably be very clean. Apart from the spiders.

The cleaner settled in, and spent the next hour scrubbing the bathroom. I have shiny taps! And the next hour polishing my stove - I have shiny hobs too! And then she ran out of time, and I have a crumb-ridden floor and a dust-strewn hall, but I have a gleaming and glistening bathtub and so I don't actually care.

Meanwhile I spent her hours making a start on cardigan number two. Two hours, two inches. This could take a while.

Next stop Waitrose; spaghetti and supplies for the Guides. A failed quest for some black food colouring; hopefully plain chocolate will be an acceptable alternative. Driving home listening to an unbearably poignant episode of the Archers, and then unload the shopping and admire the clean and fresh smells emanating from the bathroom.

Very clean and fresh smelling, and a clear hour before the girls get home from school. I could knit another inch, I could check emails, or I could climb into the bath and make the most of it. Readers; I took a bath.

And a very nice one it was too, and I soaked and I soaped and I scrubbed, and I shampooed my hair, and just as I was completely covered head to toe in bubbles, there was a mighty hammering on the door, and then the doorbell rang several times. Not the postman; I'd had a parcel earlier. Not the chemist; we only put the prescription request in on Saturday. Too early for the end of school, and we haven't ordered pizza. So, I dragged on my dressing gown and squeezed out the worst of the soap, and poked half my head around the front door.

To be greeted by two firemen.

"Sorry we're a little early" apologised the first, offering to go away and come back another day. As he spoke, the alarm warbled it's CHIRP, and I hastily invited them both in.

"What the @!$@£$%^ did you do to your hair?" asked the second, which didn't earn him many brownie points. Pointing them towards the noisy alarm, I fled to the bathroom where I threw on the only clothes in the room; my Guiders' Uniform. No matter; it's Guides tonight. I don't usually put the uniform on until just before I leave, but it's got to be better than a dressing gown. Oh, and I rinse the shampoo out too.

The two firemen disassemble the first smoke alarm, but fail to stop it chirping. I ask them about the 3rd one (the 1st having done the same thing six months ago), and they decide to change that one for me too, and leave me, hoping that we don't need to meet again for another ten years. Neither of them can meet me in the eye at this point; I suspect it's not just the dodgy smoke alarms they're having difficulty with at this point.

But, they close the door leaving me with two new smoke alarms. And the rest IS silence. Beautiful, blissful, restful silence. For around ten minutes until the girls get home from school, the cats start fighting, the washing machine dings, a feed pump beeps, and life resumes its normal chaotic beat. But a beat no longer measured by the smoke alarm chirping every sixtyseven seconds. I can live with that.

Tia

Christmas Bonus

Mog's Christmas bonus came through today. A gift from the government for her to have a happy Christmas. I expect I'll get letters about Little Fish's and my own shortly. It's a nice idea - and in 1972 when it was first set up, £10 had quite a lot of buying power. Today I suspect the logistics of getting it out to everyone, including sending the inevitable separate letter to each qualifying member of a household, quite possibly costs about the same as the bonus itself.

There's always a heady debate about what we should spend it on. A pizza, for those of us who can eat? A couple of pairs of socks? A bunch of flowers?

It doesn't stretch quite as far now as it did in 1972. But there is a way it could stretch further; we could send it somewhere where the cost of living is quite a bit cheaper. I've mentioned Sarah before. She's just got word another 40 children are arriving for her next week. What might buy us a couple of nice takeaways or an alternative to the Sound of Music could go quite a bit further in India. It wouldn't come close to meeting her immediate needs, but what if lots of us did the same thing? If 24 of of us sent our Christmas bonuses to Sarah, that would cover the $400 she is wanting for Christmas presents for all the new children. If 14 of us did, that would cover pyjamas for them all. 8 of us could buy a new physio table. Just 3 of us could cover all the towels they need.

If it weren't for the letter announcing its arrival, I'm not sure I'd notice the extra £10 in the bank. I suspect there are quite a few of us in the same situation. Anyone else up for making it count?
Tia

BEEP

So, back in July, I thought Wednesday to Friday was rather a long time to have to listen to a smoke alarm beep every 63 seconds.

How little I knew.

Our second smoke alarm started chirping on Tuesday. I made the call, the fire service said they'd get out here soon. I asked them to hurry; it's the one outside Mog's bedroom so every 63 seconds I get a PIP from the alarm followed by a FIT from the child. They said they would call to arrange a time.

It's now late Friday night and no contact has been made.

I did offer to hit it with a mallet; they offered to let me know just how much I'd be putting lives at risk. I wonder if they know how much their lives are at risk if they don't come soon?

We're out most of tomorrow; the Guides are having a sleepover and whilst officially we're ducking out of the actual sleeping over bit I may just decide a shed full of pre-teen girls is less offensive than the chip chip pip fit.

Swine 'flu jabs tomorrowv morning; that, a peeping alarm and 2 dozen overexcited girls; this may just be the best weekend ever. Or very possibly not...
Tia

Plackard Caps

I may not have been blogging, but I've still been having thoughts (it happens sometimes, take that surprised look off your face). And I've come up with an invention. Those LED signs which seem to be everywhere now, flashing helpful messages:

Your doctor's clinic is
currently running
45 minutes late we
apologise for the
delay which is due
to large numbers
of patients need
PETER SMITH
TO DR JONES
ing to be seen.
Coughs and sneezes
spread diseases
wash your hands
if you have 'flu
go away. If you
don't why are
you here?

That sort of thing. I need a personalised one, one I can wear over my head. It'll have an assortment of messages to suit every occasion. For example:

I am not staring
at your son. I am
looking at his
wheelchair and
wondering if it
might work for
my daughter. If
she were here you'd
know that but
because I'm alone
I probably look
like I'm staring
at your son.
Sorry.

Or, coming from the other side of the divide

If you keep
staring at my
daughter you
will walk into
a lamppost and
I will laugh.
Thank you.

and

No she isn't
asleep and she
isn't dead she
just likes to
close her eyes.

This hat wouldn't just have our life specific messages though, there would be general every day ones too. Health:

No I don't
have swine 'flu
it's just a
sneeze.

Hey you!
Don't spit
in the street
it's disgusting.

Traffic:

You in the big car
beeping the old
lady as she pushes
her trolley slowly
across the road.
Think about it -
would you really
prefer her to go
back to driving
again?

and teenagers:

I know it's been
a whole 12 hours
since you saw
your friends last
and lots has
happened and
you need to share
it all all at once.
But
This is my
pavement too
please
move over.
You won't die
if you have to
walk in groups
of less than 5
aside you know.

So that's my invention. Pat Pending. Interested investors please form an orderly queue.
Tia

I'm back

(Did you miss me?)

Three days, two dresses, one cardigan and one suction catheter holder. Very very little sleep. One cardigan finished at 3.03PM today. One small child returned from school at 3.02PM and immediately shuffled out of uniform and into pretty dress and cardigan. One child raging and screaming and tantrumming about not liking pretty dresses, not wanting her picture taken, not wanting to go outside. One child sick all down pretty dress and cardigan - entirely deliberately - at 3.08PM.

Incandescent woman walked again.

3.17PM second child returned from school, shuffled into pretty dress and different top (anyone want to knit up the next cardigan? If I never see any more burgundy wool it will be too soon).

3.23PM everyone out of the house and heading towards the photography studio.

3.55PM arrive with one dishevelled mother, who is definitely not looking her best after three days non-stop knitting, one child with a vomit-strewn dress and one who proceeded to dribble mightily demonstrating my lack of wisdom in choosing cream fabric for the dresses.

It sounded more sensible on Monday when we booked the photographer. Two dresses in three days, not even a little bit of a problem. Same photographer we used a few years ago; I was thinking similar shots to reflect our current family. And then he uttered the words "by the way, I shoot against a white background now, so make sure they are wearing dark clothes".

With quite ridiculous optimism I grabbed enough wool for two burgundy cardigans. Beautiful wool, a beautiful match for the dresses. And a very very simple pattern. And then I completely forgot that if you're a slow knitter, it doesn't matter how simple the pattern; double knit on 4mm needles is going to take a while to work up.

Annoyingly, Tescos have some beautiful wine coloured cardigans which would have been a perfect match. I'd already bought the wool by then though. The sensible thing to do would have been to put them in different clothes, or alternatively make a later appointment for their photos. But why be sensible when you can instead sit up til 1.30AM, fall asleep in your clothes, drag yourself out of bed early to continue, and produce at the end of it something which looks as though it was knitted by the four year old wearing it? We weave our own yoghurt here...

I have no pictures for you; the proper ones won't be ready for a while and the girls were most definitely not in the mood for any more posing afterwards. Plus, who wants to see pictures of vomit and dribble stained crumpled and creased things anyway? I hope the photographer can work some magic on them for us.

We came home, fed the cats, fed the littlest girl, processed her through to bed and repeated the process for the older one. And then two kittens vomited in unison, clearly feeling I hadn't paid them enough attention over the last few days. Have you any idea how irritating a kitten can be when you're trying to knit? I cleared up the vomit and they vomited again, but swapped and ate each other's vomit before I could get to it. My life is full of glamour. And then they vomited again, and now they're feeling better and chasing each other around the house, destroying hairbands as they go.

Is it bedtime yet?

Deadlines

A little bit of this

and quite a lot of thatand not very much time at all

means there may not be very much of this over the next few days.
Sorry folks
Tia

Mighty to Save

Sometimes I look around and all I can see is the need. So many friends, so many families, crying out for help. Three families facing their own mountains this week and all I can do is pray - Saviour, move these mountains too.


On a lighter note, prompted by a near miss this morning; if the person next to you shoots up their arms in worship and knocks you flying as they do, does this mean you've been slain in the Spirit?

Tia