Sunday, 17 October 2010

Just a regular Monday morning.

As any busy working mum knows, the mornings spent deliberating over the perfect accessory for your outfit and a leisurely breakfast whilst catching up on the world news, went out of the window in the delivery room. More than likely we are to be found grabbing the nearest items of clothing that vaguely go together then pushing the hoover round, whilst mentally writing a shopping list for the lunchtime supermarket sweep.

So, not unusually on a sunny Monday morning, I was dressed and ready for work and about to hang two loads of washing on the line. With eldest child already packed off to school, I shouted up to youngest child to hurry up and brush teeth, hair, find shoes and get school bag together while I made my way to the washing line at the end of the garden. After an almost enjoyable fifteen minutes in the morning sunshine hanging out the smalls, I called upstairs to find out how the preparations were going. I could hear hysterical crying getting louder as I ran upstairs. The sound was coming from my bedroom, but when I pushed the door it was locked shut. Except I don't have a lock on my bedroom door. The little voice inside had obviously been calling and calling and sobbing for ages while I was outside and she explained how she'd gone in to use my hairbrush, pushed the door extra tightly shut to keep the cat off my bed (good girl) but in the process it had jammed solid.

Telling little one to stand back, don't worry, mummy will get you out (yeah, right), I first tried a screwdriver to prise the ball on the lock. No joy. I then put my not inconsiderable weight into it by slamming my shoulder against the door but it would not budge. Whilst the thought of firemen having to be called to get her out was not the most unpleasant prospect, being late for work was, so I had to come up with a plan. And fast.

I have a scared, trapped child and the clock is ticking...  there was nothing for it. Taking off my heels, I sat down on a low chest of draws on the landing, and putting all my faith in my gluteus maximus, used both feet to kick the door in. The look on little one's face when the door flew open and I was still in the prone position was hilarious. Her fear disappeared immediately and she burst out laughing. I hugged her and established she was ok, then hurried her off to finish getting ready - she'd not even brushed her hair whilst trapped in there, of course.

As I adjusted clothing and got ready to leave for work again, she turned to me and said "mummy, you looked just like kung-fu panda." Not bad for 8.30 in the morning.

Tuesday, 12 October 2010

No, this isn't a DIY blog...

...which might seem strange given the title. I wanted to write about the daily madness and new experiences that come from setting up a home on your own, sans partner, with two kids. Now though I fit into the bracket of  'single mother' I feel a bit old to hold such a title. I mean, I'm just about middle aged now, so my kids tell me.

No, the reason for the title, is that despite the fact I was always an independent kind of gal/wife, I have never, ever, picked up a drill. It just seemed to be one of those gadgets that categorically WAS. NOT. FOR. ME. I mean, I could wield a hammer, paint stripping gun, a lawnmower (actually, that's a lie. I promise, that was the only other thing in my previous incarnation I didn't use. Well, and an electric saw, but now we're talking very big boy toys so I think that's excused...) Anyway, you get the idea. But the time came when I realised if I could only get half of the things propped against walls UP on the walls I'd actually have a kind of unpacked and sorted new house.

Like any good grown up, I researched the best one, looking at power levels and number of attachments and in the end bought one that fitted my criteria perfectly - I could get in Argos on the way home and had enough Nectar points to pay for it. There was a slight anti-climax when I got home and slightly breathelessly plopped open the very professional looking box, only to find I had to charge the damn thing for hours before I could use it. Pah.

Anyway, I won't bore you with the intricate details of what I did (suffice to say my first job was to hang a hand carved wooden 'dove from above' that my lovely friend's hubby had made me for my birthday months and months ago and had just been sitting on the floor waiting to soar). Within about 3 minutes of taking aim and a deep breathe, my beautiful dove was flying high on my porch wall exactly as it should be. And I burst into tears. Such liberation and pride! Or silly bugger, whichever way you want to look at it.