Michael is interested in hot water bottles. For a long time, he would insist on a bottle filled with cold water to take to bed with him. He would cradle it in his arms and murmur affectionately to it, “Coldy, coldy.” Recently, my mother gave him a hot water bottle with a cover and he has started to take this to bed with him filled with hot water. For reasons best known to himself, he puts it under his head rather than under his feet.
Cats of the Chattering Classes
Our cat is called Hodge. She is called after the cat my family had when I was a child. That cat in turn was called after Samuel Johnson’s cat.
This afternoon, the children had some friends to visit. Over dinner, they mentioned their cat. “What’s it called?” we asked. “Bakunin” said the five year old. “My father is an anarchist,” explained the eight year old. Retired, I’d say.
Circumstances Alter Cases
On Tuesday the children had a bookfair at lunchtime in the school. I went up to help them choose books and pay for them. Then I went back to my warm, dry place of employment leaving the children and the childminder to trek home through the snow. It is fair to say that I felt pretty guilty. At regular intervals during the afternoon, I rang home. No answer. They’re stuck on the bus I thought guiltily to myself. When I got home, early because of the snow, it transpired that they had been at the library. The childminder who, crucially, is from Grenoble is unfazed by the snow. She was happy to trek outside rather than rushing home as we would have done. As Mr. Waffle hurried her out the door to get home because of the snow she was coolly saying words to the effect of “Snow, what snow?” And shrugging. And as it got worse and worse she remained unpreturbed (there is a joke about sang froid to be worked in here but I decided to let you do it yourselves).
The children’s school has been closed since the ill-fated book fair Tuesday. I saw the childminder off into the very heavy snow this evening wearing her runners. I had walked home from work in my ski gear and hiking boots. When I rang later to check she had made it home, she said that she was fine and clearly thought I was insane. Just wait until she sees what happens to the bus services with another 5cms of snow.
Oh and Edinburgh is off as is driving anywhere. We will be taking the train to our weekend destination.
30 Days Hath September, April, June and, mercifully, November
I’ve used that title before, what of it? Another month of posts complete. You may congratulate me, now maybe, this year I will win one of the prizes.
In completely unrelated news, did I mention that my kind sister is minding the children this weekend so that Mr. Waffle and I can trot off? We booked our weekend away in a balmy September. Where would be nice we said to ourselves? How about Edinburgh? Excellent choice.
In Perfect Harmony
The weather around here has been snowy and everything is looking beautiful.
This inspired me to start singing Christmas songs. I was half way through “O Holy Night” over the breakfast table (my family have to put up with a great deal) when Daniel said, “I know that one.” I stopped and smiled encouragingly, “You sing it then, sweetheart.” He began at once, “Davy, Davy Crockett, king of the wild frontier.”
Maybe Not Entirely Wasted
The phone rang and the Princess answered. I heard her end of the call. “Yes” she said tersely followed by an equally terse “no”. Then she handed me over the phone. It was my sister calling from America. “Did you feel that your niece was overjoyed to hear your voice?” I asked. “Was it exciting to be greeted by someone so audibly delighted to pick up the phone?” The Princess looked at me balefully and said, “Sarcasm is wasted on the young, you know.”
