Help

Posted by dulwichmum on Mon 30 April 2007

I left my mother to the airport this evening, off for her annual “Parish Pilgrimage” to Lourdes. When she returns, she will distribute all manner of purchased favours and talismans to myself and other lucky relatives and friends; mass cards, holy water infused cough sweets, small bottles of holy water in the shape of Our Lady with a blue lid in the shape of a crown, relics (splinters of the true cross/Padre Pio blood flakes etc), medals, souvenirs, bibles and prayer cards.

Brenda insisted I was to drive her across London in the Audi Q7 and not the Prius, as she is keen to display evidence of her daughters affluence to the other parishioners. In the queue for check in, standing behind a woman with in a fabulous full-length shearling coat, my mother began jealously quoting (Matthew 19:24):

“It is easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter heaven.”

“What are you trying to say mother?” I laughed. She is such a hypocrite!

Finally at the check in desk, the assistant asked my mother:

“Did you pack the luggage yourself?”

To which my mother replied bitterly:

“Did you ask the woman in the shearling coat that question? Do I not look as though I can afford help?”

Oh mother!

She is a pretentious old bird. We are so similar in many ways…

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 School Trip

Posted by dulwichmum on Sun 29 April 2007

Just over a week ago I was feeling particularly hard done by, James was about to leave town for one of his routine business trips and the nursery school had sent home a letter in the darlings book bags asking for parents to volunteer to accompany the children on a special day trip to the zoo.

I had volunteered James’ name, knowing full well that he would not be pleased by the prospect of a day at the zoo with lots of unfamiliar women and children. He would much rather play golf with a spare annual leave day, actually, he would much rather go to work…

The day came and as I was loading the munchkins into the car, James was standing just inside the front door in the manner of a sulking teenager. I felt the weight of the world on my shoulders, and I was wearing that scowl that James says I have had for the past six years. I was arguing with my dear husband from the drive – oh how I love to lower the tone. I had been up since the crack of dawn, home baking organic picnic food.

The poor little children, listening to me:

“Why should it be me James? Why me instead? They are your children too. I went last year, this is your turn, give me a break,” etc, etc, etc.

Freya was repeating the same sentence over and over, quietly, each time the same words in the same rhythmic pattern. Eventually while securing her seat belt I listened to the words she said;

“I have a special present for you mummy, do you want to see what it is?”

“Yes darling, what is it?” I snapped crisply.

Freya gently insisted I closed my eyes, and delicately placed a tiny thing in my open hand, when I saw what she gave me, it just melted my heart. She had placed a tiny daisy head in my hand, and she kissed me.

“I love you mummy and I wish you were coming too,” she said.

I cried all that day in work. I really should listen and be more careful of what I say in front of these poor impressionable little ones. It is not their fault that I have been in a bad mood for almost six years. I am not even sure that I have been in a bad mood all of that time, I think I have just been frantically, chaotically busy. Too busy to see what I have in front of me.

Now where is that corkscrew?

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