High School Musical

Posted by dulwichmum on Wed 30 January 2008

High School Musical is coming to London! Apparently there will be a live show in The Hammersmith Apollo in July. Darling boy Max saw the notice in my Evening Standard and he danced around the house with glee;

“Freya will be delighted,” he shouted… “And I will come too because mummy can’t leave one of us behind,” he exclaimed.

“Don’t worry diddums,” I soothed, “Freya doesn’t want to go to see the show, she doesn’t love Troy anymore – not since he kissed Gabriella in High School Musical Two, isn’t that so my baby munchkinette?” I asked my tiny infant Freya.

“I never loved Troy, not ever anyway,” hissed the darling tot, tossing her Troy toy into the back of the toy box.

“I don’t mind a bit if I must go to the special show,” pleaded burly Max. “I don’t want to be left alone at home. I shall simply tell the other boys at school that you made me go, that my sister wanted to go, and so I had to go too.”

“But my baby man,” I explained, “your perfect sister doesn’t want to go, please do not concern yourself so,” I reassured.

“But the boys at school would understand,” begged Max, “because my little sister wants to go“… big wet tears filling his eyes.

Tonight I bought the tickets on the Internet – well sweet Freya asked me what she could buy with “the big silver coin with the corners on it,” that her brother had given to her from his money box – in exchange for saying that she needed to go to the show…

My darling boy was sleeping soundly in his top bunk tonight with Freya’s High School Musical dolls lined up on the pillow beside him. He really is the most perfect and most cuddly and cute of boys. I love that little man so very much indeed.

How ever will I survive when he grows up?

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 Selfish

Posted by dulwichmum on Sun 27 January 2008

It upsets me so, that James seems to be under the impression that he is the only person in our entire household that experiences any kind of anxiety or stress. Indeed yes, the stock market has been a tad turbulent over the last few days, but he hasn’t even bothered to acknowledge that I had had a frightfully stressful day on Friday.

My spring detox started so very well indeed. I lost almost twelve pounds on the Atkins diet since the beginning of January. My breath smells like the devils own lavatory, but I have been positively wasting away (an entire size smaller in my white jeans). Then suddenly last weekend, the weight loss stopped abruptly, indeed I piled on a couple of ounces (gasp).

I have heard some of the mothers at the school gate extol the virtues of the new gym on Lordship Lane (apparently Pilates is terribly fashionable), I decided that some gentle exercise was required, so off I went on Friday morning. The young lady who provided my induction (most of the appliances on display looked like equipment fit for a dungeon) analysed my diet and had the cheek to claim that I should forgo my nightly tipple!!! (OHMYGOD!).

“But I am a mother with young children,” I pleaded, “it really is best for everyone concerned that I am slightly ethanolic at all times when at home.”

Later that same afternoon, lost in my thoughts, I drove to the supermarket in Beckenham. I have heard it said and I must agree that Tesco was only invented to keep the riff-raff out of Waitrose and I needed some time to gather my thoughts. When I tripped up to the checkout with my enormous handbag and a trolley brimming with organic fare, would you believe that in my troubled state I had forgotten my purse? I almost expired with an anxiety attack.

Naturally I telephoned James and insisted that he left work early and caught the train straight to Beckenham in order to pay the bill. I sipped coffee in the managers office as James came to my aid (as a gentleman should).

James has been sulking all weekend. Honestly, he is so damn self centred at times, he only thinks of himself.

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