Practical matters

I realise now that taking pictures of curtains during daylight hours is probably not a fantastic idea. However, here they are. The living room curtains. And, below, a nice contrast with the old ones. And I'd appreciate it if no-one mentions the fact that the pattern is upside down.

You see, this is the sort of thing that happens when I so much as think of getting the sewing machine out. Things end up upside down. Or back to front. Or inside out. I also prick my fingers on pins and say ouch, which results in little man coming to rub it better. And I have sewn in three pins behind the header tape, which are going to have to stay there forever more. I really shouldn't be expected to do practical things like this - I am a pisces after all! I should daydream about beautiful curtains while someone else makes them. But I am still proud of the end result. I now have to do an identical pair for the other end of the room.

I'm waiting in for a delivery today. This means we couldn't go out for a walk or drive when little man started looking tired. But we've had a breakthrough. After lots of fidgeting, fetching of books, wailing for milk and general shenanigans, he has fallen asleep in my bed. It took a lot of perserverance from me in pretending to be asleep. And I did consider staying there and snoozing with him. But then I thought, no, I have curtains to make. And so I'm off to do some measuring.

Curtain call

I've finished my first ever pair of curtains. Blackout lined ones picturing lions, elephants, hippos and giraffes - all wearing party crowns - for little man's room. I'm very proud, even though they're a bit bodged in places. I had to rip out one seam when I realised I'd put the bottom hem at the top. The linings are only sewn in at the top rather than the proper way of having them sewn in all round. The finished product could do with being a couple of inches shorter. On the final line of sewing on the header tape of the second curtain the top thread started snapping for no apparent reason. I still don't know what most of the buttons and dials on my sewing machine do. But still, they look ok.

So next up are two matching pairs for the living room/dining room. And a panel to replace the horrible grubby nets that are covering the meters and fuse box in a glass-fronted cupboard. It's amazing how you stop noticing such hideous things after a while but they are really not attractive, even for people unafflicted with my extreme dislike of net curtains.

In other news, I've lost seven pounds. The diet is pretty basic: one piece of toast for breakfast, cup-a-soup for lunch, a couple of bits of fruit and a normal dinner. Oh, and a lot less wine. It doesn't even happen every day. I still go out for lunch sometimes. I still have the odd bacon butty or slice of cake. But it appears to be working and doesn't take much brainpower. Which is good, because I'm incapable of even planning to have bread in the house to make tomorrow morning's toast. According to my BMI I'm still obese, which is somewhat surprising and probably has a lot to do with my K cups.

Spring!

It's March 2nd. It's 8am. It's frosty, but sunny. Later, it might even get slightly warm. I'm opening windows. It must be spring at last! And that means it's time to sort out my tatty back yard.

I have patio doors from the kitchen onto decking. The decking is a bit grotty looking and worryingly bouncy in places. The seller left all sorts of junk underneath it as well as a hideous, half-rotten table and a couple of plastic chairs. The whole thing faces north. The far corner, where the table is, gets a bit of afternoon sun in summer.

In my gran's garage I have a nice table and two chairs and lots of empty pots rescued from my old house. The primulas and narcissi were an impulse purchase yesterday; I have no particular planting plan yet but I do have some garden centre vouchers.

I think some big wooden troughs would be good, so as to avoid just having little pots dotted all over the place. I even think I might make them myself. Can't be that hard, surely? I will need some evergreens, some herbs, some solar lights, some quirky ornaments (stopping short of gnomes). I've decided I would like all flowers to be in the yellow-orange range or shades of purple. Although I do like bright red pelargoniums a la French and Spanish mountain villages.

And while I'm at it, I might indulge in a little Guerilla Gardening and sneak in some narcissi or the odd blackberry cutting in the grass verge by the busway.

Behind the facade

Behind the knitting (a boy doll for little man) and the decorating (more woodwork to paint) and the cooking (Hairy Bikers' panna cotta was a big disappointment) and the commuting (in ice, snow, fog, rain...) and the buying (a new camera), I'm actually not really ok. There we go, I said it. I'm not ok.

Now that I've moved house, the next thing on the to-do list is to get divorced. I don't want to get divorced. But I don't seem to get any say in this matter. Boxing Day was the first anniversary of me finding the text messages on STBE husband's phone from the woman he was having an affair with. So not a great time really.

Little man has also ended up spending more time away from me than ever before over the past few weeks for a variety of reasons that, on their own, seem reasonable but have added up to a pretty heartbreaking series of separations.

And here's the interactive bit: STBE husband picked little man up yesterday (Sun) morning because I was working in the afternoon and today and is meant to be returning him tomorrow (Tue) morning. Was it unreasonable of me to be upset to receive a text this morning telling me they had gone to north Wales and would be staying at a B&B tonight because he wanted some time away from his parents, where he currently lives, and was it ok for him to bring little man home a couple of hours later so they could do something there in the morning, like visit a castle? This would be the little man who has just moved house and needs to settle in and whose mummy is putting off having a little holiday for that very reason.

My library

Too many books? Never! I just need to get round to sorting them all out... but at least my new house comes with a healthy amount of shelving.

Christmas Day went well. Little man loves the kitchen daddy made for him and he ate his own weight in chipolatas. Little man, not daddy. We all had a sunny, icy walk down by the river.

Now I'm having that post-Christmas feeling of wanting to get back to normal. I think New Year's Eve will find me tucked up in bed for an early night. Especially as little man has woken up in the early hours the last couple of nights and then fidgeted his way through the rest of the night.
But now he's off with daddy again while I work for a couple of days.

Surprises

• A squirrel nonchalantly skipping along the grass verge between my house and the busway.
• A grey wagtail wagging its tail on the pavement. It was bright yellow, but I am assured it was a grey wagtail and not a yellow wagtail.
• The extreme grubbiness we have had to clean off all surfaces in my new house.
• The sight of the house vendor, having returned to collect some junk from the back yard, digging a hole in the verge between the house and the busway to bury her compost materials.
• The arrival of my period only 31 days after the last one. I mean, that's normal. It's usually at least 42 days.
• Just how many cookbooks I own. Just when I thought I had unpacked them all, there was yet another box.
• How well I slept on my first night in my new house.
• How gullible people are who buy things because they saw an advert on the telly (I've just seen one for a men's fragrance [read perfume] called hot water. I mean, come on, I could sell hot water.)
• How much nicer my bathroom looks without me having had to repaint the blue ceiling or take off any of the stark white, yellow and blue tiles thanks to some nicer flooring and shower curtains and a new loo seat.
• How much I'm looking forward to a day of chilling at home (my new home) with little man when I collect him from daddy's tomorrow.
• That STBE husband and I have come to an arrangement for Christmas that involves me cooking Christmas dinner for the first time ever for the three of us.

Do not read this

It's pure rant. Stuff I need to send out into cyberspace to stop it going round and round my head.

I moved out of my last home on October 17. I thought little man and I would be at my parents for a couple of weeks. I finally completed on my new home on November 24. I still haven't moved in. I could really do with my own space now. And more than two pairs of shoes. But a friend who has access to a van can't get it this Thursday, as expected, and it looks like it might be next Thursday instead.

I have been decorating, in between trying to spend that thing that some working parents call 'quality time' with little man. I have had heating installed and some new floorings laid. I have had cable connected for my phone, broadband and telly. Unfortunately, the broadband won't set up. A phone I bought online isn't working. Because I have cancelled my old email provider I can't remember where I bought the phone from so can't return it. But I also can't use the free number to phone the cable people to find out why my broadband won't work. And when I tried on my mobile today I was on hold for so long I gave up. I also don't know when my new fridge-freezer will be delivered because notification will be sent to my defunct email address.

My application for insurance cover for the mortgage is currently on hold. My doctor wrote a report to say there was an outstanding issue with a dermatology referral. This is because I showed her a freckle on my foot that had gone all red. She gave me a referral. Of course, the redness went, all was well and I cancelled the appointment rather than waste hospital time. I now have to write a letter to explain this. And I have now changed doctor because I've moved house and am already paying that mortgage.

I got some sealant put in the back tyres of my car last week to stop them losing air. Unfortunately, the garage had to break the locking wheelnuts because I had no idea where the relevant tool might be. So now I have to find some new nuts. The car is also leaking coolant. Although my moving house won't result in any more miles travelled overall, as those looking after little man don't have to go far any more, it does mean my commute has turned into fifty miles each way. That's not as gruelling as it sounds: I don't travel at rush hour and it is motorway virtually all the way. But I do need my car.

STBE husband is avoiding talking to me about Christmas. Instead he texted me to say when he would like to have little man. I texted him back to say I would like to talk about it in person. He texted back in a manner that suggested I was being unreasonable in not simply agreeing. I texted him back a five-part message to point out all the considerations that need to be taken into account: such as little man and I getting settled in our new house, my not having spent as much time with him as I would like because of the decorating, the fact I would also like to see STBEH's family members who are visiting, the fact my shift pattern is unusual over Christmas.... He has still not come up with a time when he is available to talk.

Little man has an infected branchial cyst. It's one of two holes in his neck that won't ever go away. It's only a problem if it keeps getting infected. At the moment it's red, swollen and oozing green gunk and he is on to his second course of antibiotics. He's fine in himself, although he is waking up randomly some nights. I'm not surprised at that as he's a sensitive soul and mummy is rather stressed.

And then there's all the things I haven't been doing which I'd like to be doing: walking, knitting, cooking, planting herbs, talking to the chickens, seeing friends.

I could cope with a few of these things, but all together it's really a bit much. I keep forgetting to take my antidepressants, which probably isn't very helpful. And I think there are only so many bottles of wine and takeaways a person can consume in the name of temporary stress relief. Particularly when 'temporary' is redefining itself.

I'm up a ladder...

...which is why I haven't been blogging. Too busy painting. Mmm, Ecos in bengt from the Swedish range. Farrow & Ball lime white. Oh no, I've fallen into giving companies blatant plugs, something I try to avoid unless I feel really strongly in favour of their products. I must admit to also using some bog standard, probably not particularly environmentally friendly, paints too. But as the nice ones are 50 quid a pop I have had to weigh up financial priorities. And I decided bedroom carpet was a good thing to have: 100% wool with jute backing. So there.

By this time next week little man and I might even have moved in. And he can do some serious bus watching from my bedroom window, which is conveniently low enough for him to see out of without having to stand on the windowledge. Which wouldn't be encouraged because it's newly painted. In Homebase chalk white eggshell.

I think there may be one loyal reader who finds the title of this post funny. It's all about loud phone calls in open-plan newspaper offices. 'Can you talk or are you up a ladder?'

Yet another sleep post

The boy has stopped sleeping through. Since we went on holiday at the end of September I can count the number of times he has stayed in his own bed all night on one hand. When he's with me anyway, because daddy keeps telling me he sleeps fine when he's there. So perhaps that discounts the usual culprits, although he is teething (constantly) and he does have a very snotty nose (constantly).

Being the sensitive soul (read: cries lots) that he is, it's probably something to do with moving house and mummy being stressed. And due to crazy vendor it's going to be at least another three weeks before that can start to change. So I'm just about ready to join little man in a tantrum. Latest ones have been about: mummy refusing to get out from under the duvet to draw in the condensation on the window at 6.30am, mummy offering him an oatcake instead of a breadstick, mummy trying to write this instead of watching him put Postman Pat in his van. And take him out again. And put him in again....

Anyway, it's not all doom and gloom: it was highly amusing when my Bravissimo catalogue arrived and little man pressed the belly buttons of all the models, saying 'beep beep'.

Voilà!

It's done! Contracts exchanged. Completion November 24. One month to get central heating installed, paint walls and ceilings (especially the blue ceiling in the bathroom), change some floorings and arrange my furniture to make it cosy for the festive season. Anyone know where I can get environmentally friendly, non-toxic carpet for the bedrooms at an affordable price?

I took little man for a walk down that way this morning to show him our new house. He fell asleep in the Storch before we got there. I thought the wind blowing up the Manchester Ship Canal was going to wake him up as we crossed the swing bridge to go and have a look at the Mersey, but he was well away. Until we wandered back up to the Bridgewater Canal and an angler said, 'You've got something growing out of your back.'

'It's a monster,' I replied, at which point he woke up, stuck his arm out and shouted 'bo' [boat]. Indeed there were lots of narrow boats moored up.

Much fun was also had at what will be my new children's centre. After being given a tour of the centre and chatting about what's on we booked the soft play area and little man had a great time climbing over everything, balancing on a big ball on his tummy then falling off and generally running about like a loon.

Tomorrow it's off to school. Ha ha. Here's me considering home education and I'm taking him to La Petite Ecole in the morning. I don't even speak French myself. If it's fun we'll give it a go.

An apology

All my inspiration and creativity is being sapped by the pointless anxiety caused by house purchasing. I was expecting to exchange contracts on my new house last Wednesday. It's now Monday evening and it still hasn't happened. And always at the back of my mind is the knowledge that the vendor doesn't really want to move. She is having to move, for some reason unknown to me, but doesn't actually want to leave this house. So I really hope she isn't changing her mind.

I have already visualised little man and I living in this house, throwing open the patio doors to the yard, getting proper storage sorted out for my filing and wool and pile-of-old-clothes-I'm-saving-for-the-fabric stash, strolling round the nature reserve five minutes' walk away on the banks of the Mersey, popping to the little play area just down the road, growing herbs on the windowledge and flowers on top of the back wall. I am eager to get settled, to establish new routines, to find time to see people from back oop north (ie Lancashire) as well as people where I am now.

And for a while now I have been thinking to myself that when I get settled down again I will: drink less, eat better, lose weight, get outdoors more, get a bike seat for little man, find a tai chi class, rewrite my match.com profile and start logging on again...

So although I know I shouldn't worry, because it's out of my hands and it's not a matter of life or death, I still am worried. My chi is not flowing, my aura is not glowing. And I'd like to apologise for that terrible rhyme.

Fed up now

Grrrr. Is it possible to move house without stress and hassle? It's all solicitors' letters, bills, delays, pettiness, paperwork, phone calls, more delays. I thought I might rant about the details, but I don't feel like it now. It's not important; it's just money and stuff, not people. And it will all be over and done with soon. Then I can get on with actually living instead of waiting.

Bats and battiness

Little man said 'bat' today. He does like those b words. It helped that we were in the bat cave at Chester Zoo. We went with daddy, who got pooed on by a bat. My, how I chortled.

So there we were having a good time looking at the elephants twisting their trunks round each other, and the lions having a stroll together, and the orangutans hanging around, and little man screaming his way through lunch but then munching a banana and an oat and fruit bar as soon as we got outside again when I get a message to say I had missed a call.

Eventually I took the call. It was the estate agent. When could I drop the keys off? Er, according to my solicitor on Wednesday we hadn't even exchanged contracts yet due to a cock-up at the other end and so our expected Friday completion date wasn't going to happen. Now I'm suddenly being told at 2.30pm on that day that we have completed.

So I'm afraid the buyers will have to deal with the mess of broken crockery and spiders' webs complete with dead inhabitants left behind when STBE husband took the fridge, freezer and dishwasher (I don't need them). And I'm trying to get used to the fact that it's officially done and dusted. Now all I need is my new house. And some central heating in it.

How to get lost in one's hometown

1. Have a very long list of things to do.
2. Send little man out to the shop with grandma.
3. Find your way to the van hire place to hand in the accident form.
4. Proceed to the old town and get slightly worried when the road you were going to take has been turned into a busway and the road you actually have to take used to be a busway last time you drove past it.
5. Safely negotiate sea of no-entry signs to get into car park.
6. Post the cloth nappies you've just sold on t'interweb.
7. Do a spot of shopping and withdraw lots of cash to pay the estate agent.
8. Leave for dad's allotment to check the chickens, taking the route that once again goes up a road that used to be a busway.
9. Take the wrong turn off the expressway, drive past some architecturally interesting estates, eventually turn around and go back to take the correct exit.
10. Check chickens, who are all sat on their perch complaining about their move, and try to tempt them out with some seeds and grain.
11. Leave allotment, take wrong entry onto expressway and drive for a couple of miles before you can turn around and go back.

Interesting fact time: Runcorn had the first ever busway in the world or 'Buses as Rapid Transit' system when the new town was built in the 1960s. For anyone who doesn't know what a busway is, it's not a bus lane but an entire road system set aside only for buses.

I'm still assuming I will soon be a permanent resident here, despite the fact that some mortgage cock-up has delayed completion on our sale.

And now, it's off to bed to await the middle-of-the-night awakening that is accompanying the slow arrival of canines.

Empty

My house is now empty. The garage is not empty, but only because my buyers have put a lot of their furniture in there. My grandma's garage, on the other hand, is very full. It is full of my stuff. Including all the stuff that should have been binned years ago. And her spare bedroom is full of my mattress, settee, bedding etc. Fortunately, my grandma is currently in hospital. That may not sound fortunate, but she's had her hip replacement rebuilt so she doesn't have to wear a body brace for the rest of her life, so it is fortunate for her too. She's in her ninetieth year you know, as she likes to remind everyone at frequent intervals.

Unfortunately, I now have to sort through all the junk and get rid of stuff: freecycle, charity, tip. I have ditched the big box full of recipes that I ripped out of magazines years ago and meant to file. It was a very big box. Another thing: keys. Why are there always keys that don't fit any lock?

A small and not very amusing aside: I managed to twat the side of the Luton van I hired into the back corner of my parents' next door but one neighbours' car. Ho hum. I can't find it within myself to get very much more stressed. Particularly about a purely financial matter. And, obviously, they were parked really badly on a bend.

Night duty

I'm starting to get quite good at this co-sleeping malarkey. He hasn't really 'slept through' since before our holiday a couple of weeks ago. He has been snuffly, probably teething though it's hard to know, fidgety and generally unsettled. And I am sticking to the tried-and-tested three-step plan of grab child, stick him in my bed, go back to sleep. I'm starting to crack step three even when he is a bit fidgety, though I'm quite glad I get some nights when little man is staying with daddy and I know for sure I will not get woken up.


I'm generally managing to get to something past seven before he is gesturing very clearly that he wants out of his sleeping bag and making his 'dow' noise which means 'I want to go downstairs and have some cornflakes right now'.

I have told him we are going to live at grandma and grandad's for a while then going to live in a new house. I know he doesn't fully understand, but maybe when we have been at grandma and grandad's for a few days and I tell him again that we are staying it will ring a bell somewhere in his mind that tells him he already knew this.