Singing the blues

I don’t know about you but I’ve had it with January. What a rubbish month it’s been!

I write this with a stinking cold, one so bad it made me practically pass out at work yesterday and has kept me home (albeit with a functioning laptop) today. My germs were passed on to me from E, as children are wont to do, and together we sound like a pair of old men after smoking a lifetime of woodbines.

The problem with January is that I get impatient. You start the year being bombarded with stupid New Year resolution style stuff – most of which is something I would want to do anyway, eat sensibly, get more exercise and so on – but January is the worst possible month to start any of these things. I won’t get up half an hour earlier to fit things in, you know why? It’s dark and cold. But there is something at the back of your mind that you should really stop making excuses and get out there.

And yet, we’ve had quite a few weeks – I have a husband with at least 13 new pieces of metal in his arm who’s kicking around at home feeling bored and frustrated (he’s so bored he’s been on the comparison websites and is now switching services). Work is frantically busy. E is developing. Sometimes her development and changes are so obvious even to someone who sees her every day – this month has been one of those. Things I’ve explained to her but didn’t think had sunk in have been repeated to me in playtime, her play acting has taken on new depths and she is interested in writing out her letters. All massive things. I don’t think I’ve done them justice though.

I think what I’d appreciate would be a few weeks where everything just went smoothly. Where it wasn’t raining a lot, where I didn’t get a puncture on the way home, where the temperature in the office didn’t affect me so much I have to lie down in meetings before I fall down, and so on. It’s not too much to ask, no?

Yesterday morning, I lay in bed feeling rough and could hear S trying to coax a tired E to get dressed. There was a knock at the door – the postman, delivering a parcel. I leaned out the window, explained I was feeling bad and would he mind leaving it in the back garden? “No I can’t,” he said. “I’ve got to put it through the delivery portal.” It turns out this meant the front door. Just when you think we’ve reached peak corporate insanity something comes along to drag us further down.

He then offered to leave it in the car, if I had the keys with me and could unlock it by zapping the unlock button. I’ve no idea why this is acceptable but the back garden on request from the customer isn’t.

But it’s this kind of thing I want a break from. Bring on February. At least it’s shorter.

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This entry was posted in Motherhood, Parenting and tagged , , . Bookmark the permalink.

One Response to Singing the blues

  1. aviets says:

    Delivery portal? I am totally using this word forever in regard to our front door. Thank you for this addition to my vocabulary!

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