KitKat

We went for a walk in the woods today, and discovered some impressive shelters made from logs, branches, twigs and ferns. Either Ray Mears had had an barney with his missis and was at a loose end, or the local scouts had been on a bank holiday camping expedition. Either way, some of these structures were better put together than most of my flatpack efforts from Ikea. 

I was still feeling a bit lightheaded* (*hungover) from a day of freedom yesterday. A complicated chain of babysitting arrangements, made months in advance, had allowed me and my husband to head off on a hedonistic day out. We joined up with some friends with naval connections* (*I now have this strange thought in my head of twins, attached to each other by umbilical cords, but that’s not what I mean at all) and hopped on a coach down to Twickenham to watch the annual Army v Navy rugby match.

For a day we relinquished our responsibilities, and joined up with my big brother, some old pals we’d not seen for years, and a bunch of silly but very friendly people we’d previously never met (including two Popeyes and a Captain Haddock). We chatted, sang (very poorly, according to my brother, who has an encylopaedic knowledge of filthy songs and is baffled when not everyone knows the 16th verse), shared a luggage compartment of refreshing refreshments, and along with 82,000 people watched some blokes play with an egg-shaped ball.

I can’t begin to explain how great it is to be responsibility-free for 12 hours or so. It’s a complicated process, sorting out a babysitter for more than a few hours for our daughter. It needs to be someone who knows her well, who understands her ways, who can administer the food and snack regime with ruthless efficiency, and who ‘gets’ her. Add her little brother into the equation, and they have be a mix of Mary Poppins and Supernanny.

Luckily, my mate Kay, booked for yesterday's main shift, fits the bill. Thanks, Supermarynannypoppins. There’s few people in this world I trust more. She knows what’s important about friendship (Jesus, I’m not going to go all inspirational life-coach on you, so stay with me). She gave us the chance to have a frivolous day. And that’s a seriously brilliant gift. 

Chances are that everyone reading this has got someone they know who could do with a day off. Be a human KitKat, give them a break. They’ll love you for it.

Video is The Decemberists - The Mariner's Revenge Song. Nautical, and fathoms better than In The Navy.

Mute

Parents of disabled children are no different to other parents. They like a night off. An evening free from child-wrangling responsibilities is a wonderful thing.

R.E.S.P.I.T.E. Find out what it means to me.

We’re incredibly lucky because my parents are picture-book perfect grandparents who do not protest - at least not out loud to us - when we take advantage of their good nature and dump, sorry entrust, the kids to ’em.

They know the rules with my daughter. She knows they know. Nanna cooks her splendid healthy teas, and her legendary no-sugar fruit cake. Grandad takes on the ‘chasing round the house’ duties with my little boy.

So on Friday we sloped off at lunchtime, to journey through the rain and traffic to see friends in Liverpool. An uproarious night ensued. Taverns and ale were involved. And chat. A lot of chat. The high volume of which had a catastrophic effect on what had been just a slight sore throat at the beginning of the night. By our return on Saturday afternoon I was mute. This is an uncharacteristic state of affairs for me, I have to admit. And today I can still only manage a strangulated squawk.

I had a marvellous time on my night out. Not as marvellous as my husband, though. Because he got to have a night out followed by three days of peace. Now that’s what I call a proper respite.

Video is Aretha Franklin - Respect

Nothing

I’d like to announce that this morning, from 9.30am, I will be doing absolutely nothing.

This ‘nothing’ may involve having a cup of tea, but that's it.

Well, it could also include the small amount of effort involved in putting a record on, but that is bloody well it. I’m not getting back onto my feet to turn it over.

For it is a momentous day. I will be dropping off my daughter at the doors of her special school, as usual, once the usual morning routines have been performed.

But today, instead of heading to the park with my son, the little fella will be herded round the corner and into a building that will become his regular morning hangout: nursery.

Yes, I have lots of things that I should be doing: a freelance writing job, learning a speech I’ve got to deliver, phone calls, paperwork, picking up prescriptions, ringing builders, sorting out the washing, food shopping, cooking tea and Lots. Of. Other. Stuff.

But do you know what? They are going to have to wait. This morning, for a couple of hours, I’m going to put my feet up and do bugger all. 

Please.

Do Not Disturb.

*switches brain to standby*

Video is Elastic - Waking Up