You know what it’s like. Life trundles on, each of us doing our own thing. Seasons change, children grow, work/ volunteering is what it is, and it feels like nothing much happens.
And then. Everything happens at once, all the things in the same week, and you realise just how much has changed.
We rescued another wee westie, Harry. It’s been a year since the grumpy guy went and died on us, and we’ve been looking for a chap to love for a while. Harry came home with us a week ago, sleepy from the vets and a little bewildered by home comforts. The next morning he decided he was in his element and demonstrated his full speed down the street to celebrate. He has a waggy tail, loves cuddles and owns our hearts. He has made himself well at home sleeping on our beds, on sofas, chairs and occasionally, his own bed. Random piles of clothes that girls haven’t got round to putting away are his favourite, closesly followed by the box of winter hats and wooly scarves. All is well, but we need to keep working on the ‘not killing cushions’ thing. And the ‘investigate all the visitors’ handbags thing. We’ll get there.
Girl2 went on a school ski trip. Sixty 15 years olds let loose on snow- it’s a wonder everyone made it home without injury. She resorted to singing when scared. Never mind the hills being alive to the sound of music, the Italian alps resounded to the sounds of ‘I’ll tell me Ma’, which was probably not what they’re used to. In a few months she’ll be off to Milwaukee for a month, and I’ll be a nervous wreck.
Girl1 had a school formal to go to. In the dark ages, my school formal was held in the school, with teachers, dinner ladies and nuns. We had to be interviewed by the Chief Nun in advance, and the bona fides of our dates checked out. I brought the only guy I knew, who lived 2 doors away and happened to be a son of my geography teacher. I had the big hair (early 80s short curly frizz afro style) and the big glasses, and a red taffeta dress my mother made. I can’t imagine being able to make a dress, or ever having the urge to do so. I can clearly imagine that it was the only way she could get me to wear something that wasn’t a sack. My beleagured, stylish mother, doomed to having a dumpy daughter with no interest in fashion or make up or being sociable. She’d be so chuffed with her grandchildren who now have to cope with my lack of style or make up know how. (The unsociable issue has been largely overcome.)
Knowing she’d miss the event, Girl2 took her parents in hand, making sure we’d step up for her sister. We had to prepare for added taxi runs for the spray tan, glam nails, make up & hair because nobody does those things themselves. How could I imagine that she’d draw on her own face?? Do I know nothing??… The biggest concern was that we wouldn’t realise about the photographs, and we’d be lounging about in PJs or a football shirt. How could those pics be shared with the world? I panicked and got Spurs Fan to buy a big bunch of flowers, because all the formal type pics I saw had flowers in them. Naturally we all stood in front of the flowers, and they’re not in any shot. Next time, we’ll pose properly. There will be a next time, and then I’ll know about getting my nails done too, and making sure to bring an umbrella to the tanning place so the rain doesn’t wash the stuff off teenaged feet before it sets.
As if all that wasn’t enough for a week, the NI festival dancing championships were on. There’s a supportive group of dance buddies (and moms!) who called round to be part of the pre formal posing, and who were all dancing on Saturday and Sunday. For the first time ever Girl1 got a podium place, with her couples partner. Many celebrations.
Many changes, including to wordpress. I can’t access the pics on the pc to share them with you any more. If I figure out how to do it, I’ll edit some in. Just imagine a cute westie, a talented skiier, a beautiful girl and her slim, stylish parents and you’ll be there.