We’ve all been very relieved about the good news on the cancer front. Of course. I got big hugs from both the teenagers which nearly made me cry, as it only then sank home what it all really meant.
Later that evening one of the boys suddenly turned to me and said “So does that mean you’re going to start doing our laundry again?”
What?
“Certainly not!”
I’ve been on strike since a particularly bad week somewhere near the start of the chemo when the washing mountain grew and grew and my idle offspring waited for me to deal with it. It was half term, I believe, so it wasn’t as though they were pressed with other duties.
Anyhow I’ve enjoyed being on strike and see no reason to regress. In fact, I regard it as my duty as a mother to stay on strike. Their future wives will surely thank me.
Now, do you reckon I could get them to clean the loo?
This time last year the house was full of flowers and cards. In the preceding four weeks a large chunk of 
It’s been very quiet in this corner for some time now. I have no real excuse, just a jumble of reasons. It’s partly been a form of writer’s block – how pretentious! But I’ve had several posts in draft for some time and don’t seem to have been able to find the words to finish, or in some cases even start them. Perhaps it’s been more a dive in motivation. I’ve been finding it hard to motivate myself to do anything much for the last few weeks. And that has been partly due to hitting something of a low, a wall – or perhaps more correctly slumping against the wall. I think a mid term low is probably quite normal – I do seem to remember it happening with my broken ankle. I’m a real expert in these things, you see!
In fact, it goes on at such a pace there doesn’t seem to be time to write blog posts. And that’s with no significant work to do for a week or so. Bliss! Christmas shopping and meeting fellow bloggers without feeling that there’s something else I should be doing. Make the most of it. It won’t last.
I’ve discovered a wonderful support group of friends. You know deep down they’re there all the time and it really doesn’t take much of a crisis for them all to rally round. G and I sat and chatted not long after the cancer was confirmed and decided my hair had to go. Not completely – its demise would come in its own time, maybe three weeks into the chemo – but as its days were definitely numbered, it would be easiest to start with it short. Smaller handfuls when it goes, you see. And maybe less of a shock. So the girls came round with the tools of the trade and cut my hair by good humoured committee. I now have a stylish new look which shows off all my earrings; it’s just a shame it’s not going to last too long.
