This morning’s profundity:
“Mummy, why are we all getting dressed when it’s still dark outside?”
A very good question, microbe. Is it too soon to break it to him that we live in a cruel and barbaric land?
As it was, he had to forgo his morning desires for cuddles under a blanket whilst watching Countryfile (yes – he really wanted to watch Countryfile) in favour of being harangued to “get your trousers on or you’ll be late for nursery“. This is the modern equivalent of “Shut up and drink yer gin!”
Suffice to say – festivities are well and truly over. And, being the old cliche that I am, my thoughts have turned immediately to holidays. I’d really like to organise a week away between now and April, before Thing 2 shows up, but I’m a bit stumped about what to do and where to go.
The other day the boybot expressed a surprising and unprompted desire of his own…
“Mummy! Mummy! We haven’t been capping!!”
“Capping? What is capping?”
“You know – when you have a fire and make soup on the fire!”
“Do you mean camping?”
“Yes! Camping! I want to go camping!” (NB: apparently so does Helena)
“Oh… well, I’m sure we can do that when the weather is warmer. Why not? It would be fun!”
So spoke I, foolhardily, with no thought for the fact that G would rather gouge his own eyes out than spend time in a tent. Frankly, the only way this idea has a hope of becoming reality is if I re-brand it as “glamping” and find some sort of super-yurt that costs the same as a 5 star hotel.
My early thoughts, upon googling “glamping”, are:
- Lot of places that describe themselves as “tree houses” are not located up trees. What foul fibbery is this? A cabin on stilts does not a tree house make. Feh.
- Options that would not bring G out in hives barely qualify as “camping” at all. I am referring to canvas hotel rooms, complete with fitted bathrooms and 4-poster beds. Some even have range cookers installed. I kid you not.
It begs the question – why bother? I mean – if you’re not going to live on burned camp-fire sausages and back-ache, why not just stay in a swanky apartment instead?
The other question is whether it is even sensible to go camping in the chilly British spring whilst heavily up the duff. Or in the warm summer, burdened with the needs of a newborn nanocrobe. My camping-fan colleague has advised me to throw the idea away for a couple of years and go somewhere luxurious and comfy instead. (G’s relief is tangible from afar).
As for location – given the stage of advanced duffage that I’ll be up by April, I suspect we’ll be limited to the car or Eurostar – so I have no real expectations of warm weather.
Ideas on a postcard please…
On a different topic, what are these bump-pains? It feels like an omnipresent stitch – alternating with a dull ache under the bump. I don’t remember having this with James, though I was much firmer and more petite with him. This time around I am half-woman / half-manatee. (G suspects it’s all made of mince pies).
In cheerier news, being off work for 2 weeks in drizzly weather gave me a rare opportunity to do some grown-up crafts, albeit commissioned by the Microbe. Say hello to Mr Fox and Mr Raccoon.
While arranging the fox around the boybot’s neck, I found myself wondering whether the effect was closer to Davy Crocket or Liberace. But he seems to like it, either way.
I knit so rarely these days – toys and hats are the only things with a hope of getting finished before I lose interest. Every other project gets to about 30% completion before I run out of steam and relegate it to a carrier bag, where it languishes until I forget where I got to with the pattern and rip it out as a bad job.
If Thing 2 turns out to be a girl, I suspect my crafty mojo might go into temporary overdrive. I’d love to make a baby quilt or a rag doll using my stash of girly-ish fabric. But we’ll just have to wait and see…