So… our loft is now 3/4 empty. You wouldn’t believe how onerous this task has been, especially for poor G who’s been doing Olympic-level lugging. Most people’s lofts contain a handful of heirlooms, photos, Xmas decorations and old toys. Ours is more like a giant cupboard of SHAME, stacked floor to ceiling with toppling towers of possessions.
As a result, the rest of our flat is now heaving with piles of junk that haven’t yet made it to storage/dump/freecycle and my past self is weeping at the dismantlement of my hobby graveyard. I’ve given away a ton of stuff. Soap- and candle-making equipment, sketch books and easels and 40+ large, unpainted canvases that were stashed up there, awaiting the return of my mojo. Let’s hope someone else’s mojo makes good use of them instead.
Now the scaffolding has gone up and our neighbours hate us and it all feels real. G stayed home to supervise the scaffolders and enjoy their sound effects. (“I don’t speak a word of Polish, but they have helpfully assimilated “fucking” into their vocabulary to make it easier for us”). Building work starts on Monday (Jimmy’s birthday) and I’m bracing myself for 8 weeks of domestic hell. Meanwhile I shall try not to think about the cost – or the fact that we’re having to put walls back up that we deliberately knocked down ten years ago.
The loft bedroom isn’t going to be huge but it will at least have a teeny en-suite bathroom. We haven’t decided whether it’ll be our room or the kids’ room. Most days I’m leaning towards putting the kids up there with all of their clutter – but I might feel differently once it’s done. I could lock myself away and be a madwoman in the attic.
However it goes, I’m looking forward to the stage when the build is finished and I can start decorating the kids’ room and making it lovely for them before they trash it, like the savages they are. I have whimsical ideas that I probably won’t do, like making the stair risers up to the bedroom look like the spines of children’s books. (I know my real life is not Pinterest. It’ll end up being a beige carpet.)
NB: friends and family, consider this fair warning to get your excuses ready. We might be begging visitation rights in a month or so, to escape the horror of our living room ceiling being knocked out. Either that or we’ll end up living in the local Travelodge, waiting for school to break up.
As for the kidbots…
Little Miss Hubblepot is still in that prolonged stage of cruising (‘look, no hands!’) and babbling, where everyone assumes their baby is right on the verge of tap-dancing down the corridor and breaking into conversation when, in reality, they have no intention of any such thing. We’re getting sporadic words (such as “Yeah!” and “Bye bye!”) and she likes to sing and clap along with songs – but nothing that you’d call conversational skills yet.
The MMR jabs turned her spotty and snotty but it didn’t dent her chirpiness. I just wish we could get the hyperactive little beast to fall asleep earlier at night. There was a time when she used to go out like a light around 8pm but nowadays she’s like a restless, buzzing bee until 9 or 10pm.
As for the boybot, if I thought he was skinny last year, it’s nothing compared to now. It’s like living with a human spider monkey – a concave being made of gangly, flailing limbs, protruding ribs and knobbly knees. And he won’t fall asleep before 9pm either. Such a delightful family trait.
His teacher has told us that he’s not eating his lunches at school and can barely stay awake some afternoons (sigh). I’d hoped that school lunches would normalise him a bit and put a stop to his food silliness but, if anything, he seems to be getting worse. The presence of tomatoes, in particular, is enough to make any meal immediately inedible to him. If it was left up to him he’d live on a diet of peanut butter and bogies – with the occasional bowl of macaroni cheese. (Sadly only one of those three is served at school).
He doesn’t get away with refusing meals at home and I’m usually fierce enough to coerce food into him. However, this week, we’ve started to find sneaky bits of sandwich stashed in hidden corners… and I doubt we’d even find them if it weren’t for the fact that Matilda is suddenly chomping away on something that nobody gave her! She’s the human equivalent of a pet dog that James can feed under the table. Thank god at least one of them is a chubby little munch bag.
Well that’s all for now. Rambles shall continue at some point… maybe even pics if there’s anything worth snapping.