Magic Marker Monday

Hosted by “Tracy” at “Mother May I,” but the photo-picture below will whizz you right there with one click.

Just call me snap happy.

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Yes that’s sandpaper!
an 8 year milestone

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Anyone for tennis?

I collect the children from school to be immediately buried in half a hundred weight of trees.

What is wrong with these people? Haven't they heard of the paperless society?

We have the technology, it's called e-mail.

I am grossly grumpy as I sort through three sets of identical A4 sheets of paper, often with a mere one liner. I concentrate on a huge wad of stapled sheets with class room rules, as rules are made to be broken. I am to review the rules with my son before we pen our respective signature to the contract. My 'fairness' antennae are all full tweak and twitching.

My mind begins to “Whitter.”

I wonder if they use natural organic dyes for these papers?

I wonder if they use ground ant bodies for ink? I come to line 5 which reads:-

All games are 'open.' Do not tell another student, 'You can't play.'

Game, set and perfect match for the whole school year.

Lucky us.

Of course other people overcome common difficulties in the public school system by “homeschooling” and boy does my hat go off to “them” or rather, I take off my crown, but I’ll sure be careful not to sit on the pointy jewels.

The days are so short, but there’s always time for a “snack.”

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Photohunt = Wrinkled

Yes it’s true, once upon a time I did make note cards.

I could send this one now:-

Dear “Poor Mouth”
I have it on reliable authority that
you are out of date.
Love
Me

If you fancy some words, they are over here at my other site “Alien” which I am considering renaming…….“The Sandwich Generation.”


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May the force be with you too

In the salon I hand over the gift voucher with glee. An hour of frivolous indulgence should never be squandered. I leave with two parts of my scraggy anatomy spruced up to meet American standards of womanliness. I anticipate that the manicure should remain immaculate for the next twenty minutes during the drive home.

As I drive I calculate which mode to adopt on arrival? Guilty of the crime of 'absent without leave,' I shall be soundly punished one way or another. Maybe the sulky, silent treatment? Maybe mountainous meltdowns? It's the price to be paid for such selfish skullduggery at the weekend. Whilst many a parent returns home to be welcomed with open arms, other parents need to be a bit more savvy.

On previous occasions I made the mistake of bringing home treats, due to a combination of gratitude for the time off and a hefty dose of guilt for being so grateful in the first place. For some reason, I had temporarily forgotten that most treats are in fact torture, but I learned from my error. Whilst it's tempting to try for a hug, that too is subject to negotiation. There's nothing like unexpected physical contact to really ruin someone's day. I decide to play it by ear.

As I step through the door my ears are assaulted by a loud combination of someone playing the recorder, another one making rooster noises in protest, a third is buried head down in cushions and an aerated father has an air of exasperation.

“Oh good! You're home! How did you get on?” We ignore our children, exchange glances. I permit him to note my sparkly finger nails.
“Ooo very………clean.”
Whilst it wasn't the adjective I was looking for, it was a good try under the noisy circumstances. The rooster ceases to crow and gasps instead, open mouthed, a picture of awe struck, “you are be touch?”
“Pardon dear?”
“You are be touch me wiv your magic fingers!” I swear he’s as sharp eyed as an eagle.

Now there's an offer I can't refuse.


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How was your day?

It's the same exchange that parents have all over the world, when it's dark and the kids are asleep.

Ours takes place in the wee small hours of the night, morning really, when he comes home from work. Together, we put the nocturnal child back into his bed, again, tuck him in and put the door to, ajar.

“Well at least he's really cheerful.”
“I'm glad someone is.”
“So how did it go?”
“He pulled down the shower curtain. I nearly brained myself trying to get it back up on the wall.”
“You should have left it. It helps if you're taller.”
“Couldn't. He was trampling all over it to get to the top shelf.”
“Ah the soap collection.”
“Indeed. He's going to break his neck clambouring up that wall. He uses the soap dish as a foot hold.”
“Well that's a positive thing.”
“Is it? Which bit? The climbing or the collection.”
“Er…..well…..both. I admit I wouldn't have expected a soap fetish from the filthiest child on the planet but that's all to the good surely?”
“I'll remind you of that the next time you want to wash your hands.”
“Hmm……..maybe it's a cunning plan to foil the hand washing campaign?”
“?”
“Well……..?”
“He's not that devious.”
“Are you sure? I certainly wouldn't bank on it.”
“So…..if he's graduated to 'devious' do we chastise or celebrate?”
“Passed with flying colours!”

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