Aha! Here we are on the first of many quick blog posts to be bashed out between the demands of being chief child entertainer during the summer holidays. I wrote this earlier, eldest child having breakfast ‘chez papa’, before he and I set out to attend younger child’s school’s leaver’s service, but didn't have time to finish it. And yes, much to younger child’s disgust, his school hasn’t finished for the holidays yet. He’s dealing admirably with having to get up early for school while his brother lolls in bed, but it’s only for a few more days.
Yesterday our main event, on the back of my previous post, was to buy elder son’s new uniform for high school. So smart! So grown-up! Cue more tears from yours-truly in the uniform shop, much to elder son’s disgust. ‘Mu-um,” he hissed, darting furtive glances at the (older) children waiting their turn to be fitted out with new kit. ‘Do you have to be soo embarrassing?’ But had I been making any effort to be embarrassing, this was promptly completely undone by the appearance of x-husband in the shop doorway, sweaty and disgusting in grey lycra. He was mid-jog, and thought he'd stop off to say ‘hi‘. Elder son was mortified. I foresee years in therapy for the poor dear. And to think both the x-husband and my good self consider ourselves entirely normal. Our child begs to differ.
Anyway, after being fitted out for his (so smart!)(and exceedingly expensive [better not lose any of it]) uniform, and once ‘jogging papa’ had taken over the childcare reins, I had the rest of the day to myself. So I did what any sensible, procrastinating blogger would do, and wasted the afternoon messing around online while studiously not-writing. But I did do one thing, and that was to attack the term-deep pile of school newsletters, and unopened post.
I don’t like to admit I’m the sort of slattern who doesn’t open her post, but if I’m busy, and I can see it’s nothing important, (which it rarely is!) then unopened envelopes tend to get dumped in a pile in the kitchen. Granted it’s not a particularly efficient system, and has its drawbacks such as the time I completely, and shamefully, forgot to renew my road-tax. Worst of all, it eventually gets to the point when the pile has grown so big I can ignore it no longer, and then it's a huge task to sort it all out. Like yesterday!
Some hours and one bin-bag full of paper for recycling later, I was congratulating myself on my diligence. And among the piles of marketing, magazines and other bumph I'd accumulated was the current copy of ‘The Yellow Room’ magazine's issue six. If you aren’t familiar, it’s a literary magazine of short stories, predominantly by women writers, and it’s always fantastic read. This issue is no exception. I sat down with a pot of tea, and read it literally from cover to cover. It’s very reasonably priced at £5.50, you can order it directly from the Yellow Room’s website. There are twelve short stories, of which my favourite was ‘Himself’ by Kirsty Mitchell, book reviews, and the usual editorial bits and bobs. It didn’t deserve to have been left languishing in amongst my unopened post for so long.
So I heartily recommend you pop over to The Yellow Room and grab yourself a copy, while I turn my attention to making resolutions. Perhaps, with elder son beginning a whole new chapter in school, I should try to turn over a new leaf, and be more organised. The trouble is, I’m always promising myself I’ll do that, and it’s never worked yet! I have raised disorganisation to an art form.