"Its only seven weeks till Christmas", the boy announced on Tuesday. "Yeah, and FIRST there's my birthday" the boss added, "and you needn't worry about Christmas" she continued magnificently, "something small will do cos like you will be spending a lot on my birthday (guitar).....oh and you know seven weeks, that's only actually twenty nine days". There is a distinct lifting of spirits in the back seats.. Post mid term break, post autumn, drop kicked into hard core winter as it were (cold) we are daunted gloomy and tired.
Specifically, on Monday night, we are tired on account of Nicky Minaj's concert, after which we were required to collect the eldest from the bus drop off point, well after midnight. The drop off point could not be clarified, and after at least twenty texts, a kind bus driver dropped her near the house, where I hovered fretfully, harrowing my husband. Also, the boy blues resume, as he rails agains the fact that I have made him join the school computer club in return for X Box time. "I mean I have to get down with GEEKS" he cries and I wonder who he sees when he looks in the mirror, he being an avid fan of TV documentaries, a keen reader of factual tomes concerning wars, aviation, true incidents of house hauntings (no, really) extra terestrials and such matters on a loop (now kindly supplied by his stepfather from his own stash).
By Wednesday it occurs to all our young people that the Sky Tv service is gone, replaced by Free to Air Saorbox. "Its an economy" I offer to a wall of outraged faces. "But... but I can't be without my programmes," utters the eldest tragically. "What programmes?". "Well I mean.....um.. um ". "She means Britains Next Top Model, and America's Next Top Model too.... Oh and Sixteen and Pregnant" carols the boss. My husband snorts. "After all, we must prioritise. What if I were to lose my job. Then, the things that actually matter like piano lessons would have to go ". "WHAT!. I couldn't LIVE without my music" the tragic one wailed. "So..so are you? Loosing your job I mean? Oh My God Are you or are't you?" . I tell her we must hope for the best, in this present climate,.
Later, I tried to explain to my husband the difficulty of maintaining a sense of stability and predictability for teenagers who hack a path through a hormonal snowstorm, whilst insisting they see the real world that you, and one day they, must negotiate. The deprived one bounced into the middle of this to ask, with utter insouciance, if she might now have previously promised money for clothes shopping on Friday, " while you still have it". "And what's with the snorting" I asked my unimpressed spouse (A cavan thing, perhaps?)
Anway, we are cold and tired. We light blazing fires in the evenings to console ourselves and watch television by the flickering, warming conflagration of burning wood. My husband gets a fire snapping and crakling in jig time, which he says is a fine Cavan attribute. As is eyeballing people, calling a spade a spade and some other nutty macho stuff. (But he may be having me on). He watches Homeland with me and I Breaking Bad with him. Next door I hear the boy and his sister giggling rauctiously over the computer where they watch a spoof on Harry Potter (god help us all). "You really would not want to enquire too closely into that" I tell my Cavan cave man. But, after all, basically, God's in his heaven, all's right with the world. More or less. Yes.
Specifically, on Monday night, we are tired on account of Nicky Minaj's concert, after which we were required to collect the eldest from the bus drop off point, well after midnight. The drop off point could not be clarified, and after at least twenty texts, a kind bus driver dropped her near the house, where I hovered fretfully, harrowing my husband. Also, the boy blues resume, as he rails agains the fact that I have made him join the school computer club in return for X Box time. "I mean I have to get down with GEEKS" he cries and I wonder who he sees when he looks in the mirror, he being an avid fan of TV documentaries, a keen reader of factual tomes concerning wars, aviation, true incidents of house hauntings (no, really) extra terestrials and such matters on a loop (now kindly supplied by his stepfather from his own stash).
By Wednesday it occurs to all our young people that the Sky Tv service is gone, replaced by Free to Air Saorbox. "Its an economy" I offer to a wall of outraged faces. "But... but I can't be without my programmes," utters the eldest tragically. "What programmes?". "Well I mean.....um.. um ". "She means Britains Next Top Model, and America's Next Top Model too.... Oh and Sixteen and Pregnant" carols the boss. My husband snorts. "After all, we must prioritise. What if I were to lose my job. Then, the things that actually matter like piano lessons would have to go ". "WHAT!. I couldn't LIVE without my music" the tragic one wailed. "So..so are you? Loosing your job I mean? Oh My God Are you or are't you?" . I tell her we must hope for the best, in this present climate,.
Later, I tried to explain to my husband the difficulty of maintaining a sense of stability and predictability for teenagers who hack a path through a hormonal snowstorm, whilst insisting they see the real world that you, and one day they, must negotiate. The deprived one bounced into the middle of this to ask, with utter insouciance, if she might now have previously promised money for clothes shopping on Friday, " while you still have it". "And what's with the snorting" I asked my unimpressed spouse (A cavan thing, perhaps?)
Anway, we are cold and tired. We light blazing fires in the evenings to console ourselves and watch television by the flickering, warming conflagration of burning wood. My husband gets a fire snapping and crakling in jig time, which he says is a fine Cavan attribute. As is eyeballing people, calling a spade a spade and some other nutty macho stuff. (But he may be having me on). He watches Homeland with me and I Breaking Bad with him. Next door I hear the boy and his sister giggling rauctiously over the computer where they watch a spoof on Harry Potter (god help us all). "You really would not want to enquire too closely into that" I tell my Cavan cave man. But, after all, basically, God's in his heaven, all's right with the world. More or less. Yes.
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