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No one likes change

And here we are, our first weekend in captivity. Spent largely doing, well, exactly what we've done for the previous week. Apart form the bit where we didn't pretend to do school work and Joe Wicks left us the hell alone.


But seriously. We've got to keep this up?? No-one likes change. Everyone knows that. Did the universe not get the memo? I mean staying at home and not having to work and all that is all well and good for a few days but...please make it stop?!


Anyway.


In a stroke of genius, two seemingly innocuous words changed the direction of my Saturday morning and ensured I has a wonderfully chilled couple of hours ALONE. Little Women. I announced I was putting the movie on and off they all sodded. Yee ha.


My rather splendid morning came to abrupt halt when I trotted downstairs to be met with "that hoodie looks a bit small doesn't it?". Low blow. Especially given that technically it's supposed to be an over sized hoodie. Rude. That's what you get for leaving someone solo parenting two captive children for a couple of hours. It was worth it. I'd do it again in a heart beat your honour.


It triggered a discussion about starting personal training again. Andy is a Personal Trainer. I've never trained with him successfully, because the minute he starts with "you have to listen to everything I say" things go a little downhill. There may have been one occasion where he said something like "allow yourself to..." and I threw a kettle bell at him and went inside to eat a pie...


We haven't trained together since then.


But captivity is enlightening or something so we're going to try again. Tomorrow. Maybe. And anyway the whole world is sufficiently distracted with COVID should it go wrong and I need to dispose of his body.



Football, Food & Fighting

Main themes of the weekend; football, food and fighting. In an idyllic wholesome family fashion, we played football outside, we made a birthday card for Isla's lovely childminder, we baked. We took insta-worthy pictures of our peanut butter cookies. In reality, it was more a game of 'find the recipe that we have most of the ingredients for and can substitute the rest' than actual baking.



Then disaster hit. If you think that facing the ever present danger of a global pandemic plus potential financial ruin is bad, try smashing a four year old's favourite unicorn cup.



But all in all, we did relatively OK at pretending to be The Waltons, if you count that lesser known episode where Mary-Ellis turned into the exorcist over a busted ceramic unicorn, John called Olivia fat and John-Boy wasn't allowed on his X-box for being a wind up.


Quick question...is it August yet?









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© 2018 by Gillian Walsh. 07540 293 993 Gill@gillianwalsh.co.uk. Manchester & Cheshire