I had a good idea. My good ideas are famous. They normally emerge in the early hours of the morning. Our business was my good idea. I should write about the business idea one day. At one time an unhelpful friend thought that we probably owed more money to the banks than most small African countries. But did Bono try and persuade the US to come to our aid? Did he hell. We had to pull ourselves out of the mire inch by bloody inch. But that’s another story.
This particular good idea was “Why don’t I take the girls (our great grandchildren) to Switzerland this summer, they can go to summer school.” I think this idea must have taken form when I was particularly comfy cosy with them. Other than that maybe I was bored? Whatever, no-one tried to talk me out of it – so everyone else is to blame.
So here I am in heaven with two little devils. Last week their doting great grandfather was here to share the load, but yesterday, like John Denver, he left on a jet plane leaving behind two spoilt to death, unreasonable children that hate me.
The summer school idea has been spectacularly unsuccessful (as are most of my ideas, apart from the business). They hug each other at the bus stop and look at me with big sad eyes that accusingly say “how could you do this to us nanny?”.
The bus pulls up and out jumps a hyperactive maniac. “Good morning girls” she shrieks with wild hair, blazing eyes and flaying arms. “Come on children, make room for the girls, you move here, you move there, girls here are two seats. No don’t get in this side, go around the bus and get in there”. The children are all in turmoil with seats being re-assigned and then re-assigned again. Chaos reigns.
Up to this point the little one has gone along with my scheme, now she totally freaks out. No way is she getting on that bus with this mad woman. I have to physically pick her up and strap her in. She is sobbing and her big eyes are full of tears that are dripping down her beautiful face. The other mothers are telling me that she will be OK. And she was OK yesterday and the day before, but today I feel such a monster. Again!
Only children can make you feel such a louse. Tonight I promise that I will be better to them. I won’t moan when they refuse to eat the tea that I have lovingly prepared. I won’t scream at them when I discover that the game they are playing quietly in their bedroom involves tipping a full box of pins and needles all over the carpet and their beds. I won’t bellow at them when I see them “cleaning” my new (expensive) bureaux with a scotch brit cloth. I will laugh and play with them until it is time for them to go to bed. AND PIGS MIGHT FLY.
But as Scarlet O’Hara said, ”tomorrow is another day”. Only in my case it will bring with it another opportunity to fail miserably. Oh well!
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