It's official, I am getting old.
Getting up in the mornings is getting harder.
It's not so much that I can't spring lightly from my slumber, than it's a real pain in the arse to have to. I'm suffering from a pair of pyjamas that weren't designed with me in mind and seem to wake up most mornings with the contents of my top plopped out over the bed whilst the pyjamas themselves are doing a great job of finding other parts of my anatomy to encase in a double body bind - rather than what they're specifically designed to do. Thus getting up means a re-packaging job first or else greeting my children with Danish pastries where my chest once was and my pyjama top should be!
Shame, cos I liked them (and my tits!), but maybe I'm desitined to live out my days in the Viyella house section of Jarrolds buying starch clad pyjamas or wincyette nighties with iron girders to hold in my mammaries? Surely there is sexy AND practical solution somewhere?
I'm also aging according to my younger son who is convincing me that I'm so last year!
Not only does the delight of gravity get you down, but also the losing touch with the current playground capers.
On the way to cricket this morning he and LMB are discussing playground games. The latest craze is, apparently - Toilet Tag!
Of course, by definition, this is in fact, just a new name for Stuck in the Mud I think, but no, it is in fact "Totally. Different. Muhhuuuuuum" (see how I get an extra consonant in my name when I'm being particularly uncool and un-with it!) It got its name through the fact that you stand in the playground on being "tug" with arms out stretched to simulate - a toilet flush - okaaaaaaaay!
In other news, Master Beehive the elder is away in the Highlands with a friend who's over from the States at the moment. They're having a great time:
having been on roller coasters, toured castles, played football everywhere they possibly can and have swapped tickets they won at the fair for a plethora of cuddly toys, made up a new coded language and have written and illustrated a book that they're going to publish to "earn more cash than JKRowling"
According to his friend's mum, he told them on the train on the way up, that he could eat ANYTHING he liked this week as "his mum had said so". Er, er, who, what, where? I think I said that his friend's mum's rules would apply (knowing she's on the same wavelength as me) which somehow got rather desperately lost in translation - slithy tove!
The best bit is the fact that he is planning to test the scientific hypothesis " The tooth fairy really doesn't exist" on his return. He has lost a tooth whilst he's been away. He's planning to come home and put it under his pillow without letting us know to see if the tooth fairy really comes to him.
Er - Message to son:
My dear darling boy,
It is wonderful to see you home with your lack of washing, proving that the power of one shirt and one pair of shorts really is sufficient for a 10 year old for 4 days!!
My gosh, what a big gaping hole you have in your mouth. I wonder how you got that tooth shaped hole? It ALMOST looks like you lost a tooth!
Wow! You have an amazing stack of cheap and cheerful cuddly toys stashed in here and - fuck me! (sorry!) HOW many sweets? You spent ALL the eight quid on sweets???!!!!! I thought I told you...you know your teeth...wait until your dad....yes, yes, I've missed you.
No, your brother and sister haven't seen Shrek 4 yet, so please don't tell them....oh, you already did *sigh*.
Oh, and by the way, before I forget, there's was a phone call for you. Some publisher who called, apparently wanting to speak to you. She's been sent a manuscript entitled "Portia Poohead of Pooland, the graphic novel" that she reckons is going to be the next best thing after Twilight and Harry Potter and there's rumours of a film already...do you know anything about this?"
And then that's the bit where I wake up and find that my size 36D are where they should be, I've lost a dress size and Edward Cullen is lying next to me.
Ah well, perchance to dream....