So, further to my post last night about my nan, she is surprisingly and miraculously a little better today.
Even more miraculous, her youngest sister went into hospital almost 2 weeks ago, very critically ill. She got a little better but on Monday suddenly took a severe turn for the worse and was only being kept alive by machines.
We didn’t tell her about my nan, or my nan about her. On tuesday, the doctor said that he could try these very expensivce drugs to see if they would kick-start her system, but could only put her on them for a maximum of 2 weeks.
She went home yesterday quite happy! The women in my family are troopers!
Anyway, my nan has been continuing being her wonderful amusing self.
As she’s been hallucinating a lot, when the doctor did his round today he asked her if she knew who he was.
She rolled her eyes and answered, “Yeah – Elvis” and then burst into fits of laughter.
Love my nan.
The journey to work this morning was a bit of a pain – one of the gorgeous new Victoria Line trains had broken down (tut!) and so everything was backed up behind it. this meant that it was all very crowded on our tube.
We got to Finsbury Park and this tiny female octogenarian got on. As I was sitting closest to the door, I let her have my seat. She was with this young gay, obviously gay, in his early 20s and foreign – but so softly spoken that I couldn’t quite work out the accent. It sounded spanishy.
Now she was quite gregarious, giggly and a bit loud, which made the contrast between the two of them even greater -(I was trying to work out if he was a carer, grandson etc) and although I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop (at first), a couple of her remarks just reeled me in.
I so wish I could have heard what he was saying, but he was just too soft. however, her responses included a couple of the best lines I have overheard recently!
“It would be great to see him again – and he would LOVE to see me for sure – I can still do the splits, you know!”
And – my favourite.
“No dear, I stopped being a witch ages ago – it was getting far too dangerous!”
So this morning, The Girl decided to pretend to be a zombie.
First of all, apparently her legs didn’t work, so she was dragging herself across the floor.
The Man: Get off the floor
The Girl: i can’t get off the floor
The Man: you can if you stand up
The Girl: My feet would still be on the floor – anyway, i’m not ON the floor
The Man: really – cos it sure looks like you are
The Girl: Really. My clothes are on the floor, but my skin isn’t. except my hands.
*lunges at the Man’s legs*
The Girl: Chomp, chomp. chomp – I’m going to make you a Zombie
The Man: Get off, idiot child.
The Girl: Chomp, chomp, chomp
The Man *running away*: Get OFF me!!
The Girl: CHOMP!!
The Man: Leave me alone, or I’ll hit you with…with…*looks around*…a cat!
The Girl: COOL!! I think i’d like to be hit with a cat. Could I make her a zombie too? i’ve never seen a zombie cat.
Me: You’ve seen a lot of human zombies then?
The Girl: Oh duh! Yes!! *sigh*
Tonight we had to go to our ‘Parent review’ meeting. I hate the name of that because it makes it sound like we were due to be scrutinised.
Perhaps that’s what it is – maybe they make us go into the school periodically to sit on the tiny chairs, and feel like naughty school kids to make sure that we’re decent parents, take the correct amount of interest in our children and aren’t thick as two short planks ourselves in which case it would be understandable that our kids were too!
Anyway, going to these meetings is always really embarrassing as The Girl’s teachers are always really gushy about her. She has things the right way round – she is perfectly behaved with everyone. Except for us. Her teacher today said “I wish I could have a whole class of her – she’s an absolute joy to teach!” Pah…bloody sucky goody-two-shoes teacher’s pet!
So we made the right noises, I told her some of my concerns, she put them all to rest, we discussed SATs to no avail – still don’t know yet whether she’ll be doing them in 3 weeks or not, The Girl was perfectly behaved and then we walked home.
Her ‘creativity’ that she was so applauded for certainly came out as we were walking.
The Girl: I’m sorry that I behave at school but not at home. i’m going to really try to change that
Me: You said that before…in fact every time we see your teachers. You’ve never managed to change.
The Girl: We-ell…that could be because I’m a Mad Hatter
Me: No, it could be because you can’t be bothered
The Girl: No. i’m pretty sure that it’s because I’m a Mad Hatter
Me: Yes. You are a mental milliner
The Girl: What’s a mimmiler?
The Girl: Ok – what’s that?
Me: Someone who makes hats
The Girl: Ohhhhhhhhh. *then in a sing-song voice, prancing around* Look at me, I make hats. I’m a milliner. I’m so crazy. I make hats out of leaves. *pulls a couple of leaves off a nearby tree* but not this one (throwing it away) – this one is no good because it only speaks Spanish.
Now. Is it surrealism or creativity. I’m unsure.
The picture is a bit of a laugh as I’m one of the least techie people I know!
However, I work for a very small software company and we have a lot of clients, so 4 of us take it in turns to spend a weekend ‘on call’. we get a nice little bung for this from our lovely directors, and happily, our software is bloody good, so we get hardly any calls – and the ones we do get are always user problems.
However, it means that I need to be able to get an internet connection at a couple of seconds’ notice, so can’t really leave the house.
So, yesterday The Girl was all excited about Easter (or about Easter Eggs, I’m not sure, it was a close one) and I broke it to her that I’m actually on call this weekend.
TG: Oh no! That’s really boring!
Me: Well, it’s not quite so boring if you look on it as an investment.
TG: How’s that then?
Me: Well, I get paid every month for my two on call days – but if I do any extra ones, or any Bank Holidays during the year, then I get paid for them just before Christmas, which means that you can have presents.
TG: Ohhhhhhh. (Thinks for a while). can’t you ask to do EVERY Bank Holiday then?
I love the fact that she cares about me so much
Well, as I mentioned in my previous post today – The Girl was being amusing again this morning – but this wasn’t a conversation with me, it was with The Man.
She was staying at her dad’s at the weekend, so this morning The Man asked her “Have you done your homework?”
TM: “When did you do it?
TG: “We didn’t get any”
TM: “So why did you say you did it?”
TG: “Because you usually tell me off if I haven’t done it, but I have done everything that I needed to do, which was nothing.”
The Man was dumbstruck. I love that girl.
This morning, me, my lovely bundle of surrealness and my heathen boyfriend had a rather bizarre conversation…and once again I sat amazed at how the most humdrum of subjects tends to blow up into full scale bizarrity.
Yes…I like making my own words up that I feel should already exist. So shoot me.
Anyway – the Man & The Girl had a mock-fight just before she was off to school and she’d got all ruffled up. her previously slick glossy hair was sticking out all over the place where The Man had chucked her around a bit!
Me: That’s better, you’re hair looks all shiny and gorgeous again now.
TG: Would you like to have straight hair again like me?
Me: I’d do anything to have straight hair again!
TG: Would you rather have me or straight hair?
Me: Sweetheart, I love you more than anything, but I would sell your soul to the devil to have straight hair again
At this point, The Man wanders back into the room, and The Girl decides to blab about everything
TG: Mum said she would sell my soul to the devil if she could have straight hair!
TM: Would you notice?
TG: It’s my SOUL!
TM: There’s no such thing. Shoes have soles, not people
TG: Not s…o…l..e… silly, s…o…u…l…
TM: And where is that? Are you using it? What does it look like?
TG: You can’t SEE it – it’s on the inside, under your skin.
TM: So is your heart, but you know what that looks like
TG: It’s invisible and it covers your whole being (I was actually very impressed with this answer from her)
TM: It’s a made-up thing, and if your mum wants to sell yours, it’s not going to make any difference to your life…your death maybe, if you really believe in that sort of rubbish, but not your life!
TG: you only don’t believe in them cos you haven’t got one! (I was also impressed with this)
There was then a flurry of activity as they put on coats and got bags etc, kissed me goodbye happily, and left me sipping my tea dumbfounded.
Yes, it is another post on my little trinket of surreal entertainment. This time, she’s not as much funny as proving that (like most 10 year old children) she doesn’t think before she opens her ever-flapping gob!
We were all catching up with Survivors, which she loves, and has avidly been following the series. anyway, at one point during the episode she asked:
TG: Is there REALLY meant to be just 1% of the population left, because there seem to be quite a lot of people
Me: Well, how many people do you think would be left if 99% of the population died?
TG: I don’t know. A thousand?
Me: Well, I think there are about 68 million people in the country right now
TG: What about now?
TG: Well, some more might have been born now
Me: And some will have died
TG: Oh. So, there’s 68 million people in the world?
Me: No, there are 68 million in the UK
TG: No there aren’t!
The Man: Well, there are over 7 million that live in London!
TG: Including us?
Me: oh no, he didn’t include us, that’s 7million and three
TG: Are you teasing me?
Why do children never think before they ask stoooooopid questions?!??! and why the hell are they so literal?!?!
The Girl can be very soppy, and she often comes up to one of us randomly and says the like of the first sentence below…although we don’t generally respond toher crawly-bumlick-ness!
TG: Who’s the best mum in the whole wide world?
TG: Ok, who’s MY best mum in the whole wide world
Me: Well, I assume it would be me
TG: I DO have a stepmum, but she’s not my real mum, so she doesn’t really count. dad can marry a whole string of women, and they will never be my real mum, cos that’s you.
Me: Erm, yes.
TG: and you will be there no matter what, whenever I need you, whatever I need you for
Me: Yes, of course – but you’re never going to NEED me darling, you’re going to do just fine.
TG: I might need you one day
Me: What do you think you might need me for
TG: Well, maybe one day I’ll need to go somewhere and wont have any money for a bus or a cab
Me: You want me for Oyster top-ups?!?
TG: No, don’t be silly, I wouldn’t want money – I’d want you to give me a lift!
Me: Well, i can tell you now, that isn’t goign to be happening! I’d rather give you the bus fare! Cheeky bint!
At least I know what I have in store for me I guess!
I love my family, I really do – I love the way that even when we’re watching a serious documentary, it all turns into serious discussion about absolute shite.
For example, the occurence of the following conversation just now:
Me: They called the smog in London ‘a right pea-souper’ because it was yellow and like breathing liquid
The Girl: Ewww, that’s gross. I wouldn’t have wanted to do that, it would kill you.
Me: The average life expectancy for men was 29 years old (I’m not always that accurate, the programme had just said!)
G: That’s REALLY young.
The Man: You’d only have 19 years left though – and without us to feed you. You’d have to go and sweep chimneys.
G: At least I’m skinny enough to get up there.
TV: “in the 1800s, 57% of children born in London died before the age of 5″
G: Oh my gosh!!! (yes, she really does say that) that means over HALF my class would have died! But then most of them weren’t born in London so does that count? I don’t want to die!
Me: You’re not living in the 1800s, you’re not going to die.
G: I’m never going to die?
Man: Everyone dies. except me, I’m immortal. (His usual argument)
G: When are you going to give that up? You’re NOT immortal. You’re going to die the same as everyone else!
Man: How do you know? Have I died yet?
G: No, not yet, but you’re still young.
Man: Thank you
G: Well, ish.
And now we’re introducing her to Little Shop Of Horrors