Rosie Scribble

Grumpy Old Women

Recently I have noticed that I am becoming increasingly grumpy, and it's something that seems to becoming worse with age.

It isn't just that I'm becoming less patient; I've started to hear myself commenting out loud about the state of the world in a style that previously I only heard from my grandparents. Even my own parents don't seem to whinge like I do.

Today, on the school run, I commented on two young boys I saw walking to school eating crisps (that's hardly healthy, the poor teachers, they don't stand a chance). I tutted at a man I saw spitting in the street (disgusting) and another who ran with his children across the road before the green man had lit up (that's dangerous and won't teach them the Green Cross Code).

I also tutted when I saw a girl who attends the same secondary school that once did  wearing a thigh-length skirt and had pink hair (in my day neither of those would have been allowed, what's happened to uniform standards?)

I may need to join the team of the Grumpy Old Women because I am rapidly turning into one.

How do I look?

Our desperate mothers' night out went extremely well. We ate lots, drank a sensible amount lots and rarely talked about the kids. All the perfect recipe for a good night out in my book. A couple of mums were alittle unsteady leaving the restaurant but thankfully there were no husbands or children around to witness the spectacle.

We all looked immaculate of course and perfectly groomed (chance would be a fine thing!), but the same could not be said for some of the party goers we saw that night,there seem to be some strange wardrobe choices going on.

This raised the question: if a friend was wearing an unsuitable outfit and asked your opinion, how honest would you be?

I'd like to hope that if I was wearing an outfit where the zip didn't zip up properly, or if it was too bright orange and looked terrible, or I was wearing a long t-shirt and belt but no jeans, (we saw them all that night), then someone would point this out to me.

But we decided that it would depend on the friend asking for advice, the outfit they were wearing, how they felt about the outfit, what else they had to wear and where they were going,the mood they were in and whether we could be tactful. So there were lots of factors to consider before telling a friend she didn't look great.

We can't all rush out and spend a fortune on a new outfit for every event. But even those who can still get it wrong.

 

 

But would you tell them?

Desperate Mothers

Tonight I am going on a Desperate Mothers' Night Out, and I am stressed.

I'm not stressed about what to wear, I've got my Ralph Lauren shirt (I love his clothes) and new Next grey trousers washed, ironed and ready to go.

I'm not stressed about going out for the first time with all the mothers from IJ's class at school and the fact that I don't know their 'real' names (and they don't know mine). Do I call them Mathew's mum and Elisha's mum all night? Will I remember their real names when they tell me or spend the night saying Oi!

I'm not stressed that I may feel bloated tomorrow after eating a three-course meal. The chocolate fudge cake has my name on it and I'm eating it!

No, I'm not stressed about any of that.

I'm stressed because my mother is babysitting and so I will have to clean the house from top to bottom before she comes. She may not even venture into half the rooms but is there is dirt or dust there it will be noticed.

So today I will have to spend the day cleaning, dusting and Hoovering and polishing.

By this evening I will have earned my night out.

Breaking News

Today I went into my daughter's primary school to run the weekly journalism club. I set it up last year to try and encourage the kids to get writing and hoping to create some future writers and journalists.

They are starting to develop an eye for a story, and today they announced on my arrival that they had "breaking news."

And it was quite literally breaking news: the school have been looking after some eggs all week and two days ago several chicks started to hatch.

And I was taken to see them.

Ahhh, cute.

The kids held them and stroked them really delicately and watched with fascination as another chick attempted to hatch. It was lovely to see them being so nurturing; often when I see them they can't sit still and are bored easily.

There were four eggs left to hatch. (The one at the botton is actually hatching!)

The kids told me they had named the eggs.

They were scrambled, fried, egg and bacon.

Not quite so nurturing after all!

An Alternative View

Weekday mornings are manic in our house, as I imagine they are in most homes. The hour between seven and eight is always fraught. If clothes and school bags have not been prepared the night before then tempers can start running high as the panic sets in and the time approaches for us to leave for school.

IJ doesn't help matters. At weekends she is perfectly capable of getting up and dressed all by herself. She somehow seems able to manage difficult buttons and zips. Yet on weekdays she is completely unable to put her uniform on.

And it drives me mad.

I'm not a morning person and the not-dressing situation often adds to me morning grumpiness.

This is not good.

Yesterday I mentioned this to a friend. It turned out that when her son was 5 he was exactly the same. So in the end she has to get him ready for school herself.

Now, she mentioned this to a therapist who provided an interesting, alternative view:

"Just for those five minutes when you are getting them changed they have your full attention, and on  mornings when you're rushing about that may be the only time you spend time together. Some children still need that time."

Hm-mm. Interesting.

Or maybe IJ is just being difficult.