This has been a busy week. I started out in recovery from two sleepover parties, and segued into ill health in the form of a virulent cold virus. Virulent virus....I likes that. Anyway, this meant lots of what my granny would have called "mullygrubbing" - hanging around the house going nowhere fast, achieving very little other than perhaps lots of mugs to wash. But not necessarily washing any of them.
In between bouts of idleness, I forced myself to function in the real world sometimes too. My mother has been away on holiday and asked me to go and pick her raspberries so that they wouldn't go to waste. This should have been a fun, rewarding activity as I gleefully harvested the delicious, free crop of juicy fruit. However it has rained non-stop for a fortnight and the raspberry canes were standing in what can only be described as a quagmire. It's not easy to scrabble around for raspberries while your boots are sinking faster than your heart and you're not sure if it's rain or snot that's dripping from your nose. Couple this with the presence of a lazy wasp that found its way into the car, purely, it seemed, for the purpose of terrifying kidlets and it didn't make for a whole heap of fun. Still, we got raspberries out of the deal; free-range organic and in purely monetary terms, not costing anything either. Although I might dispute that when I take into consideration the extra laundry!
What else did we get up to? Let's see. Well, since kid-in-the-middle started full time education, the school has introduced a range of initiatives to help parents feel more involved in the whole process. Five years ago, it was a case of "Your child has reached school age, we'll take her now, come back at three", and apart from the odd parent/teacher interview session, and the occasional mumble of "Nothing much", that's all you learned about what your kid was doing there all day. Now, they've got workshops and talks, and slideshows and Involvement Days. Consequently, I feel like I've been at school all week.
As well as the Numeracy Session that I was volunteered for (which turned out to be a Literacy Session, and involved me being in charge of a smart board and was really rather fun), I also attended a Literacy Workshop. Quite how this ended up with me being covered in glittery sand I'm not sure. It did seem a little bit like a hardsell timeshare presentation, with people being signed up as volunteers for all sorts of extra-curricular activities, but on balance I think it was "a good thing." At least this time, I know what the teacher looks like. When kid-the-eldest started school, I was labouring under the impression that the tall lady with frizzy hair was his teacher, and it was weeks later that I discovered that she was actually the classroom assistant; the woman I'd suspected of loitering with dubious intent was the teacher.Saturday saw more raspberry-picking, and a mercy-stop at a rather pathetic coffee morning. I'd nipped into the church office to offer some apologies; I wasn't going to be able to help them out with the Harvest Festival flowers afterall as I had no-one to look after the kidlets. The-Man-I-Married is away in London, Mother is on one of the Orkney Islands and I can't stick flowers into oasis very well with three whiny children hanging off my knees. At least, not with any kind of positive result. So I was excusing myself from floral activities, but while there, was directed over to the church hall where they were evidently desperate for customers. It cost me six of my finest pounds to purchase a coffee, three orange squash (I sent up a silent prayer to the god of e-numbers to please be kind to me later on), three scones and jam and three strips of raffle tickets (non-winning variety). I'm still not sure what the coffee morning was supporting - at the rate my purse is being emptied lately, I might hold one in support of me.
Sunday was Harvest Festival. It has become traditional that instead of cans of soup and loaves of bread, the children bring in a Christmas-wrapped shoebox filled with gifts for a family in Romania. I'm assured that our church, and the organisation behind the boxes, don't add any literature to the boxes, and there's no requirement for conversion before the recipient can have their goodies. Assuming this to be the case, (because while I go to church, and believe whatever it is that I believe, I don't feel good about forcing other people to think the same way as I do), I actually love filling these shoeboxes. I started doing it after one of my miscarriages, as a way of remembering the person who wasn't with us. And each year, I'd fill a box with goodies for a child who'd be the same age as the baby who didn't make it. Now, I fill one for each of my living children, and it's like another excuse to play Father Christmas.
Last year, for reasons I've now forgotten, we neglected to take our boxes. Consequently this year, I had most of the bits and pieces already. I was feeling quite smug about being organised for once until Kid-in-the-middle asked in her loudest stage whisper "Is this all the stuff you forgot to give last year?" as we walked up the aisles.
During the service, one of the stalwarts stood up and asked for volunteers to deliver the festival flowers around the village. As I was already feeling guilty (and we're protestants...why I always have this Catholic Guilt thing going on I'm not sure...I blame all these ecumenical services) I volunteers not only myself, but my children and my son's best friend at the same time. Kid-the-Eldest was not happy. Kid-the-eldest was not shy about making this known. Kids with Aspergers don't really "get" tact and diplomacy and so I really should have been prepared for what came next.
We collect various bunches of flowers, all labelled and addressed, and head off for our first delivery. Kid-in-the-middle rings the doorbell and a rather frail elderly lady comes to the door. Her face lights up: flowers and company - what a treat. She's delighted and her delight is infectious. "Oh!" she says. "Oh! How lovely. Thank you so much. You've fair made my day. And you young people....so kind to come and deliver them." We all smile back, beatific. Except for Kid-with-Aspergers. Oh no. He steps forward in a most determined manner and says "I'm glad you like the flowers but I think you should know that I'm here against my will. I did not volunteer and I wasn't given at least two week's notice that this was happening. I've been forced." Fortunately she was also deaf and just kept smiling at us. "Asperger Boy" was left in the car for the next delivery.
Talking of deliveries, the post man has just been. Harridan has sent cake and coffee. The coffee is for me, the cake less so. She couldn't have timed it better as Kid-the-Youngest said only last night that she wished we could have "that homemade melty pud". And now she can.
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