Monday, 29 September 2014

New Car Causes Marital Strife

Mr Disgrace has a new car.  This is nothing too unusual.  Since I met him 8 years ago, he's had four cars in total.  There was the Polo, which he used to cane along the M6 every day on  a two hour commute, until it started emitting clouds of black,burnt cheese scented smoke and ground to a halt en route to a wedding one day.  Then there was The Mighty Mighty Passat, which was an ugly silver tank of a thing with a previous owner who used to regularly kick it, by the looks of things.  Then some sort of ancient Saab which also broke down spectacularly, and after that a little Honda Jazz; a car so uncool that we were the only people under the age of 60 in the UK ever to own one.  I liked the Jazz.  It was so reassuringly slow.  It never broke down and always got us there and back, and was just the right size for a little family of 3.  Also, nobody ever wanted to steal it.  There you have it: the perfect combination of functionality and crappiness.

The boys say goodbye to the Jazz

So, the other night, he drove his new car home, and he and Small Disgrace were immediately all over it, practically salivating, and bezzing around the Close, music blaring.  I stood on the doorstep, sulking.

"Come on, hop in, lets take it for a drive," said Mr Disgrace.  I reluctantly humphed into the back seat and sat there scowling and pulling my collar up so my mates wouldn't recognize me, in the style of a truculent teenager being dropped off at a party by her dad.

Now, admittedly, it's quite smooth.  And it's got some fancy screen thing that pops up and says things on it (don't know what - I can't drive), and it's very spacious.  But it can fuck off.  Because it's an Audi: An absolutely giant, black Audi A6.  And those, much like big black BMWs, are the mark of the wanker.






Reasons it annoys me:

a) It's longer than our drive.
b) It looks a bit like a hearse.
c) The headlights give it a cross face (yes, this is how I judge cars.  Don't start).
d) There are only 3 of us in our family, and we are all short (yes, husband - short.  Not average height, no matter how much you try to convince me).  We really don't need the extra room.
e) Every time I look out of the window, I keep thinking some cheeky smug git has parked on our drive.
c) It's just...it's just not the sort of car that a family of Disgraces should own.  

Our family is rubbish.  Rubbish.  We are not a power family.  Our child does not go to 4 different extra curricular activities.  Our house is a mess.  Chickens occasionally wander in and out of our lounge, passing comment on Double Your House for Half the Money.  Also, I had to take a calculator to Aldi yesterday to make sure our weekly shop didn't go over 24 quid and bankrupt us, which I don't think makes us nice-car-worthy, does it?  And we generally like pottering along in our "who gives a crap" state.  Don't we?  Don't we, Mr Disgrace?  I thought we did, anyway.

It's just a bit...show off-y, I think.  A bit "look at me."  I try to voice this to my husband:

"I just don't think it's really 'us', you know," I say.  "We're not alphas.  We're...we're charmingly eclectic."
"But we're getting better at life and stuff."
"Well, a bit.  But, we're the Disgrace Family.  We're supposed to be disgraceful. Not the owners of the wankermobile.  What next?  An Aga to cook the fish fingers in?  This is not going to be good for blog material."
"Well, frankly darling, you've been scraping the bottom of the barrel for a while, what with the nice new bathroom and our son not being a git since he was two.  Ha - we should probably have another baby just so you've got something to write about."

Thin ice, Mr Disgrace.  And for that, I shall be wearing my frostiest knickers to bed tonight.

He does have a point though.  Small Disgrace is an easy going, well behaved delight to parent (albeit a total weirdo still), our new bathroom is gorgeous, and if you were to look in the kitchen right now, you'd see empty work surfaces and a fully stacked dishwasher.  We seem to have improved without me even noticing.  I feel a bit betrayed to be honest.  I'm still bumbling about, cocking up and muttering about taking down the establishment, while Mr Disgrace has become a proper grown up.  How am I supposed to damn The Man and save The Empire* when my husband is driving a grown up car and wearing head to toe Boden?"

He tells me we're still the same really.  Things haven't really changed that much:  "It's OK babe, we're still a little bit crappy.  Don't worry.  After all, we'll always have the giant ants nest."

True.  we'll always have that.  That is a comfort.





* 90s teen movie reference. If you don't get it, I'm afraid we can no longer be friends.

Tuesday, 9 September 2014

When time goes too fast

I was recently sent a link to this video that Fairy have made called The Softest They'll Ever Be:


It didn't quite make me cry, but I'm pretty sure that if the child in the video was a boy, I'd have been inconsolable.  This is because I've just spent several weeks with my baby back at home with me during the school holidays.  I always forget how well we rub along together.  During the holidays when it's just the two of us, we get up to all sorts of adventures.  OK, many of them involve not leaving the house, and quite a few of them involve scraping the chicken poo off the patio whilst wearing our wellies and pyjamas (um, at 2pm. Don't judge), but we still manage to have a lovely time.  I've especially enjoyed all the cuddles that he's still not quite old enough to resent giving me yet.  It reminded me of our time together before he started school - when we'd have adventures in the morning, then cuddle up in bed together for a nap in the afternoons. Errr, I mean, he used to have a nap and I clearly did a lot of housework and balanced the household budget and cleaned the mould off the bath mat and other worthy, housewifely things.  Yes.  Who said anything about sneaky naps?  Not me.  Oh look, isn't that a squirrel?

I do miss those cuddly days that seemed to go on forever (and not always in a good way).  I had PND when my son was a baby, so I don't really look back on the baby years with the same fondness, but I do recall that he would only ever sleep on me during the day, so I spent much of my time reading on the sofa with a warm, cuddly baby snoozing on my chest, and very occasionally, I do wish that I could turn back time just for a little bit to experience that again.  Oh, I do miss my boy while he's at school.  I really really do.  Maybe I should home school him, then I'd get to see him all the time.




At least, that's what I was thinking and feeling until about 3 days before autumn term was due to start when I opened an email from Rory's school informing me that school would be closed for an extra week due to building work being unfinished.  WTF, SCHOOL?  Are you KIDDING ME?? Some of us were on a SLEEPS COUNTDOWN until the start of term, you know.  Are you trying to send us all around the nobbing twist?  There is LEGO all over my MOTHER FLIPPING HOUSE here, OK??

School finally re-started yesterday.  Here's the boy about to set off for his first day in Year 1.  




The Lego is back where it should be, I can crack on with some work in blissful, unadulterated silence and nobody else is eating all the crisps.  Bring on the fudging trumpets.

I still can't wait for my 3.30 cuddle though.









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