Since it was fitness night and I own NO trainers I decided to embrace shoe sharing (note stole) and borrowed the boy childs shoes, which are marginally more stinky than mine!!! It does admittedly scare the living daylights out of my that I can wear my 12 year old child's shoes, I fear that we may indeed have to start ordering them in once he gets past a size 14 which is fast approaching at this rate.
Work was work.... (YAWN) actually that's not fair I got out of the office and away from the ongoing form filling to spend a day with actual people... to fill in forms if I'm wholly honest but its more interesting than having my face in the computer all day. During all of this I was politely informed "thank god finally a real human SW" which I wasn't sure was a compliment or an insult but I smiled and drank my tea with added suspicious (but clearly not lethal) floaty bits in and swiftly changed the subject. Midday I took a break and went to get lunch and I have to confess that it took all my willpower to resist the most fantastic smelling sausage roll today... I'm not generally a fan but it was eyeing me up seductively and promising to be a taste sensation, luckily I saw through its veneer and had a good old cheese and onion sandwich instead... and a packet of hobnobs, pear drops, packet of Oreos, 3 Babybels (other cheeses are available) and a bar of marvelous creations... (anticipating a gain this week!)
Had to charge off for ridiculously scheduled parents evening for the boy child. I realise exactly what kind of mother I am on so many counts. Firstly I hate parents evening, there is something about going back into school and being made to sit on iddy biddy chairs that only half my butt fits on and waiting around for ages that makes me revert to the sulky stroppy teenager I once was (yes ok I'm the same now but legally an adult apparently) I roll my eyes, I sigh a lot and I develop the teen hunch in which I walk around with the weight of the world on my shoulders and everything is too much damn effort. I hate it more when I have to go alone as Hubby is the only one who can remind me that I am a grown up and to act as such when attending parents evening. On top of this it is admittedly pretty poor that I cannot remember boy child's teacher and have to ask another teacher in the room, who looks at me like I am a sex offender and asks for ID before telling me. My first instinct was to just text boy child, but feared this would add to the distinct teenage air that I am already giving off. As I prepare to sit on aforementioned stupid small chair (and pray that it doesn't buckle with my weight) I am accosted by a teacher who says "boy child's mum?" - now I confess that my first instinct is to say NO and run for the hills but instead I do my best teenager in trouble mumble and grunt.
Now I have been to a good few years of these parent's evenings and I know how they go, they do all the talking and I nod and smile or frown and do disproving noises (dependent on which small person's parent's evening I am attending) and then we shake hands and I leave. That's the deal that it how it is supposed to work, this women clearly didn't get the memo and puts me on the spot with her first question "how do you think its going?" only adding to my newly found teenage angst... I mean what am I supposed to say, is there a right and wrong answer is this some test I forgot to study for? I'll just fess up now... and say I managed a humble and mumbled "...............mmmmmmmmmmm k?" complete with quizzical eyebrow movements... now teenager or no I cannot (and anyone who ever knew me knows this) handle silence; comfortable, awkward or other, so when I got no response I felt the need to fill this silence with utter inane rambling and guess work (seriously you could see the sweat running from my forehead like a small person about to get a detention I kid you not). Eventually the teacher (who clearly has some sadist tendencies) broke off my rambling to tell me that I have a gifted and talented boy child (natch) and that although he has some *ahem* social issues that he's doing really well. She then proceeded to tell me that she could see that he was my child (still analysing exactly what this means?) but that he was brilliant all the same (ahhhhhhhh). So I left feeling smug that I have not one but two amazing if socially awkward small people.
Had highly amusing moment in which mother announced we were having pesto pasta for tea, which she proceed to cook before very sternly announcing "what the fuck is this shit?" now my mum who as a child never swore that I knew has clearly become comfortable with this adult relationship we now have. Also having lived with my mother for quite a while this year, I needed to cast around for some source of what exactly she was referring to. Again (clearly a day of confession) if you remember the great mustard making episode, you'll know that I made mustard and stored it in a pesto bottle. Yes I forgot to take the label off but I knew what it was, even if she didn't. She then stomped around my kitchen (impressive given the fact that you can realistically only do half a stomp in my tiny kitchen) blethering on about bloody stupid children and now what are we going to eat. (We had pesto with cream cheese which saved the day) Thankfully she is a taster of things otherwise we'd have all been subjected to home made mustard pasta; which since no one has touched said mustard since I made it, in the first place would have been a total disaster.
Have decided that this cooking thing is my new therapy, plus I have to sit all day in the office tomorrow and the idea of any more pie is just frightening. So I thought to myself in the way that I do.... oooh I know I'll make...
(on the basis that I can finally use up that icky ick ick that is supposed to be hummus from the weekend)
Now I will say (and some of you will becoming familiar with my many interesting cooking techniques / fails) that I picked this recipe not only because I adore falafel but because in my head the recipe went... chuck everything in food processor, make into balls.... fry. COULD I be any more naive? No you have to whisk things, chop things, have stinky hands for probably a week, grate things, shove stuff in with other stuff and finally wildly improvise and substitute with things you don't actually have. (And we all know that my improvising has been SO successful thus far)
Also do not expect me to have nailed this one... I wouldn't like to set you up for disappointment...
^^^^^^ this is what we got, now again this was supposed to be a 3 minute either side jobby but I cooked it for 20 mins both sides because chickpea poisoning is a real thing people.. I suspect more people die from slipping on a chickpea that I dropped on the floor than from actually eating them but as usual I digress.. I can't say that from poor Hubby's face (who I tricked into thinking that this was his tea) that they are pretty (well the photo speaks for itself) or in fact taste any good. Although I have my own scale of food tastiness I do occasionally like to compare this to his reaction. When hubby put his head in his hands and start screaming "why why why?" I figured that they probably rank about a -4
But I did based on my "Jar" theory attempt to make them pretty by shoving them in pitta and loading them with carrot. We'll see if I manage to actually eat them tomorrow at work...
Yes Yes dusting and cleaning blah blah (why do you think my mother lives here) but lookee what came, my Dr Who offical stand and figures. EPIC! I amused hubby while setting it up by playing time lords in the same way that the small people did with their Barbie's / action men as much smaller people and re-enacted a whole Who episode while giggling with what can only be described as mania. Hubby gently reminded me these are in fact models and not toys, but I gave him a look of disgust before putting them in their rightful place. Boy child came in and commented on my toys to which I smugly and indignantly informed him that "they are models NOT toys" Hell I love being a grown up and a hypocrite....
Then I broke the ultimate angel law and took a photo (because they are my favourite) before remembering that the image of an angel becomes the angel of itself... so now you have to sit here for eternity looking at the angel because you can't blink... and it's all my fault. On a side note I have spent a good 30 minutes amusing myself at the idea of leaving this one in the boy child's room tonight because he would freak out and I could earn a good £250 from the video of that. But then I reminded myself that for today at least I am a mature and responsible parent...
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