Highs And Lows

Dear Dobson,

My week, in a nutshell.

Low Point:

Parenthood has been one of this week's crashing lows.  I've never rated myself much as a mother if I'm honest; I don't make my own houmous or anything, but I like to think I do a decent job and most importantly, my boys know they're loved.  Unfortunately oldest has entered what we have labelled 'The P Zone' - yes indeed, as his thirteenth birthday looms, Puberty arrives and the odious stench of testosterone hangs heavy in the air like ammonia.  All kinds of muscles are currently getting a good flexing.

He has behaved appallingly of late and I yearn for the days when a clip around the ear wasn't something that could land you in court.  If this is just the beginning of a catalogue of heinous pubescent behaviour then I'd like to terminate my contract here and now.

What do you mean I can't terminate my contract?

I suppose I simply attempt to muddle through the best I can, like many other parents have before me - except my own mother of course who did less than her best, but that's a whole other story I can't be arsed investing any energy in right now...


High Point:

The Love Train is stoked full of coal and is chugging along beautifully.  I don't know where it's destined to go, but being aboard it makes me very happy.  The Man is warm, wonderful and uncomplicated - I love having him in my life.


Any Other Business:

The application form has gone away.  The waiting game commences.  I shall know within three weeks or so if I'm up for interview.  Obviously they'd be mad not to take me.

I went to the cinema to see the new Star Trek film and found myself strangely drawn to Spock.  I never thought I'd use a Vulcan as stimulus for a wank.

I miss you and would like you to come back.

Frankie