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

In Brief

Dear Dobson,

I loved your card idea and although I possess the malice, I lack the creative skills...

Therefore I opted for a missive brandishing this message on the front:

"Mum! You're Almost As Amazing As Me!"

That should do the passive / aggressive trick.

Frankie

Ghosts

Dearest Frankie,

Lovely to be back.  Motherhood and workeyhood have indeed got in the way, but like a 1990s girlband, I've re-grouped, am back in the lycra and raring to go.

I suggest you make a Mother's Day card for said person. Make it look like a ransom note but then decorate it with bunnies, roses and kittens and it'll confuse the fuck out of her.  See if you can find the 'bunny ears' you described earlier and pop them in for good measure. It'll be like getting a card from Michael Madsden AND Blue Peter.  Worth a thought...

I don't believe in ghosts, but I've seen a lot of the feckers in the last month.  Coming back from the dead like the Sixth Sense.  Or Scooby Doo.

It was doable on Facebook. You didn't have to actually see them, and sometimes it was rather lovely to be reunited with a few.

But in person...

So. What do you do when someone you haven't seen for years is in the room with you? Next to you?  Then you see them again. By accident.  Third time lucky? Who knows? They may disappear once more.

But do you know what. I ain't spooked. In fact. It's ok. It's ok to see people that I may have been fearful of in the past (not good enough / thin enough / happy enough).  I'm not spooked because, as Cheryl says "I'm worth it".  Take me or leave me. Seriously. Enough pussyfooting around. (I've put that in for the dirty readers).

I'm kinda enjoying work too - feeling more in control, more worthy, more like me. That's good. I want to be able to move on from there, when I want to, on my terms.  Sod 'em.

Right. That's enough from the Iron Curtain.

Love you more,

Dobson

PS.  When you see that Justin Timberlake, tell him he left his Oyster Card here last time.

Mommie Dearest

Dear Dobson,

Given your absence I can only postulate that things like work, young children and life in general are all demanding your time – either that or you’ve buggered off to the Maldives for three weeks and kept it from me.  I miss you when you’re not here, and you know how much I hate to talk about myself…

I have decided that tomorrow I will buy a Mother’s Day card for the person in question; always a difficult task for a misomater.  Do I assuage my own feelings of guilt by getting her the prettiest card containing the most genuine message, or do I adopt an insouciant attitude towards the whole thing with a cheap and meaningless token gesture?  Decisions, decisions…

Matricidal fantasies aside, I currently have very little to gripe about.  Your previous advice has been heeded and I am doing my utmost to enjoy whatever time I am able to share with The Man.  I find his company fulfilling in many different ways.  I like him – a lot.

I never thought I’d see the day when Justin Timberlake’s standing in my wank bank was rescinded, but given current levels of gratification his position is now somewhat redundant.  When I mailed him to tell him so he took it badly, but that’s Aquarian ego for you…  He’ll get over me.

Frankie