quickie

Just a quickie - Twins in the bath, Son doing something in his room and Hubby having a 'long think' (yes, he's on the loo). Bought a folding coffee table today, hurrah. I have been coveting it for two years, ever since I saw it in the fair trade shop window (shame it is covered in two-years' worth of dust, but hey). Since Son's Lego space city thing has now been transferred to our army-issue coffee table, I had the perfect excuse to buy it.

The purchase will be a boon to road safety, as I will no longer look longingly into the shop window every time I'm barrelling down Kupondole in the Landrover, and narrowly miss motorbikes, mangy dogs etc.

Have to go, bathtime evidently over! xx

quarantine

Hubby has lurgy now. Son, who appears to have evolved out of illness (like crocodiles) still shows no signs of having been infected. I'm sending him back to school on Monday, whether they like it or not.

I managed to make it through one more day of bored-kids-who-aren't-ill-and-it's-too-rainy-to-go-outside by cracking open the paints and putting my playlist on the computer. No more of that High School Musical nonsense, no siree. So we painted dragons and listened to Jimi Hendrix and the Sugababes and Bob Dylan and the Black Eyed Peas (funny old thing, random play - one minute you're thirteen again and the next you're a forty-year-old matron). Then this afternoon they had to watch a DVD whilst I read two of Son's Mr Gum books (they are v. funny) and I survived the final day of quarantine with my sanity intact.

However, my brain is utterly empty now, so I'll go before I bore you with random discussions about characters in Mr Gum.

what a palaver

I had a call from another expat mum yesterday. She said one of her didis (a didi is the nepali word for aunty and is a generic term used for female household staff) had got a new job in Kathmandu (the expat mum lives in Pokhara) to be closer to her family. However, the didi - let's call her L - wasn't happy at all at her new place and wanted to leave. Did I know anyone who was looking for a didi, she asked? The expat mum had heard that one of my friends, Mrs V, was looking for a didi, so could I please ask if she'd be interested in taking on L, as L was having a terrible time with her new employer, a Mrs B of Sanepa.

So, after a long conversation about how lovely Didi L is and how Mrs B must be a bit of a slave driver, I agreed to ask Mrs V if she needed a didi.

This morning I saw Mrs V (whose daughter is also off school with lurgy) and asked her whether she needed a didi.

Mrs V said, no, she didn't, it was her friend who wanted a didi, because said friend was very unhappy with the one she had just taken on, who kept leaving work early, without asking, and complaining about the amount of work.

Mrs V said, yes, my friend needs a didi because she wants to get rid of her one, so she would be interested to hear from Didi L.

I asked what her friend's name is, so we could put the two in touch. She told me it's Mrs B of Sanepa.

Oh, the irony.

I wonder what the truth is: does Didi L really want to leave, or has Mrs B already threatened her with the sack? Is Mrs B a heartless slave driver or is Didi L a thankless good-for-nothing? And did the whole thing merit a twenty minute phone call with the distraught ex-employer from Pokhara last night?

Do you care?

Thought not.

Hubby says I should stop talking about staff. He thinks it sounds ridiculous. He's probably right.

But apart from that I can only talk about the rain (oh, god, the unceasing rain!) or the lurgy (oh, god, the unceasing lurgy!), so I don't think I'll bother.

What has it come to when the only conversation I have is about other people's issues with their maids?

Night, then x

the joy of wellies

It's like living in Northern Ireland here at the moment (except a bit warmer). I can't remember the last time I saw a speck of blue sky. Still, at least I can prance about like the Queen of the Monsoon in my tasteful flowery wellies, and laugh at the spectacle of overflowing sewage pipes and squidgy dog poo in the street, whilst others mince precariously in flip flops.
I have to tell you about my gleeful wellie wearing, because it has been the highlight of the past five days, ever since the lurgy struck. Twin 2 now has hand, foot and mouth disease as well, and I have finally run out of my stock of craft things. Good job Toy Story 3 is out in the pirate DVD shop down the road (a bit blurred and wobbly though, as it was clearly filmed in a cinema).
Son, however, has had a fabulous time recently, with a gladiator party and a rock star party this weekend. Wish my social life was half as good.
One of the Twins' little friends now has h, f & m disease, and I feel guiltily pleased, because at least I can arrange a play date for the lurgy kids tomorrow, and have a grown up to talk to (although I'll have to steer the conversation towards waterproof footwear, as I have nothing else to talk about).
Take care xx

failing marriage and fancy dress

Hubby has just gone out to a dance bar with a colleague of his. He says it's to pay the bar bill from the other week when a bunch of them nearly got arrested (they didn't, but did get to leave without paying). However, he is with a chap who is, shall we say, subject to occasional moral ambiguity, so who knows what they are up to? Certainly not me. Hubby says if he's not home by 10.30 then it probably means he's in jail. I was oddly reassured by this remark. What does that say about the state of our marriage? (It probably says the same as it said last night when I moved across the bed to place my cheek against his manly chest and tell him I loved him, and he took the opportunity to look at his watch and tut about how late it was).

So he's out, and as I've had yet another tedious day looking after a child who's not-quite-ill-enough for me to feel sorry for, but not-quite -well-enough to go to school.

Out of sheer boredom, I have spent far too much money on Amazon on witches and wizard costumes, as one does, to stave off the tedium. But at least I'll be on form for the next round of annoying fancy dress parties...This weekend Son has been invited to a Gladiator party on Saturday and a Rockstar party on Sunday (can't think why he is so popular when all he does at school playtime is read Harry Potter books). Why can't someone just have a shorts-and-t-shirt party for a change? Son said he didn't want to be a gladiator, he'd rather be a lion, so I ordered a lion costume, but of course it hasn't arrived. Son says he won't be allowed to go to B's party unless he is in fancy dress. And he says he doesn't want to go to K's party because he doesn't want to pretend to be a rock star. So it looks like he'll have another weekend watching Harry Potter and wondering why his spells don't work on Gary.

I'm quite keen for Twin 2 to get ill now. Twin 1 has been moping about all day saying how much she misses school. It made me mildly depressed as I'd put an unusual amount of energy doing craft and activity books with her this morning (oh, alright, she did a bit of colouring and we made a princess from a craft kit - I know this is what some mums do for their kids every single day after school. I like to tell myself that my laissez fair attitude to extra curricular activities is because I want my children to be creative and self-reliant, but it actually just means I'm a lazy slapper who really can't be bothered to get the painting stuff out). At least if her sister were here they could have pretend tea parties and dress up as a bride and spiderman, respectively.

And whilst they were doing that I could begin on another book from the increasingly high pile on my bedside table (next is a toss up between Azincourt - which Hubby says anyone English has to read - and the latest one from Tash Aw. I've just finished The Little Stranger, which was really good. People keep pressing books on me, and the more I read, frankly, the more disheartened I get at ever being a decent writer. The problem is, I'm a bit addicted to it now.).

Anyway, better scoot: those lunch boxes won't pack themselves, you know! xx

hand, foot and mouth

Still no rabies BUT...we do have hand, foot and mouth disease! Oh yes, I think with my reverse-wishful thinking I have cursed myself with letting yet another random childhood bug into the house. Poor Twin 1 has blisters all over her hands and feet and inside her mouth. The pain of eating necessitated an emergency trip to Ben & Jerry's for two tubs of very expensive ice cream - can't see the poor mite starve, can we?

Apparently hand, foot and mouth is a bit like chicken pox but even more infectious. Twin 1 was only diagnosed at lunchtime, but by school pickup there was an ominous looking letter to all year one parents warning them of the virus. Luckily Twin 1 is quite speedy, evasive and not one for physical affection, so she might not have infected anyone. If Twin 2 had it, the whole neighbourhood would be covered in infectious pustules by now, such is her propensity for smooching random strangers.

I think I had the grown-ups version of h, f & m last night: felt pants, sore throat, went to bed at seven, thus missing laydeez night out in Thamel, boo. Feel better now, though (think the ice cream helped). Glad to be feeling better but dreading the long march to the weekend, at home alone with puss-ridden, bored girl for company. I'm hoping that Twin 2 will develop some telltale pustules of her own by the morning, so I can keep her off as well, and at least they can play Harry Potter together, or something.

Anyway, so that's put an end to my hedonistic couple of weeks writing and lunching and generally behaving like Lady Muck - I knew it was too good to be true!

Must go and say goodnight to Son, who has been waiting about half an hour, poor chap.

Bye x

no rabies, no teeth

I haven't got rabies yet, so that's good.

What else?

Son lost another tooth at the weekend. Unfortunately he still believes in the tooth fairy, so we have to cough up hard cash. The problem was, this time, that he literally lost the tooth, couldn't find it anywhere. So he insisted that he eat cheese before bed time, because that way he'd have happy dreams, smile a lot, and any passing tooth fairy would notice and pay up anyway. Luckily she did. She even wrote a note, yet again, even though she wondered to herself whether and eight-year-old really could still believe in her, or simply just wanted some dosh.

We spent most of the weekend (when not searching for absent milk teeth) watching Harry Potter DVDs. Son has read all the books, so now we have to watch all the films, and jolly good they are too. Twin 2 now says she is Hermione, Twin 1 is Harry Potter, and Son is Dumbledore. I guess that leaves me to be the horrible bossy headmistress who tried to get Dumbledore booted out then. Or Hagrid's dog. Who is Hubby I wonder?

Kids still ridiculously happy at school, which isn't right. Whatever happened to all the grumpy old grey-looking teachers? These lot are all young and springy and beautiful. In my day teachers had to look deeply unfashionable and hard-done-by, but clearly this is no longer the case, at least not in Kathmandu. Twins teacher is particularly dewy-eyed and gorgeous. I'm expecting Hubby to take a keen interest in year 1 parent-teacher meetings for this academic year (although I suspect I'll be left to do year 4 all alone).

At the moment Hubby is looking through the first ten pages of the new book. I'm expecting him to be as merciless as I generally am when he runs through water treatment presentations with me.

Must go, no charge left on laptop.

Take care x