Another week has gone by and the Lozenge has just emerged from behind the white sliding door of the school bus bringing the Friday feeling with him. As I type, both dwarves are lying on the floor of my den fiddling. L has been unscrewing the second hinge to my desk door, and Rashimi is applying Laura Mercier lipstick to his lips and chin.
There are days when J and I feel crossed eyed with the incessant chatting and driving and cooking and planning and texting and delivering and bringing and dressing and washing and grooming and remembering and forgetting and pacifying and uplifting and sometimes even....thinking. And of course laughing and running and jumping. And doing our own work on the side. We fall into a heap at 7.30pm and wonder if the little island we chose to live on together is under siege. We have a dwarf free jaunt planned at the end of the month where the private island will be free from storms and pirate invasions for a full 3 days.
The Lozenge's out of school task for the week has been to make a family tree. He nipped out to the garden and came back with a branch almost as big as a tree so it only just got through the door. We took some Polaroid pictures of ourselves to hang on the tree.
Then the Lozenge and Rashimi started a third world war, verging on nuclear, with the tree. So now we're back to where we started. Rashimi wants a pirate outfit for his birthday. I'm not sure he needs the costume.
The Lozenge is loving the music classes with the beautiful French Rachel who speaks like Madame Gazelle and wears tiny, short dresses with lots of brown skin on display. But there are two weak links: the fact that our clavinova is electric, and the little brother in the house. Rashimi, almost always naked, likes to sprint into the Lozenge and my little music practise sessions, thump on the keys or switch the demo tune on, and streak off. And when I'm trying to have a little musical moment to myself - both dwarves swoop in cackling, and simply switch me off, or when things get really desperate, unplug me.
On the way back from the music class this week we collected St Grace and Rashimi who had been scurrying in the park. There were crowds of people, police cars and ambulances. My initial thought was there had been an emergency, but on closer inspection, people looked happy enough. Grace and Rashimi waved from one corner and hopped in the car. 'What's going on there Grace?' I asked. 'I don't know really,' she said. 'An Arabic man told me: 'Walad ma'a walad. Bint ma'a bint. Hadol mujennin.' (Boy with boy. Girl with girl. They're all crazy).' Then I saw a rainbow flag. The penny dropped. I think it may have been Rashimi and St Grace's very first gay day parade. They looked like they'd very much enjoyed themselves despite being the odd ones out.
There's an emphasis on Christian teachings at L's school. This week he explained: 'God made the world. First the light, and then the heeeeeooooouuuge sky, and then the world. And there was LOTTH of water. But Mummy, he didn't put much water here. When will there be another puddle?'
I'm reading George Orwell's short stories when I get a demi-hemi second in our room when I'm not already asleep. I can't decide whether it's a brilliant or terrible moment in history to be reading him. With the murder of David Haines by Islamic State; and the referendum fever in Scotland with Alex Salmond trying to sell his perfect looking egg with a beautiful shell, which we all know is rotten inside, or at best, totally empty. There is as much irresponsible politics and totalitarianism in the world as ever, and I wonder if Orwell knew all along he'd be predicting the future by writing about his own present.
There are days when J and I feel crossed eyed with the incessant chatting and driving and cooking and planning and texting and delivering and bringing and dressing and washing and grooming and remembering and forgetting and pacifying and uplifting and sometimes even....thinking. And of course laughing and running and jumping. And doing our own work on the side. We fall into a heap at 7.30pm and wonder if the little island we chose to live on together is under siege. We have a dwarf free jaunt planned at the end of the month where the private island will be free from storms and pirate invasions for a full 3 days.
The Lozenge's out of school task for the week has been to make a family tree. He nipped out to the garden and came back with a branch almost as big as a tree so it only just got through the door. We took some Polaroid pictures of ourselves to hang on the tree.
Then the Lozenge and Rashimi started a third world war, verging on nuclear, with the tree. So now we're back to where we started. Rashimi wants a pirate outfit for his birthday. I'm not sure he needs the costume.
The Lozenge is loving the music classes with the beautiful French Rachel who speaks like Madame Gazelle and wears tiny, short dresses with lots of brown skin on display. But there are two weak links: the fact that our clavinova is electric, and the little brother in the house. Rashimi, almost always naked, likes to sprint into the Lozenge and my little music practise sessions, thump on the keys or switch the demo tune on, and streak off. And when I'm trying to have a little musical moment to myself - both dwarves swoop in cackling, and simply switch me off, or when things get really desperate, unplug me.
On the way back from the music class this week we collected St Grace and Rashimi who had been scurrying in the park. There were crowds of people, police cars and ambulances. My initial thought was there had been an emergency, but on closer inspection, people looked happy enough. Grace and Rashimi waved from one corner and hopped in the car. 'What's going on there Grace?' I asked. 'I don't know really,' she said. 'An Arabic man told me: 'Walad ma'a walad. Bint ma'a bint. Hadol mujennin.' (Boy with boy. Girl with girl. They're all crazy).' Then I saw a rainbow flag. The penny dropped. I think it may have been Rashimi and St Grace's very first gay day parade. They looked like they'd very much enjoyed themselves despite being the odd ones out.
There's an emphasis on Christian teachings at L's school. This week he explained: 'God made the world. First the light, and then the heeeeeooooouuuge sky, and then the world. And there was LOTTH of water. But Mummy, he didn't put much water here. When will there be another puddle?'
I'm reading George Orwell's short stories when I get a demi-hemi second in our room when I'm not already asleep. I can't decide whether it's a brilliant or terrible moment in history to be reading him. With the murder of David Haines by Islamic State; and the referendum fever in Scotland with Alex Salmond trying to sell his perfect looking egg with a beautiful shell, which we all know is rotten inside, or at best, totally empty. There is as much irresponsible politics and totalitarianism in the world as ever, and I wonder if Orwell knew all along he'd be predicting the future by writing about his own present.
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