OK so this is freaky

After I hit publish on that last post, the page I got on Blogger telling me I'd published successfully had an ad... for a death test. Yes, a test to calculate out when I will die.

So, I did it, but then it turned out it would send the answer to my mobile phone and I'd have to pay. So I searched for another test, and this one required my weight in pounds, so I went to a metric converter site, which had an ad for... the death test.

Why is the internet so keen to rub my nose in my mortality?

(I didn't get any ad when I published this post. Cue the Twilight Zone music...)

Nope, sorry, this isn't going to work

So I feel that I'm able, pretty quickly, to judge whether I like something or not. Judge whether it's me or not.

Like, when we were looking for a house to buy, I just knew, the second of walking in the door - and actually probably before we had even finished parking - whether or not I could live in the one we were visiting.

I'm pretty sure you know what I'm talking about, that reaction somewhere deep inside you, not articulated or reasoned out, but nevertheless a very strong for sure in no uncertain terms no doubt about it NO WAY. And the just as strong for sure in no uncertain terms no doubt about it YES! when the thing in question is perfect.

And I'm sure that, like me, even when your body was screaming NO WAY, you have sometimes tried to convince yourself that you could do it, could learn to be happy with whatever the thing in question was. And then either realised what a disaster that would be, or lived to regret thinking you could make this thing fit you.

So. I am very in no uncertain terms no doubt about it sure that I cannot be 40.

I haven't even bothered trying to convince myself that I can make it work. It just won't.

I have this image of a big black boldface 40 in my head, and it's apart from me, and I can't make it fit into me. It's like my mind is baulking at the possibility. Nope, it's saying, not possible. Not 40. No. NO WAY.

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I've been feeling a bit, I dunno, melancholy I guess, about the whole 40 thing for a while now. Realising, but not wanting to accept, that I am middle-aged. Realising that most people I know now, know me as I am now - responsible, sensible, a mother - and will never know my younger self. Understanding what's behind a mid-life crisis. And resenting the walnut tree in our back yard because it will live longer than me.

It's not that I want to go back in time - I definitely like myself a lot better now than the me I remember in her 20s.

I just don't want to get older, to be old. The thing is, I can't help seeing the future mapped out for me, in a way I never did before. At 30, I never thought of being 40, or 50, or 60. I just couldn't imagine it. But now it's like I have anchors in the future, through my children. When I turn 50, Téo will be 15 and Lukan 12... and at 60 Téo will be 25 and Lukan 22... and at 70 Téo will be 35 and Lukan 32 ... and then... will I even be around after that?

It doesn't seem like much time left.

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Can't I just stay in my 30s?

Bing! Time to blog!

So there's more than a few of you out there who at one point or another, probably many times actually, have been mightily pissed off with me for not being on time. All of you, feel free to take a lot of pleasure from the fact that right now, I have to be on time all the time, and I am suffering.

It's the New Regime. Bing! 6.45am, time to get up, showered and dressed. Bing! 7am, time to get the kids up and dressed and fed. Bing! 7.45am, time to leave for the garderie, then race back in order to get Téo to school. Bing! 8.30am, time to work. Bing! 10.45am, time to go get Téo from school. Bing! 11am, time for Téo's reading lesson. Bing! 12am, the babysitter comes, time to work. Bing! 4.45pm, time to stop work, as the babysitter has to leave to catch the train. Bing! 5pm, time to get Lukan. Bing! 5.30pm, time to start dinner. Bing! 6pm, time to eat. Bing! 6.30pm, time to start getting the kids ready for bed. Bing! 7pm, kids in bed.

I've never had to stick to such a strict, regimented schedule before. One where I'm switching from task to task at an appointed time, multiple times a day, and there's No Room For Deviation. Five-minute chat with the neighbours? Yikes, I'm running late! A whole morning to fill out a form for a potential new client, just to get me in their system? Aack, how will I meet my other work deadlines for today! Finding out the babysitter turned the dishwasher off mid-cycle, and now there's no clean dishes for dinner? Oh no, the kids will be late to bed!

It's exhausting - and I know I have it way easier than a lot of working mothers. I have that seeping, overpowering tiredness, the one where you just want to sleep, no matter where you are or what you're doing. Like when you're pregnant. (I'm not.) I'm wondering if I'll eventually get used to it, or if this is how it's going to be from now on?

But then, as C kindly pointed out, I am getting old after all.

Which actually is adding to the tiredness, at least lately, because there's another Bing! in there: Bing! Kids in bed! Time to start preparing food for Saturday's party!

Yes, I have taken on the catering myself.

I rejected most caterers as they are too Swiss. Cheese-and-dried-meat-platters kind of Swiss. Then I found one that looked more to my taste, got a quote, and was alarmed by the price - and also by the chef, who, when I said I worked for WWF and so didn't want certain fish on the menu, actually crossed his arms at me as if I were the vampire sucking the life out of the oceans. I don't think so, you short-sighted, selfish plunderer of nature's bounty! And anyway, whatever happened to "the customer is always right"?? Plus, I have this problem in that I think I'm a reasonably good cook, and it bugs me to pay a lot of money for something I could do myself, and it bugs me even more if I could do it better.

So yes, my stinginess and moral superiority and arrogance all combined into me deciding I would prepare everything. But then, as I rolled the umpteen millionth samosa last night, it did occur to me that it could all be a huge disaster, as I have never attempted any of the menu before. Which would be embarrassing as my neighbour always makes very yummy party food. Come to think of it, I always have food disasters when I cook for the neighbours. And they're invited on Saturday night. OH NO!! THE FOOD IS GOING TO BE AWFUL! NO ONE WILL EVER COME TO ANY OF MY PARTIES AGAIN!

Rolling samosas and other filo-based finger foods late into the night, every night, is not good for your mental health.

So anyway, Bing! 10pm, time for bed!

Because, when everyone arrives on Saturday night, I'd rather not feel like all I want to do is sleep.

Murphy's law of kids and sleep

On school days, you will have to wake the kids up, even though it's after 7.

On non-school days (like today*), the kids will wake you up, even though it's not yet 7.

* You really don't want to get me started on Swiss school hours...

Our camera seems to have fixed itself

Fun times with an almost-2-year-old

- Orange juish peesh.

- OK, would you like this cup?

- No!

- This one then?

- No! No!

- Little man, there are only two clean cups, it has to be one of these.

- NO!

- Fine then, no orange juice.

- Wor-tah!

- OK, water.

(Filling of water bottle)

- No. No wor-tah. Juish.

- You want juice in your water bottle?

- Yeah.

- OK.

(Tipping of water onto plant)

- No!! Wor-tah!!

- OK, I'll put some more water in your bottle.

- No! Dat wor-tah! Dat wor-tah! (pointing at plant)

- Lukan, you said you didn't want water, you wanted juice, so I gave the water to the plant.

- NO NO NO!!

(Dramatic flinging of blankie to floor, lying of head on table, sobbing)

(Several repeats of asking for the water in the plant, followed by dramatic sobbing)

(Ignoring of said dramatics)

- Juish!

- You want some juice?

- Yeah!

(Finally, 15 minutes after the first request for juice, the juice is drunk)

(But now there's no time for breakfast)

(Sigh)

Not the best start II

He bounced around all morning, asking when it was time to go to school.

At 1.45 he set off gleefully, telling everyone we passed that he was starting school today.

He saw the crowd of parents and kids outside the school, fell quiet, tightened his grip on my hand.

We entered the classroom and, unexpectedly, my own tears threatened.

His tears fell.

He buried his face into me, and clung on tightly. (The only one to do so.)

I managed to get him to sit down, calm down, let go, agree I could take 5 steps back to take a photo.


It was time for the parents to leave.

I kissed him goodbye, told him how proud I was that he had calmed himself down, and that I would see him soon.

He cried again, but stayed in his seat.

I left.

1 hour 20 minutes later*, when I picked him up, he was absolutely fine.


This morning he smiled for a photo.


And then he was off.


* Don't get me started on the length of the Swiss school day...