same, same but different

This morning I crept out of the house at 6am and flew up to Auckland for a meeting.  Mid morning I rang the husband who'd taken a day off work to step in as duty manager.
"Hello darling, how's it going?"
"I don't know what all the fuss is about.  I've hoovered everywhere, am just going to finish folding this washing then I'm off to Tay St to have a boozy lunch with the girls."

I spent a magical couple of hours chatting to the editor of the kind of magazine I'd love to write for.  I saw tulip skirted girls in opaque tights and matt red lipstick march through busy offices with self confidence and furrow browed concentration, neatly stepping round the table football in strappy platforms to grab a coffee.

There was an equally high level of industriousness at home when I got back - the husband cooking tea, twin1 lifting up her t shirt to show the fresh little pox which have popped up on her chest since last night, twin2 swatting twin1 over the head and whooping with laughter and the lad screaming at the girls to be quiet so he could concentrate on cartoons.  Same, same but different.

Wednesday you are the new Friday

Every Wednesday morning an angel in Marigolds comes to my house and transforms it into the kind of place you want to spend lots of time in.  As I walk through the door the self assurance of Pledge hits me and it's all I can do to stop myself from dropping to my knees in teary gratitude.  The effect a tidy, clean house has on morale is immeasurable.  Immediately after the gratitude comes panic.  I stretch my arms out in protection over hoovered carpets and gleaming sinks and start screaming. 'Nobody touch anything.  Don't play with any toys, don't eat anything, don't go to the toilet and don't sit anywhere.'

I have devised a system to prolong the joy as long as possible.  When I pick the children up from kindy at lunchtime on a Wednesday we don't go home to have lunch.  Oh no.  If it's not blowing a gale or bitingly cold I take sandwiches down to the beach.  Failing that we'll eat the sandwiches in the car while we look at the windy and cold beach (I have lost count of the number of four year olds who get in my car and blanche at the frankly unhygienic state of its interior but hey, who cares?  At least the house is clean).  I'll happily trawl the three of them round the supermarket and feed them a lunch of whatever they want from little plastic wrapped packages as long as the house is clean.  I try and remember to throw 3 packs of those milkshake as breakfast things into the trolley then the tidiness inches through Thursday morning too.

The irony of my not being in the house to fully benefit from its cleanliness is not lost on me but I don't care.  Wednesdays rule.

What's Father Christmas up to?

The house is clean. Spotless in fact. The lovely lady who has transformed it from a grubby, dusty mess into a serene space of clean light was on holiday last week so it was particularly bad after two weeks of neglect. The morale boost of a tidy house to an irritable mother cannot be underestimated. Years ago I used to have a girl called Magda help me in London. Although she made the place look gorgeous there were always a few incidents. I came home early one day to find her spraying my perfume liberally over herself. I would often get phone calls asking for her from overseas. Magda also cleaned the house of a friend of mine. His girlfriend came home to find Magda fully reclined on his la-z-boy chair enjoying a chat with one of her Polish compatriots on his landline. I liked the girl but she clearly needed to re-evaluate where her professional boundaries lay.

It's Christmas eve and our house is full of excitement. We have been discussing Father Christmas and what we think he's probably up to right at this very minute, wondering whether the snow and ice in England will impede his reindeer of if they'll feel it's a 'home from home' and speed them up. This evening we will be having roast chicken for dinner then after the children have all gone to bed the husband and I will wrap up their presents, drink sherry and listen to Christmas carols. The weather forecast for tomorrow is clear blue skies which would be glorious. Our Christmas Day will be spent with the husband's family which is always fun. I will miss my family terribly but they are coming in 4 weeks on my birthday so there is plenty to look forward to with them.

Yo ho ho Merry Christmas to one and all love from Jenny Jane Rudd