Well, following the primal scream moment, many things have now been sorted. There is still one particular person who clearly can’t see the wood for the trees, but it’d take a whole page to cover that one. (That’s an in-joke for Kayleigh’s benefit. Moo-ha-ha).
What Gav Thorpe, the illustrious sidekick to Dennis the Hamster, Rodent Superstar (and all-round fine fellow) said in comments on my previous post is quite correct.
There’s this moment when you click onto the fact that ‘hang I’m, I’m the mature one here… when did that happen?’ And for me, at least, it’s set off a multitude, nay a veritable landslide of emotions and thoughts. Whilst I’m riding this wave of Being Grown Up, I should harness its power and do all the things I’ve been threatening to do for the five years we’ve been in this house.
Then I realised that I’ve Been Mature for the last week or so. For five years I have procrastinated, pontificated and done other things that end in ‘ated’ (keep your dirty thoughts to yourselves) about this house. And yet in the space of two weeks, I’ve addressed pretty much all of those things that I’ve studiously avoided.
‘The three piece suite is too big for the living room’, I would grumble. I knew what the answer was, but just somehow didn’t get around to it. RECTIFIED. By some bizarre twist of fate, I found myself in SCS in Durham the other Sunday. I made the mistake of ‘going in just for a look’ and came out clutching a (wrongly calculated) piece of paper that told me I would soon become the proud owner of a new two-seater sofa and matching ‘snuggle’ seat. I’m still reeling.
‘My son is as much of a pack rat as I am,’ I complained regularly. ‘He has more assorted crap in his bedroom than most people have in their entire houses.’ RECTIFIED. The same Sunday that SCS somehow extracted money out of me, we completely blitzed his bedroom. Four – FOUR – boxes of rubbish duly dumped, and there’s now a landing full of still usable toys that are gradually being ferried to the charity shop.
‘I hate coming down in the morning to last night’s washing up.’ RECTIFIED. I stopped leaving it.
‘That bloody wardrobe is falling apart and there’s nowhere to store any clothes in our bedroom.’ RECTIFIED. I bought three chests of six drawers each, and am ready to ditch the wardrobe, the falling apart dressing table and the black ash… whatever it is that’s been in my possession for something like 15 years.
‘I need to do more exercise.‘ RECTIFIED. Exercise bike to get me back into doing stuff gently before I get more daring later in the year and take up running.
Seriously, what the hell is wrong with me? And then I realised I have these occasional pockets of being grown up which sometimes work out in my favour and sometimes don’t. Seems to be just before/around Jamie’s birthday too: this time last year I looked into remortgaging the house and getting a loft conversion. I wimped out at the last minute because I couldn’t bear the thought of being back where I started with the mortgage (I only have 10 years left on it now). And now I’m contemplating the possibility again. Someone help me. For God’s sake, help me! Stop this downward spiral into adulthood!
Then I look up and realise I’m watching ‘Chowder’ on the Cartoon Network, put a picture of Wile E. Coyote on my office door name plate today and spent a good few minutes giggling inanely at an utterly fabulous colleague who has a pronounced inability to say the words ‘barium enema’ together in a sentence without falling over her words… and can still laugh at herself… and I am faintly relieved that I am still capable of being immature.
Jamie is the mature one in this house. I’m convinced of it.