A week of very poor taste.

Dear Emma,

If you’ve never found yourself eyeball to eyeball with a small worm emerging from your child’s behind then, let me tell you, you’ve never truly scrapped the murky low points of motherhood. Thereafter follow days of itching, much studying of poo, washing and unprecedented housework.

The woman in the chemist was kind enough to tell me that it was nothing to do with the state of my home but of course she’s never been there. Suffice it to say, it is an image that I’m quite sure I will carry with me til the end of my days and please dear Emma, don’t make the naïve mistake I did, by assuming if you tell your fellow mothers about this addition to your family, that it wouldn’t affect your popularity. Coventry, I’m back but at least I can re acquaint myself with that long forgotten feeling of clean sheets.

Carrying on my theme of bad taste this month, it was I suspect a mistake to let my 6 year old have an IRA party for his birthday. Although to be fair to myself, that wasn’t exactly how we planned it but how was I to know that balaclavas were so the rage.

IRA or children's party - you decide

IRA or children’s party – you decide

All I can hope is that with the  jaunty addition of a trilby hat we may just get away with it.  I’ll let you know next week.

Finally I leave you with my conundrum of the week. On stepping on half a dead rodent when getting out of bed in the morning (brought in by the cat I hasten to add and not a domestic escapee) – what is the protocol – flush or window? Beloved Husband has taken what I consider an unreasonable dislike to being confronted with the headless torso of a mouse when he performs his morning ablutions. Did I do wrong?

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