Life is getting back to a slightly more level keel now. I have stopped eating anything which stops moving long enough, the kids are hitting the sales, and the husband has a digger on hire. We all know that no man is happier than when in possession of a digger, and mine is no different.
We decided some time ago that as most of the stones on our drive have disappeared, we would replace them. While I am thinking about it, where do all those stones disappear to? I have visions of someone down the road creeping up our drive under cover of night and nicking a bucket full of my Oxford stone. Over ten years, I'm sure the thief's drive would resemble shag-pile gravel...
So, the husband was outside nearly all of yesterday, with son number one on the dumper truck, delicately removing the top six inches of our drive. My new laptop had arrived, so I was very happily ensconced in working out how to transfer Microsoft Office from one PC to another (not possible when you can't even get the old one to bloody power up) and then the husband knocked on the door. Wondering what he wanted this time (coffee or more sausage plait) I hauled my sorry carcass off the sofa and opened the front door.
He was bent over, clutching a miniature schnauzer. Checking that our two were still indoors, I wondered for about three nanoseconds who he belonged to. And then I remembered. This was Modo, come to stay at ours for a couple of days while his owner was away. You may remember the hell we went through when Reg tipped up here, so you can imagine my concern that the three of them would get on.
Fast forward five hours, and all three were fast asleep in the lounge. Percy rather liked Modo, and tried to hump him for the whole of yesterday afternoon, finally giving up when dinner was served. Reg, sensing competition in the mummy-cuddle stakes, tried to steer Modo away from me, body slamming him in a move which Big Daddy might have used in 1972, but eventually, in true schnauzer style, they all decided to get on, especially when biscuits were offered.
This was small fry concern compared to Boxing Day evening though, when the kids decided that a game of Cards Against Humanity was due. No problem for the husband and me, as there is a law in this house that if we don't understand the card's contents, we are not allowed to ask the children. However, and it's a big however, my parents were also playing. When the Mother leaned over to me and asked me what a Bitch Slap was, I knew it was going to be trouble.
And I was right...