Glow stick spoilsport

So, this is Christmas November 17

They turned the Christmas lights on in town today – they closed the High Street and I cycled a silly way home from work in the wind and rain. A band somewhere played Christmas music and an arsehole driver revved his engine close behind me. People in cars don’t like bikes, hey?

When I was almost home I passed a little girl getting out of a taxi with her mother – they must have come from town because the girl had one of those light up glow sticks in her hand. What a treat.

I felt bad for not taking my children to see the lights turned on, too.

Probably not bad enough that I would take them next year, or anything. Not guilty enough that I would stand amongst heaving crowds in the rain and spend ££s on glow sticks. But a twinge.

We’ll go one quiet evening, we’ll have the lights to ourselves, it’ll be even better.

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Drop ins

I’ve started taking P to pre-school drop ins, so that she knows the place before she starts in May.

I know May is a little way away, but also that it will soon be May.

I know pre-school is a tiny amount of time, but also – it will be start of having all three children in formal childcare for part of the week. A tiny amount of time where I could be in my house, by myself. Oh my.

This fact, this one last time, both buoys me – it holds me afloat when she refuses to sit in the pushchair and it tips to the floor of M&S, weighted by shopping bags – and sinks me.

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Letters

I think I might stop writing this blog and do an email instead. I don’t know why – probably because I have signed up to some and I like them arriving in my inbox because it feels like I have email-writing friends (‘I have friends, I definitely have friends.’) Partly because I’m bored. Partly because I don’t want to publish a never ending archive of whinge on the internet anymore.

Please sign up at https://tinyletter.com/fionakh if never ending archives of whinge are your thing. I might start using it. Or I might carry on here. WHO KNOWS, HOW EXCITING, ETC. ETC.

Politics

NOPES. (I’m fed up, too.)

 

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