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We moved in about a month ago (I think), but some stuff has happened since then and unsurprisingly we’re still largely living out of boxes. But today, I think, we more or less managed to get the kitchen sorted. Our daughter was being looked after elsewhere, our dog was digging holes in our tiny bit of lawn and our son was (mainly) asleep.
I had thought we’d finish the job in about an hour, but three hours later we only had one more corner to sort out and only two big cardboard boxes stuffed with assorted junk. I am still counting it. The kitchen is unpacked and the room is properly functional. Now just the rest of the house to go.
It’s a good kitchen too with a table we can have family meals around. For lunch, on a whim, I’d made a roast chicken. It was fabulous. Even Phoebe loved it. Though Ernie turned his nose up at it and went for his usual milk, the dick. Mate, have a roast potato and grow up.
I promised I would do this for every Sunday lunch from now on. And I will do my best to keep up that promise. It’s taken me 50 years but I have realised that family is more important than work. So Adam Sandler’s work is now done and he can return to the other angels.
I am impressed with myself and almost as impressed with my wife (though to be fair she didn’t help with the lunch and mainly just sat around when I was putting things away), that we have managed to return to a semblance of normal life just 10 days after a human being squeezed out of her. I am looking forward to spending the next twenty years in this house with these people. And if not this house for all of it then another one that feels as much like our home.
Phoebe dressed up in her monster costume today, perhaps to confront her fears of the monster in her chimney or maybe because she just loves being a monster. She watched Monsters Inc, which I assume is why she’s so obsessed with monsters. And then growled at people quietly like the sweetest monster possible, laughing when she scared them. Even though her head wasn’t covered (as the hat bit no longer fits) I pretended to think she was a real monster and the fact that she tricked me delighted her even more. But bad luck Phoebe if you’re reading this in the future. The joke’s on you, because I knew it was you the whole time.
It’s going OK. It’s going OK.
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